The Woman Inside (10 page)

“Perhaps he is discreet.”

Ceylon held her hands palm up. “Even if he is, it’s not as if he’s
married.”

Odell nodded sagely. “Of course.” He shifted a bit under her considering
stare. “My sister was seduced by shiftless knave once. He left her with child
and a broken heart. She is happily married now, but I worry about you, my lady,”
he said earnestly. “It is the damsels most in need of love that the predators
choose to chase.”

It was a moment before Ceylon could speak with the emotion squeezing her
throat. The boy spoke the truth. “You are very sweet, but let me put your mind
at ease. Roland shows no interest in me.”

“And what of the Baron?” Odell nodded toward the man who approached, careful
to keep his tone low.

There was no reason to answer him. Uric’s possessiveness told the tale well
enough.

“Stand by the fire, mistress. You must be cold.” Before she could answer, he
pulled her gloves off and felt her chilly fingers. “They’re like ice,” he said
accusingly. “Can you even feel them?”

The next thing she knew he’d unbuttoned his coat and placed her hands under
his tunic.

Fire leapt and roared in her belly at the feel of rock hard muscle dusted
with curling hair around the navel. Oh, she could feel all right, though at the
moment she was distinctly weak in the knees.

“I....” She swallowed hard. “You don’t need to do this.”

“You need to warm.” He backed toward the fire, pulling her with him. The
moment he reached it he turned her hands over, warming the icy backs.

“That’s got to feel awful,” she protested weakly. If someone had put their
icy hands on her, she would have jumped out of her skin.

He flashed her a smile. “I like it. I’m often overheated, and your touch
feels good.”

Ceylon looked at the fire, the snow ... anything but at his face. Her cheeks
stung with the blood warming their chilly surface.

“Hm. Looks like color has returned to your face.” Uric’s voice held definite
amusement. “Have a seat on this pack and I’ll see to your feet.”

The feet were even worse. No one had ever touched Ceylon’s bare ankles
before. The sensation shot jolts of awareness straight to her heart. Places that
had never felt the heat of desire roared to life, leaving her with quickened
breath and shaky hands. “I think I’m ... quite warm now,” she gasped.

“I haven’t warmed your other foot yet. Be patient.” A roughish gleam entered
his eyes. “Rush a warming, ruin a warming. I want you toasty before we leave
here.”

She gulped. It seemed Uric was done being subtle.

God help her.

After lunch the trail took a determined slope upward. Ceylon thought it was
difficult to cling to the saddle as her horse plodded up. She changed her mind
when they got above the tree line and they were forced to dismount and lead
their beasts upward. By the time they reached the pass she ached in every
muscle. Her clothes were wet with melting snow and she trembled with fatigue.
Never mind the view. It was all she could do to lift her head when Uric called
her name.

He swore when he saw her face. “Why didn’t you tell me you needed to stop?”
He swung her up in his arms, set her on Behemoth, and mounted behind.

“I’m fine,” she mumbled as they entered the tall pass and the cool air closed
around them. It was nearly dusk and the long shadows made it even darker.
Several torches sprang up.

“A storm is coming up,” Roland reported as he rode toward them. He’d scouted
the route in advance. “We were wise to push ahead, it looks like a bad one.” His
gaze fell on Ceylon. “How is she?”

“Exhausted. That’s the last time I judge her strength by my own. I was just
beginning to tire, but she--”

“I’m fine,” Ceylon slurred, but no one listened to her.

“They’ll have shelters and fires at the end of the pass by the time we get
through. I left the boys there to help under the eye of a soldier. We’ll have
her dry and warmed up in no time.”

But Ceylon was warm. Pleasantly so. And so very sleepy ...

Uric shook her when they reached the camp. “Wake up, Ceylon! This is no time
to sleep.” He was furious with himself for not guessing her condition earlier,
but every time he’d asked she’d insisted that the walking was keeping her
warm.

This was the last time he’d trust her smiling assurances.

She barely moved as he dismounted. “Mm?”

Fear snaked a cold arm around his heart, making his voice gruff. She didn’t
look so good. “How are you doing?”

“F-fine.” She hadn’t spoken in some time, and the stutter in her words
alarmed him. “J-just keep walking. We’ll n-never get there if we stop now.
B-besides,” she looked around at the tent shelters, her eyes glazed. “There’s no
place.”

