Celtic Fire (21 page)

He reached her side just as she’d persuaded the dog to lie down.

“He won’t hurt you,” Rhiannon was telling the cook. “He’s quite docile.”

“Did you bring that creature into my house?” Lucius demanded. Rhiannon blinked up at him, but before she could answer, Marcus came running from the direction of the latrine.

“I’m sorry,” he said, panting. “I just left him for a moment. I won’t do it again.” He threw his arms around the animal’s neck and raised his wide dark eyes to Lucius. “Please don’t send Hercules away.”

“Hercules?” Lucius asked, dumbfounded. It was about the unlikeliest name for the sorry beast he could imagine. The dog lifted its head and added its appeal to Marcus’s, its tail beating an even rhythm in the dirt.

“Please, Father?”

Demetrius camouflaged a chuckle with a cough. Lucius shot the old man a quelling look. The last thing Lucius needed was a flea-bitten monster disrupting his household. He opened his mouth to deny his son’s request.

The words never came. They died on his tongue when he looked into Rhiannon’s golden eyes.

“Please, Lucius?” she whispered.

Her voice, soft and pleading, sent an erotic image spinning through his brain. He imagined her naked on his bed, opening her thighs to him, saying those exact words. He held her gaze and let his desire flow into his eyes. A slow blush crept up her neck, as if his fantasy had leapt from his mind into hers.

“Yes,” he said and she colored even more.

Marcus let out a whoop. “Oh, thank you, Father. I promise Hercules won’t be any trouble.”

The cook’s eyes bulged. Something akin to a growl issued from her throat, along with a string of profanity as foul as any Lucius had heard during his entire military service. She halted abruptly when he raised his eyebrows at her. With a huff of annoyance, the woman climbed from the bench and maneuvered her bulk toward the kitchens. Her assistants trailed behind, all but cowering in the wake of her fury.

“No doubt tonight’s dinner will not be worth the effort of eating it,” Demetrius commented.

The dog’s wet nose touched Lucius’s palm. He bent and scratched its head. The beast collapsed on the ground and offered him its belly. He snorted. “Hercules? Whatever possessed you to call him that, Marcus? This overgrown rag has little hope of honoring his namesake.”

“I don’t know about that,” his son replied with a cheeky grin. He glanced toward the kitchen. “He’s already vanquished the Erymanthian Boar.”

Lucius threw back his head and laughed out loud. The cook did indeed bear more than a passing resemblance to one of the legendary hero’s larger foes. He chuckled again and then, without thinking, placed his hand on his son’s shoulder and gave an affectionate squeeze.

Marcus stiffened, but didn’t pull away. Color crept into his cheeks. Lucius removed his hand abruptly, feeling suddenly foolish. Marcus looked up at him and grinned, his dark eyes glowing with adoration. His expression was a mirror of the one Lucius had so often seen shining forth from Aulus’s face.

Suddenly it was very difficult to breathe.

“Just make sure our hero stays out of the kitchen,” he muttered. “Else we may find ourselves on barley rations.”

“Oh, I will, Father,” Marcus said fervently.

“Now then. Magister Demetrius has already returned to the library. No doubt you and Hercules should join him.”

“Yes, sir.” Marcus led his dubious companion out of the courtyard. Lucius looked about. Candidus had dispersed the remainder of the household. Even Vetus had disappeared—Lucius had caught a glimpse of the tribune retreating to his bath some moments before.

He stood alone in the garden with Rhiannon. She met his gaze, her golden eyes glowing with approval. “Thank you,” she said. “Your kindness meant so much to Marcus.”

“It’s but a dog,” Lucius replied. He rubbed the back of his neck.

“I wasn’t speaking of Hercules,” she said softly.

Lucius frowned. “What then?”

“The embrace you gave your son.”

His face heated. “I didn’t stop to consider it.”

“That’s only how it should be! Did you not see how Marcus reacted to your touch?”

“Yes. He was embarrassed.”

“Less so than his father,” Rhiannon said in a teasing tone. Her lilting laughter wrapped around his heart, causing a heady lightness he hadn’t felt in what seemed like an eternity.

It was happiness, he realized.

Rhiannon turned toward the kitchen. Without thinking, Lucius put out his hand and stopped her with a touch on her arm. Once she disappeared through the doorway, Aulus would return, and he didn’t think he had the strength to bear it.

