Unicorn Vengeance (24 page)

The burning of this Temple completely dismissed his conviction. Should both populace and king scorn the Order and the papacy not intervene, then the Order itself could not survive. The papacy's silence would condemn even those Temples outside France to fade away, as well. Other kings would act similarly once they knew no repercussion would come from Rome. ‘Twas only a matter of time.

Everything to which Wolfram was pledged was gone. The conclusion was inescapable. It might well take some time for every structure to crumble, but no longer could he deny the truth before him.

No more Rule was there to guide Wolfram's life. No longer was he beholden to the will of the Master. No longer was his obedience expected or required. No more boundaries and restrictions were there upon him. Yet no more security was there, either. No more had Wolfram the certainty of three meals a day and meat thrice a week. No longer could he be sure of garments to warm his back and a horse beneath him when required.

The shock of change was simultaneously invigorating and terrifying. Wolfram knew not what he would do, where he would go, how he would earn his own keep. Should he pledge himself to another Order? Should he stay within the comfort of this troupe? He knew not, and indeed, the possibilities were so endless as to be impossible to count.

And the music did naught to soothe his thinking. It roused yet more emotion and, as a man used to making decisions dispassionately, Wolfram found the influx to be near overwhelming. He closed his eyes to the sting of smoke and dared himself to look within. He heard the pulse of his own heart in the forefront of the lute's siren's call and felt the heat of the blood coursing through his veins.

Alive he was, despite all the storms he had weathered in this life. A survivor he was, unlike the unfortunate sergeant in this town and mayhap those he had left behind. Wolfram was alive and unfettered, and that realization sent a curious feckless joy coursing through him.

He was alive! Wolfram recalled with sudden fierceness the sweet splendor of Genevieve's kiss. No more was the touch of a woman forbidden to him.

And something there was of this world he had not tasted. An act there was that was life-affirming beyond all else, and Wolfram had yet to claim that experience for his own. He burned for it now, as he never had before. Something there was that a man could not savor alone, and now, freed of his vows as he was and invigorated with the glory of life, Wolfram was free to sample of that feast.

He opened his eyes to find Genevieve's gaze upon him. Her eyes were wide and his breath caught at the certainty that he saw that same desire reflected there. His pulse quickened with the promise of her eyes.

Aye, this night Wolfram would know the fullness of mating. He imagined how Genevieve would writhe beneath him and his body responded with a vigor fit to make him dizzy. Genevieve flushed, as though she guessed his very thoughts, but she did not look away. Wolfram grinned, despite himself.

Aye, this night would well be one to remember, and a fitting start to his new life.

I
t seemed to Wolfram that the patrons would never leave.

He was restless, impatient with their dallying, even though he could well understand the appeal of Genevieve's playing. The music of the lute bolstered his resolve and lifted his spirits, convincing him as he watched her delicate fingers dance across the strings that his choice was both right and good.

Genevieve would be his this night. The very thought thickened him beyond belief, and he fidgeted impatiently.

Then, finally, the last of them filtered out into the night. There was a slight fluster of activity as those members of the troupe who had not already dozed off before the hearth found places to sleep.

“A garret is there, as well, that none is using this night,” the keeper informed Odo. Clearly that man was well pleased with the benefit the troupe had brought his business on this wintry night. “‘Tis cold up there, yet welcome you are to its privacy.”

That word struck a welcome chord within Wolfram, and he fired a glance fraught with significance in Odo's direction. Odo caught his gaze and lifted a brow, though he asked naught afore he accepted. He nodded almost imperceptibly, and Wolfram knew in that instant that the loft would be his alone.

His and Genevieve's.

Wolfram turned to her again, watching hungrily as she loosened the lute's taut strings, as was her habit. Her fingers danced over the instrument in a fleeting caress, and he imagined her small hands fluttering across his skin in much the same manner. Wolfram swallowed carefully just as Genevieve glanced up and their gazes collided.

He could not look away. Neither could he take a breath.

Genevieve appeared struck motionless, as well. Her lips parted slightly, her eyes widened in some measure of surprise, but she did not move away. Wolfram's heart hammered in his ears and he dared to take a bold step forward.

Genevieve's gaze never wavered.

Blind to those few still around him, Wolfram took another step, then another, each easier than the last, until he stood directly before her. Genevieve stared up at him mutely, the soft expression in her eyes enough to set his very flesh to burning.

Would she truly permit this familiarity? What if she spurned him? What if she turned aside? What if she had no desire to mate with him?

He recalled the sweet press of her lips on his, and an increasingly familiar ache was launched within him at the very promise of tasting her once more. Stunned by his own audacity and knowing he was on unfamiliar ground, Wolfram inhaled sharply and dared to offer Genevieve his hand.

To his complete astonishment, she smiled. Then she slipped her hand into his and rose to her feet so that they stood toe-to-toe. Wolfram did not dare to breathe. He froze in place, uncertain what she intended to do.

