Impostress (8 page)

"What is it, wife? Do you find me distasteful?"

"Nay," she said, her lungs constricting. That she remembered the attack now was unsettling.

"Unattractive?"

She swallowed. "Nay," she whispered and reached for the coverlet again, but his unforgiving fingers forbade any movement. The fire spat noisily and from the hallway she heard the sounds of footsteps as the guard changed.

"Then what, Elyn? You're acting like a frightened foal."

She met his gaze. "I have never been with a man before," she said, stalling for time.

"I expected you to be a virgin," he said, but she saw the unspoken questions and she knew that in the back of Kelan's mind, he wondered if his wife's skittish behavior stemmed from fear that her new husband would discover she was impure.

Boldly she lifted her chin. "But I know you are not so innocent, husband. You have had others. Mayhap dozens of others."

"Which should please you. Do not try to make us equal, Elyn. You are a woman, and I am man. 'Tis different we are."

"So I should not judge you, but you have the right to judge me?"

He didn't answer, didn't have to. He just stared at her and her brassy impudence with night-darkened eyes, eyes she was certain could see into her soul and carefully ferret out all of her lies. His gaze roved over her face and body, silently claiming her. Oh, Lord. Her breath got caught between her throat and lungs, and when he closed the distance between them, his lips hovering over hers, she heard her own heart knocking. Wildly. Loudly. Wantonly. She wanted him to kiss her, wanted to feel his lips against hers again. Oh, this was madness! With the tiniest of smirks, as if he guessed what she was thinking from the fluttering of the pulse at her throat, he lowered his head. Hot breath seared her skin. She fought the urge to writhe.

The kiss was a light brush of skin to skin, hard lips grazing hers ever so slightly, ever so seductively.

Oh, by all that was holy, no!

As he lifted his head to stare at her, his features seemed less severe, softer, the dim room a little fuzzy. He glanced down at her breasts, to her traitorous nipples pointing hard against the thin silk of her chemise. His grip loosened, letting her go.

"May-mayhap another cup," she suggested, barely recognizing her own husky voice as she reached for the jug.

A big hand covered hers. "I'll get it, wife."

She cringed at the endearment, then realized the word had been spoken without any hint of kindness or affection, as if he was trying it out, trying to impress it upon his memory.

"I realize you are no more happy about this marriage than I am," he said as he handed her the mazer. When was the last time she'd added the potion ... would it linger in the cup? Why the devil wasn't he falling asleep?

He was staring at her. Again. She blinked against suddenly heavy lids. Oh, no ... he couldn't memorize the lines of her face.

"Well?" he demanded.

"Well, what?" Had he asked her something? Her brain seemed to be swimming.

"The marriage. You opposed it."

"Oh! Yes."
Remember, you're Elyn.

"Why?"

"I ... I didn't want to be ..."
To be what?
"... wed."

"But you're of age. Past."

She remembered Elyn's fantasies. "But ... I think ... 'twould be nice to be ..." She felt her face flood with color. How could she admit her sister's dreams, dreams she didn't trust? He was waiting. She forced out the words. "To fall in love with my husband."

"You're a romantic?" he said with the hint of a sneer.

She nodded sluggishly, some of her wine sloshing out of her mazer. Quickly she sipped from the full cup, then noticed the stains on the white of her chemise, purple blotches over her breasts and abdomen.

"Oh ... dear ..."

Catching her staring at the spots, he smiled ... a wicked, devilish smile. He pried the cup from her fingers, then set each of their mazers on the table. Shimmering light reflected in his eyes for a second and she knew in an instant that the moment of truth had come, that she could not avoid his touch. Slowly, he lowered his head and his lips pressed against the thin cloth over the dark splotches.

Hot and moist, his breath seared through the chemise to burn against her skin. She writhed. Moaned. Experienced a new and frightening want. Slowly his tongue traced the outline of a stain, and she felt a tingle deep inside, a yearning so deep it was terrifying and, oh, so seductive. She felt a need to wiggle against him, to feel his flesh against hers. He turned his attention to another stain, one that started below her neckline and spread dark over one breast.

His tongue found the discoloration. Flicked against it.