“Don’t go.”

She gestured to the ruined flower bed. “I thought to find a trowel.”

“There’s no need. One of the other women will attend to it.” His voice sounded strangely hoarse.

He stepped close enough to catch her scent. Forest mist, mysterious and eternal. Her coppery lashes swept upward. Her eyes locked with his and he searched the clear depths of her gaze, seeking refuge.

His hand still rested on her arm. He slid it to her shoulder and kneaded the muscles there, turning her and drawing her in until her breasts flattened against his breastplate. Despite the mud that spattered his armor, she leaned into him, her lips parting in a soft gasp.

He bent his head and kissed her. She tasted of fruit forbidden by the gods, so tantalizing that a man would gladly offer his life for just one morsel of it. He suckled her lower lip, drinking her sweetness. She returned his ardor, opening her mouth to his questing tongue. He plunged deep, taking what she offered and more.

A shudder passed through her body. In the next instant she turned to flame in his arms, searing him with her kisses, tangling her fingers into the hair at his nape and tugging so hard he wondered that the strands did not pull from his scalp. His rod, already hard, grew stiffer. He cupped her buttocks in his palms and pulled her hips flush against him, cursing the barrier of his war belt.

Need gripped him like a fever. In the dim recesses of his mind he heard a voice warning caution, but he gave it no heed. At that moment he no longer cared if his sanity shattered or if his soul was lost forever. He only wondered why he’d fought so hard to keep it.

Lust surged through his veins, demanding that he claim Rhiannon on the very ground upon which they stood. He choked back the urge. Half the household could be watching from the shadowed doorways ringing the courtyard.

He gripped her waist with both hands and thrust her away. She looked up at him, a dazed expression on her face.

“Not here,” he gasped. “Above stairs.”

Her eyes widened as if she’d suddenly realized what they’d been doing and now thought better of it. “No, I …”

He forced his fingers to loosen his grip on her waist. “I’ll not hurt you,” he said in a fierce whisper. “I would protect you with my life. Say you believe me.”

Her expression changed to one he might have sworn was guilt. “I do.”

He swallowed hard. “Then will you have me, Rhiannon?”

Tears were on her lashes. He thought for one dreadful moment that she would refuse him yet again, but after a brief hesitation she nodded and the relief he felt was sweet. She lifted her hand and traced a trembling path along the line of his jaw. When she ventured too near his mouth, he caught her fingertip between his lips. He watched her eyes widen as he suckled, then darken when he captured her hand in his and flicked his tongue into the center of her palm.

Her breath quickened. “Will you have me?” he asked again, needing to hear her acceptance.

Her gaze fell to his mouth, and her tongue flicked out to lick lips already swollen with his kisses. “Yes,” she said. “I’ll have you, Lucius.”

He needed no more encouragement. Bending low, he swept her into his arms. She clutched at his shoulders and buried her face in the curve of his neck, her long curls brushing a tantalizing caress over his bare arms. He took the steps to his bedchamber three at a time, but even so it seemed like an eternity before he emerged on the upper level. Her heat seeped around the edges of his armor, causing his heart to race and his thoughts to cloud. His rod hardened beyond endurance. He reached for the door and fumbled with the latch, cursing when the simple mechanism refused to yield.

Rhiannon laughed softly and nudged his fingers aside. “Let me do it.”

The door swung open. He shoved his way into the chamber, wanting nothing so much as to fall on the woman in his arms like a stag in rut, marking her as his own and obliterating the memories—both good and ill—of any who might have come before him. He denied his craving. Rhiannon needed a tender lover, not a savage brute who would take his own pleasure with no thought of hers.

He tumbled her onto Aulus’s wide bed. She lay on her back on the coverlet, gazing up at him with eyes as heated as a summer night. Her hair was a wild blaze of fire, her tunic hiked up past her knees. His control faltered.

Then Rhiannon smiled. She lifted her arms, beckoning him closer, and all restraint fled.

* * *

Rhiannon lay trapped by Lucius’s hungry gaze. Her heart pounded as she watched his shaking fingers loosen the fastenings of his war belt. She could not have looked away for her life, even if she had desired such a thing. She didn’t. She wanted nothing more than to be lost in the dark glitter of his eyes, surrounded by a thousand stars, seeking the mysterious pleasures she knew were hidden there.