Jaw locked, Uric scooped her up and entered the largest tent. A soldier held
the flap open for him, letting it fall after he’d passed.

“Out,” Uric ordered Raven and Odell, who were arguing about the best way to
arrange the bedding. They took one look at his face and obeyed.

Dull and sleepy from chill, Ceylon squinted at him as he set her on her feet,
next to his bedroll. “What are you doing?”

He took off his coat, spread it on the blankets, and reached for the
fasteners on her coat. “Getting you warm.” Despite her protests, he had her
stripped to her undergarments and under the blankets in moments. It didn’t take
much longer to shed his own clothes and join her.

“It’s freezing in here!”

“It will warm quickly,” he assured her, pulling her close. By now it was
pitch black.

“You’re naked!”

In spite of everything, he grinned. “Hardly.” He placed her chill hand on his
flannel long-drawers. “See?”

She snatched it back, so he settled for enfolding her in his arms, easing his
thigh over hers for good measure. Her back settled nicely against his
stomach.

“What are you doing?” she snapped.

“It’s good to hear you becoming more animated, Ceylon-sweet. I was worried
about you.”

“I was just tired.” She tried to squirm away. “There’s no need to--”

His arm locked around her like a steel band. “Stay. You will be fine when I
say you are fine. Do you understand?”

She remained stubbornly quiet.

“Ceylon?” His tone held stern warning.

A little of her stiffness eased as she gave in. “I hear you.”

“Good.” He stroked her hair away from her face and rested his chin on the top
of her head. “Now that I know you’re not about to die of cold sickness, why
don’t you get some sleep? You had me very worried.”

A little sigh indicated that she was all ready drifting down. “You’re a very
bossy man.”

“Comes of being an admiral,” he whispered, teasing her with her own words. He
kissed the top of her head. “Goodnight, sweet Ceylon.”

Her even breathing told him she was already asleep.

* * * *

Deep in the night, a restless heat woke her. Eyes open on the darkness,
Ceylon shivered, and not with cold. Low on her belly, masculine fingers were
tracing tiny, lazy circles. For a moment she stiffened, but when they moved
neither higher nor lower, she squirmed in protest. Against what, she wasn’t
certain.

He said nothing. Just continued to slowly drive her mad.

“Uric,” she whispered urgently, and covered his hand with her own. It didn’t
stop him.

Conscious of the snoring bodies nearby, she tried to keep her voice low and
firm. It didn’t quite work, and she despised her breathy, wavering,
“Uric....”

His fingers slipped under the band of her long drawers, tangling in the very
fringe of her woman’s down.

Petrified, she clasped his hand tighter, but as the moments slipped by, she
couldn’t sustain her frantic grip. Soon her hand was tentatively cupping his,
fearful, yet wondering what more there was to feel.

For she was in heat. The slow movements--too close for propriety and far too
distant for satisfaction--had her breathing like a runner. Her body shook, her
skin shivered, and soon her hips were moving against him, wordlessly urging that
taunting hand to do something productive.

Instead, he settled her lap firmly within his, hard against something she
instinctively feared and desired, and wrapped his arm around her ribs, under her
shirt. Slowly his thumb began to play the same game with the underside of her
breast that went on below.

Ceylon twisted, fought to get more of what he doled out so sparingly, but he
held her too tight. She couldn’t break free, couldn’t persuade him to do more.
In agony, fighting not to shout her frustration to the world, she hissed, “Are
you going to do something or torture me all night?”

He smiled against her hair. “Do you want me to ‘do something’?”

If his hands hadn’t started a fire, his smoky tones would have sparked it.
Still, she could hardly invite him to--her helpless moan cut that line of
reasoning short. Unconscious of anything but the need to feel his hand against
the slick heat dampening her thighs, she arched, attempting to trick him into
satisfying her.

He chuckled and moved his hand out of the way.

“Uric!” Blast the man!

Without warning, he flipped her onto her back and pressed his hard length
against her. “Say you’ll marry me and I’ll give this to you every night.”

Before she could do more than stiffen, he wedged his knee between her thighs,
high against that which ached for him, and kissed her deep and hard.