Genevieve stretched to her toes, laid her other hand flat on his chest and brushed her lips across his. Wolfram was certain his heart stopped. She pulled back slightly to eye his response, and he imagined she saw the wonder in his eyes, for she smiled affectionately.

Then she cupped his jaw in her delicate little hands, leaned against him so that he was certain he could feel her beaded nipples and kissed him full on the lips.

She agreed! The tavern spun giddily about Wolfram at the realization. He knew not how she had guessed his intent, but he cared naught.

Blood rushed in his ears, and he closed his eyes, his entire world focused on the tempting softness of Genevieve. Wolfram's hands found the neat indent of her waist and he lifted her against him, willing her to understand that ‘twas no small thing he desired of her. He wanted her to feel his arousal and harbor no doubts of his intent.

Wolfram inclined his head slightly, that he might sample her more fully, and Genevieve opened her mouth to his in surrender. Her fingers tangled in his hair and she moaned gently beneath his embrace, the smothered sound making desire roar unchecked within him.

She desired him! Wolfram lifted Genevieve yet higher and cradled her against his chest as his kiss deepened. He wanted to sample every bit of her flesh, he wanted to know her body as well as he knew his own, he wanted to be intimate with her as he had never been with another being in his life. He wanted to share and be shared, he wanted to explore and be explored, and in that heady instant, he wanted to take a lifetime to discover all of her.

Wolfram nuzzled her neck, loving the way she gasped against his throat, everything masculine within him savoring how she strained against him. His woman she would be this night. He burrowed his nose beneath the neckline of her kirtle and smelled the intoxicatingly feminine scent of her skin, and his passion redoubled.

The fire crackled and Wolfram abruptly recalled their circumstances. He reluctantly lifted his lips from Genevieve's, his heart thumping at the way she collapsed dreamily against him. Slowly she opened her eyes, and he caught his breath when she smiled up at him as though he was the only man in the world.

Privacy they needed in this moment of moments.

“The garret,” Wolfram whispered. She hesitated and he feared for a heartbeat that she would decline, but then she impaled him with that emerald regard. A thrill ran through him when Genevieve smiled a secretive smile and nodded hastily.

“Aye,” she breathed, and he could not believe that Dame Fortune would smile so upon him. Too much ‘twas that they should be of one accord in this matter. He took her hand, still disbelieving, but she took her lute in the other hand matter-of-factly and accompanied him without protest.

The weight of her hand in his filled Wolfram with a protective pride, an urge to see her safe and warm, to see her cherished this night that she might recall the memory with favor. This night he would leave Genevieve with naught to regret.

Though his ears burned at the teasing catcalls that followed them, Wolfram did not look back.

When they gained the second floor, naught but the slow breathing of the sleeping patrons filled Wolfram's ears. The cool darkness enfolded them in its embrace, and he regretted not bringing a lantern. He found the second set of stairs with his hand, their span much narrower than those from the first floor, and led Genevieve to their sanctuary.

‘Twas cold in truth here, as the keeper had warned, for the shutters on the small windows at either end of the loft were poorly fitted. The ethereal light from the falling snow filtered around their edges and granted enough light to see shadows and silhouettes. The roof was steeply pitched, and the air was redolent with the scent of the fresh wooden casks stacked to either side.

Wolfram could smell the hops from the beer stored within them as his awareness of the woman behind him redoubled. Uncertainty assailed him now that they were alone once more. Only under the ridgepole itself could he stand, and he straightened there, turning to confront Genevieve.

She eyed him for a long moment, then her gaze flicked away and back. “Blankets there are here,” she murmured quietly as though fearing to awaken someone.

Her voice wavered slightly, that minuscule sign of her own uncertainty the only reassurance Wolfram needed. He could well enough be strong for her—in fact, he owed her naught less in this moment.

He reached down and lifted her lute from her grasp, surprised yet again at how readily she released it to him. Wolfram laid the instrument carefully aside atop the casks and tucked the warmth of Genevieve against his side.

She resisted not at all. One arm around her shoulders, he touched her chin with the fingertips of his other hand and tilted her face to his. She watched him, the very sight of her trust flooding him with awe. Wolfram brushed one fingertip across the petal-softness of her lips, and Genevieve's lashes fluttered closed even as she released a ragged little sigh.

She desired him. Wolfram needed naught else to restore his confidence.

“Come to bed, Genevieve,” he whispered. She opened her eyes languidly, and her unexpectedly intense green gaze locked with his once more.

“Aye, Wolfram,” she murmured, a heat burgeoning in her expression as she scanned his features and evidently found something she sought there. “If you will come with me.”

Wolfram smiled. “‘Tis too cold this night to leave a lady to sleep alone,” he answered. Genevieve smiled in return, her smile a curious mingling of shyness and audacity that made his heart pound in his ears.

“Well did I suspect you were a gentleman,” she breathed. Wolfram chuckled despite himself and pulled her closer.

“I would not disappoint, milady,” he promised against her lips.

“Nay.” Her hands slipped around his neck, their feather-light touch making Wolfram shiver deep inside.