Her nipples tightened to hard pebbles, eager for more of his touch. Oh, God, this was not supposed to happen.

Want rippled through her.

She tried to move and couldn't.

As she watched him, she wondered what it would be like for him to kiss her bare skin, to strip off her clothes and touch her in the most private of places. Oh, she was a wanton. This was her sister's husband. The man Elyn was to live with for the rest of her life. Yet Kiera couldn't push him away. The sensations running through her body were new and treacherously delicious. Erotic pulses snapped through her blood, pounded in her heart. The thin, frail fabric of her chemise was little barrier, yet she wanted to cast it off.

No. Don't do this, Kiera. You can't.

His tongue found the stain and pressed hot and rough through the slick fabric.

She let out a soft moan. This shameful act couldn't be happening. Couldn't. She would stop it right now. "I—I don't think ... oh!"

His mouth found her nipple and through the lace and silk he kissed, wetting the fabric so that it clung to her as tightly as a second skin. "Then don't think," he whispered against her, his breath fanning already hot fires deep within her belly.

Slowly he slid a hand upward to touch her other breast, gently kneading, strong, callused fingers massaging her skin and toying with her nipple. Dear God, she ached inside, began to move, found her own fingers running eagerly, desperately through his hair. Sinful as it was, she wanted him. All of him. Upon her, around her, beneath her, inside her. Touching, melding, kissing. Erotic images filled her mind, images she'd never witnessed, never experienced, but now seared through her brain in exciting and sensuous detail.

All thoughts of denial fled. His teeth scraped against her nipple and she arched her back.

"That's it, little wife," he growled, sliding upward to kiss her full on the lips, his mouth open, her own an invitation. His tongue slid between her teeth, the tip skimming the roof of her mouth, then mating with her own. The world spun, the chamber seemed to melt away, and all Kiera could do was return his feverish kisses.

She couldn't think, didn't try as he pulled her chemise upward, exposing her legs. She knew she should stop him, but as his fingers caressed her calves and thighs, and delicious shivers slid down her spine, she didn't. She had vague thoughts about the elixir and why it wasn't working, and why she was so weak when it came to refusal of this man, but her musings disappeared as he touched her, probed her, sending spasms through her.

"You're so tight," he whispered, his voice thick with pleasure as he began to stroke. She was moving with him, accepting him, opening to him, kissing him and wanting more ... Somewhere deep in the back of her mind she knew she was making a vast mistake, an irreversible error that could never be forgiven, that she should try to stop this now, but the pleasure of the moment, her dizzy head, and the incredible ministrations of this man held her tongue. She spread her legs further and he growled as he kissed her through the bunched fabric that had collected over her abdomen.

"Beautiful ... beautiful wife," he said.

"I'm not—" she said, trying to explain that she wasn't Elyn.

"As beautiful as any woman." While still touching her with one hand, he slowly untied the laces of his breeches, and his manhood, straining against the fabric, slipped out. She swallowed hard upon seeing the length of him, the thickness. No ... this could not happen. She gasped and tried to draw away, but he swore, "I'll be gentle. Tell me if anything displeases you."

"I can't," she whispered as he kissed her again, then stretched atop her, his weight pressing into hers, his hand slowly sliding from her, his shaft hard against her skin. She felt bereft, wanting more of him, and then he kissed her again. Hard. His hands tangled in her hair, his muscles straining.

"I'll be careful."

No!
She couldn't do this. He was Elyn's husband and yet ... she wanted him. "Wait," she begged.

He paused, took the time to stare into her eyes and brush a wayward strand of hair from her skin. "For?"

She couldn't think of a single excuse other than the truth. Why wasn't that damned potion working? He nuzzled her neck, tingles raced over her skin, and the heat within her was a palpable ache. "I don't feel that we are wed," she said breathlessly, her head spinning.

"Were you not there?"

"But I knew not the priest ..." Her words were thick. "Mayhap we should wait until Lawenydd's priest returns and ... and have another ceremony and ..." He stared down at her as if she were a half-wit and then a small smile curved his lips.