Ceylon shattered against his mouth. Only his full weight and the muffling of
his lips on hers kept her from waking the entire camp with her scream.

It was a long time before she came down. He held her all the while.

When she was conscious enough to move, she licked her lips. She tasted blood,
but the absence of pain told her it wasn’t hers.

Eyes wide, she felt for his lips, so close above hers. “I’ve hurt you.”

He kissed her fingers. “A happy memento. Believe me, I’m not complaining.” He
rolled to the side and pulled her close against his hard body.

Lulled by the feel of his warm, hard body and sated by her first climax,
Ceylon drifted off to sleep.

It was morning before the full realization of what they’d done sunk in. When
it did Ceylon wanted to hide under the covers and die.

He’d touched her. She’d let him. That was bad enough. But he’d proposed
marriage again, and without one word of love spilling from his stubborn lips.

Uric still wanted a business deal. Disgust curled her lip as she stared at
the gloomy tent ceiling. He wasn’t going to get it.

* * * *

“She looks sore today.” Roland nodded behind them and took another bite of
roast hare. Since Ceylon wasn’t heading their way he made no move to rise from
his squatting position beside the fire.

Uric grinned in sympathy as he followed Roland’s gaze and winced as his lip
pulled against the scab. His little healer walked with a very stiff gait, her
mouth set in a flat line. Warmer feelings softened the smile. How he wished he
had the leisure--and the privacy--to continue where they’d left off last night.

By the speculative gazes of Roland and his men and the way they noted his
pleasant mood, Uric knew his efforts to preserve Ceylon’s reputation had been
hopelessly shot down. It was regrettable, but all Ceylon had to do to maintain
their respect was agree to marry him. Hardly a hardship. Besides, if he’d had
any qualms about forcing her hand that way, her little passion gift reminded him
that she’d definitely enjoy the benefits of more than his name and money.

Hm, she is a beauty, he thought as his eyes wandered over her. The fur jacket
covered her from neck to ankles, but his hands remembered the shape of her. He
hadn’t known a woman could be so responsive. The way she’d clung to him, as if
to prevent his escape, and the sweet moans she could barely contain ... It had
done more than arouse him. Now he wanted her with a hunger that went far beyond
desire, because he knew, felt to his marrow that she wasn’t the kind of woman
who could give her body without her heart. The need to possess her, all of her,
spurred him on as he followed her to—He frowned. What was this? Why was she
going to the other campfire?

“Ceylon?”

Eyes on the fire, she answered him, “I prefer to be addressed as Mistress
Ceylon, or healer, if you prefer, my lord.”

His brow rose, along with a spurt of irritation. Where was the soft kitten of
last night? “Then kindly grant me a moment of your time, mistress. We need to
speak.” He took her arm and strode away from the fire and the men collapsing the
tents until they were just out of earshot. “Do you mind telling me why you’re
all cockles and briars this morning?” He thought the request came out rather
well considering his mood.

She looked him square in the eye. “Just because you made free with my body
last night doesn’t mean I’m your woman.”

The force of her accusation hit him like a lance blow. He staggered back a
half step, but she wasn’t done.

“Whatever desire I felt for you was a passing thing, as it must be, for you
never touched my heart.” She looked away a moment, and her throat worked. “I
won’t marry a man who has so little interest in my heart.”

Silence. Taunt, ugly silence. He felt the pulse pounding in his temple and
the pain of her rejection seared his throat, making words impossible for several
heartbeats. How had he been so blind as to her true character? Apparently the
wench was able to divorce the needs of her body from any tender emotion.

The desire to return like for like prodded him to lean in and say hoarsely
near her ear, “Woman have no hearts. Just empty, greedy hands.” She flinched,
and he smiled in savage, empty satisfaction as he stalked back to his fire. Let
her hurt. She was so adept at stabbing him. Let her feel the dagger’s bite for a
change.

Raven shot him an ugly look as he left the fire and stomped to his mistress’
side. Uric ignored him. Even Odell’s defection to the enemy camp raised little
more than a silent snarl from him. Let them rally round the little witch, though
he could have told them they needn’t have bothered. The girl was deadly enough
with words to keep even the most randy berserker at bay. Her frosty words had
certainly shriveled him.