He lifted her against his chest and kissed her gently, reassuringly, with all the wonder he felt for her and the possibility of this night. She responded with an ardor unexpected that fired his own desire anew. Naught could he think of but Genevieve.

Wolfram carried her to the blankets laid atop a pallet, his fingers urging her laces open before they even reached the wool. Genevieve confounded him by nibbling on his ear in a most disconcerting manner, her hands roving over him hungrily. Now that she had surrendered to the moment, well it seemed that she would embrace it with vigor. The very idea launched Wolfram's desire yet higher.

The side laces on her kirtle gave way unexpectedly and he pushed the garment over her shoulders with ease. Her loose chemise followed suit with lightning speed, and the sight of her creamy flesh was enough to make him burst his chausses. Wolfram caught his breath as he hesitated and ran one hand cautiously over the warm satin of her shoulder. So soft she was, so delicate, and his resolve faltered slightly.

What if he should hurt her? As if sensing his uncertainty, Genevieve slipped into his lap, her hands locking around his neck with a fervor that reminded Wolfram unaccountably of her strength.

“I want you,” she whispered, her breath tickling his ear. Wolfram glanced down at her, reassured by her smile. “I want to
know,
” she added emphatically. So parallel was her desire to his own that Wolfram could not deny her. That she was a virgin like him made the moment all the more special, yet less intimidating, for they both would be feeling their way.

“As do I,” he murmured. Before she could respond, Wolfram placed his hands on her shoulders and nudged her kirtle and chemise further. She moved not, so as not to hinder him though he felt her quiver within his grip. The garments slipped lower with agonizing speed, revealing her upper arms, the ripe curve of her breast. The chemise caught on the pert peaks of her breasts. Wolfram swallowed slowly, then reached out to lift the cloth and reveal the dusky nipples beneath.

Hard they were, and contracted tightly, like two dark raspberries. She caught her breath as the cold air impacted them, and he watched the responding motion of her breasts with fascination. Wolfram bracketed Genevieve's ribs with his hands, marveling at how large his hands looked upon her milky flesh, and urged the garments to her waist. Genevieve pulled her wrists free, and when Wolfram hesitated, she met his eyes steadily and placed her hands on his.

Their fingers entwined, Genevieve deliberately rose to her knees. She pushed down, and together they eased the garments over her hips to reveal her creamy perfection to Wolfram's hungry gaze. She was smooth and supple, unblemished and as perfect as some ancient pagan goddess born fully with the dawn. Wolfram slid his hands wonderingly over her warmth, that juncture at the top of her thighs, with its tangle of dark hair, tempting him with the promise of what would come.

He pulled her closer, and Genevieve tumbled willingly into his lap, her hair spilling about them in a dark cloud. Their lips met seemingly of their own accord and locked together. He dared to touch his tongue to hers, and Genevieve arched toward him with another of those delicious moans that were his to swallow. Emboldened by her response, Wolfram slipped his fingers up her thigh. The tangle of wiry hair presented no barrier to his exploring fingers, and Genevieve parted her legs in invitation.

Wolfram needed no further urging. His fingers slipped into that secret sanctuary, everything surging within him at the slick dampness he found there. Genevieve cried out with pleasure, and Wolfram felt suddenly as powerful and invincible as a young god himself.

He caressed her and she writhed. Fascinated with her response to him, he explored her soft contours and noted what seemed to please her best. He tickled and cajoled as he watched her squirm with pleasure. This he could give her. This they could share. He bent to nuzzle her ear, and the flurry of his breath sent her shivering.

Undaunted, Wolfram laved her earlobe with the tip of his tongue. Genevieve gasped. He tasted the soft skin under her jaw. She arched her neck back to grant him access, even as she moaned. He slipped his arm beneath her and let his hand close around the weight of her breast. Wolfram had to close his eyes at the flood of tenderness let loose within him as he cradled her weight against him.

Never had he imagined he was missing so much. This marvel of a woman was his to love this night. He feared in that instant that he dreamed, but Genevieve's tongue darted daringly into his mouth and proved his fears groundless. His fingers and thumb kneaded the beaded point of her nipple, his other hand echoing the movement to gently lock around the pearl between her thighs.

Genevieve cried out.

She moved in a frenzy as his fingers danced, and Wolfram knew the heat built within her as it had built within him that long-past night. He wanted her to feel that burst of sensation, he wanted to be the one to cast her over the edge as she had cast him. His mind filled with the memory of the weight of her hand falling upon him and the resulting tingle that had shot through him.

He wanted to give her that this night. And he would.

“Wolfram,” she whispered. She grasped at his shoulders, her fingers digging into his flesh even through his shirt.

“Follow it,” he counseled quietly, not certain where the words came from. “Safe you are with me.” A glow lit in her magnificent eyes at that, and she locked her arms trustingly around his neck. The feel of her tongue in his ear was enough to send Wolfram bursting from his chausses. Her small hands tore desperately at his clothes even as she quivered beneath his touch.