"I don't think another wedding would change things." He kissed her then, harder still, his lips molding over hers and his tongue touching and seeking hers. Kiera's arms wrapped around him of their own accord, her fingers tracing the grooves of his shoulder muscles, her mind swimming. His mouth and hands were everywhere, caressing her buttocks, kissing her nipples, rubbing the curve of her spine and holding her close. His tongue was moist and anxious as it trailed across her skin, his fingers kneading, stoking the fire that was already burning white-hot within. She writhed and ached. A deep, dusky want that no amount of rational thought could deny pulsed through her blood. His lips found the most intimate part of her, his fingers and tongue probing, gently teasing. All her doubts were lost in the darkening room and she bucked as the first spasm hit her. A primal cry tore from her throat, the ceiling spun, and she had barely time to catch her breath before he was atop her again, his mouth covering hers, his knees parting hers, his body melded against her damp, flushed skin. The chemise bunched as he pushed forward, the tip of his shaft grazing the sensitive skin surrounding her womanhood. She gasped; he pressed forward. Oh, God, she wanted this.

Her fingers curled in the bedding.

He moved, prodding deeper.

"Oh!"

There was a rending, a burning pain, and she tried to wriggle away, but he kept moving, straining above her, holding her close and kissing her.

"The pain does not last long," he whispered against her neck. His breath came in short, shallow bursts, and the pain gave way to a warm, needy pleasure. She caught his rhythm and began to move with him, faster and faster, as wild as a swollen river, as hot as the sun. "Kelan," she cried out as her body arched and all the dying flames in the room seemed to burst behind her eyes ...

A growl escaped his lips as he threw back his head and shuddered with his release.

His breath covered her face and he collapsed atop her, his weight flattening her breasts.

"Elyn ... sweet, sweet Elyn."

She froze.
Elyn ... oh, God ...
All her warm thoughts turned to ice. What had she done? Oh, no ... this wasn't supposed to happen. As if aware of her distress, he kissed her lips and rolled onto his side, then cuddled up behind her. Her buttocks pressed into his groin and he rubbed against them, his manhood probing even deeper. Her mind was still fuzzy, yet guilt grabbed hold of her soul. Deep inside she felt him and he seemed to thicken yet again. No ... she couldn't ... but he pushed her hair aside and kissed the back of her neck, his fingers splayed upon her abdomen, pulling her tight. Oh ... no ... but her rump pushed into him and he moved, stretching her further, rubbing against a spot that caused delicious pain to wash over her.

Moaning like a wanton, she knew that she was lost. As long as she was in bed with him, she couldn't deny herself the sinful pleasures he offered.

"I will bed you like this for the rest of my life," he vowed, his breath fanning her fevered skin as he touched her in a spot that sent delicious thrills through her.

"Nay—"

"Shh ... I know. Neither one of us wanted to marry, but—" He moved just so and she gasped. "Is this so bad?"

"Heaven," she sighed, and twisted to kiss him on the lips.

Dear God, what have I done?

Kiera's head thundered in pain as she opened a bleary eye. One strong male arm was wrapped around her midsection, and a muscular leg trapped one of her own.

Cautiously she opened the other eye and, wincing, found herself staring into Kelan of Penbrooke's rugged face. Her sister's husband. Although Kiera had said the vows and consummated this lie of a marriage, she was not legally Kelan's wife, nor would she ever be. Elyn's name in Welsh law took precedence over Kiera's acts, though Kelan would certainly have grounds for an annulment, should he want it ... oh, by the fates, she'd made an irreversible, sinful mistake ... many mistakes. And now ... and now she'd suffered the loss of her virginity, her own purity. What man would ever want her now?

And what other man would you want? Can you even think of another when still you are sore from the pleasures this man, your sister's husband, brought you?

She hazarded a glance at Kelan and noticed the small details. His face was relaxed, his mouth slightly ajar, and the warmth of his breath teased her skin. Dark hair fell over his forehead and he seemed almost boyish in slumber. But all he had to do was open one eye and he would be the lord of the manor again, the hard warrior. Half lying over her, his chest pinned her arm, while his own arm was flung across her chest, his hand cupping her bare breast.

She felt a flush steal up the back of her neck. What was she to do? When Elyn returned ... oh, God, mayhap she was already within the castle walls ... waiting to take her rightful place!