His sword and belt fell to the floor with a thud. The sound carried a finality Rhiannon no longer wished to deny. For good or ill, she would give herself to her clan’s enemy, not because she’d been ordered to seduce him, but for the simple reason that she could no longer hold herself away.

Soon enough she would return to her people and the duty she owed to them. Soon enough she would welcome Edmyg to her bed as her king and consort. That was her future and she could not gainsay it. But here, this night, in this place, the future would not intrude.

Here, tonight, she belonged only to Lucius.

When he’d laughed and touched his son with love, her heart had melted. She’d seen his soul in that instant as she had two nights before when he’d pleaded with her to banish Aulus’s ghost. His façade of cool discipline was a sham, no more a real part of him than the armor he donned to shield his body. Once stripped of its protection, he was revealed as a man whose emotions ran so deep he feared he would drown in them.

His strength mingled with his aching vulnerability drew her to him more surely than any command he might have thought to issue. A flame of yearning came to life in her womb as he stripped off his armor and tunic. When both had fallen to the floor, she sucked in a breath between her teeth.

He stood before her naked and aroused, like some virile god of midnight. His golden-dark skin stretched over the hard muscles of a warrior. Black, springy curls danced across his chest and dipped in a tight V over his flat stomach to the dark nest below. His cock, smooth and erect, rose in unrepentant glory.

Lassitude stole across her limbs, weighting them, while at the same time a curious restlessness stirred in her belly. Her hips shifted forward, seeking relief from the fierce ache that had settled there. The slight movement did not go unnoticed by Lucius. He caught her gaze and his lips parted, baring his teeth.

He moved toward her, slow and silent as a wolf. Sudden apprehension stole Rhiannon’s breath as he advanced. He’d vowed not to hurt her, but he was a man, with a man’s lusts. Would he take her fast and hard, completing the act before she found more than a whisper of pleasure? Or, worse, would he demand more of her, more than she knew how to give?

She’d never given her heart to Niall, had never allowed him to touch her deepest secrets. Instinctively, she knew Lucius would not be satisfied with such a pale surrender. He would strip her soul to its essence.

The thought terrified her.

It also aroused her beyond bearing. Desire shot through her veins like fire-tipped arrows. She felt hot, and empty, and aching. She writhed as she caught the scent of him, the peaks of her breasts hardening. The fabric of her tunic chafed the sensitive tips. She longed for Lucius to slip the garment over her heated skin.

She knew by the fierce expression in his eyes he desired it, too, but he did not close the last bit of distance between them. Instead he moved away to the foot of the bed and gripped the raised end of the frame with both hands. His cock rested on the top edge of the intricate woodcarvings, pointing at her loins. The thought of its wide head penetrating her slick folds made her throat go dry.

“Remove your tunic,” Lucius said hoarsely. “If I attempt the task, the garment will surely be shredded past repair.”

Rhiannon blushed, but she could no more deny his request than she could refuse her lungs air. She pushed herself to a sitting position and unknotted the length of cord at her waist. Her fingers found the hem of her tunic and drew it slowly upward. Cool air brushed her thighs, then caressed the curls between her legs.

Lucius went still, watching, his breath growing rougher with each pass. A giddy sense of power filled Rhiannon. Bunching the linen in her fists, she eased it higher by infinite degrees over her hips, her stomach, her breasts. A gasp escaped her lips as the fabric grazed her swollen nipples. Then the garment whispered over her head, slid a slow path down her arm, and disappeared onto the floor.

“So beautiful,” Lucius said, but he made no move toward her. His dark gaze caressed her from head to foot. Rhiannon’s body responded to his scrutiny with a longing so violent she began to tremble.

“Please,” she said.

“Please?”

“I want—”

“What?” He leaned forward. “What is it you want from me, Rhiannon?”

Everything, Rhiannon thought, but she couldn’t bring herself to say the word. She suspected there was no need—surely Lucius could see the answer in her eyes.

“Lie back and place your hands above your head.”

The soft command coiled around her like the first murmur of a storm. Dizzily, she complied, lowering herself to the cushions and stretching like a cat. Her fingers reached up behind her and sought purchase in the carved terminal of the bed frame.