Jennifer August (9 page)

His lips, surprisingly gentle, caressed hers until she sighed with confused delight. This was wrong, she could not want him. But she did. He deepened the kiss, rubbing her tongue with his and sweeping the recesses of her mouth. Though the new sensation was not unpleasant,
Stirling
trembled with the shocking pleasure he evoked and tried to maintain control, but his caress drove her to the brink. Suddenly she yearned for his touch even as she fought against it. Her tenuous hold shattered when he untied the laces of her gown and chemise and his warm hand splayed against her bare back. She arched against his chest, the swirling tempest growing stronger within her. A warning echoed in the back of her mind, she must not succumb to this invader, but the temptation he presented proved too strong and she closed her ears to the whisper.

“
Stirling
,” Quinn’s voice was a low, warm growl against her mouth.

“Aye,” she whispered, giving herself up to his tender ministrations. Though not the man of her choosing, she could not deny the fire that swept through her at Quinn’s touch. And she would not deny him – or herself – this night.

He pushed the gown off her shoulders and past her hips until she stood in the puddle of silver satin clad only in the thin chemise. The admiration in his iron gray eyes warmed her almost as much as his touch, but she could not prevent herself from covering her nearly bare chest from his hungry gaze.

“Do not be shy, lady-wife, your beauty is remarkable.” He stood so close his exotic musky scent filled her every breath. Gently he nudged her arms away and she let them fall, the trembling upon her again. In one swift movement, he tore the sheer linen from her body and swung her into his arms.

Quinn laid her on the bed and knelt beside her, running one long finger along the pounding pulse in her throat. His gaze held hers as he slid his palm along the dip of her neck to the swell of her breasts. She barely breathed.

“Are you frightened?” he asked, his fingertips tracing light patterns against her skin.

Her breath hitched and she shivered. “Aye.”

Quinn withdrew, smiled gently and dropped a soft kiss on her lips, stinging them with a light nip of his teeth. “Then I will calm your fears.”

His whisper, dark and enticing, sent a shaft of fire through her veins.

“There is naught to fear in the loving, little warrior,” Quinn murmured and brushed the side of her breasts leaving tingles of desire in his wake. He cupped the quivering mounds and rubbed his thumbs across the rosy tips. They peaked instantly. He bent his dark head and took a nipple in his mouth.
Stirling
arched in response to the slick warmth.

She clutched his shoulders when Quinn slid his hands down her ribcage, to the sensitive dip of her waist.

Before he could journey further, she forestalled him with a hesitant request. “My lord, I would that you remove your jerkin as well.”

He smiled and quickly doffed the garment, flinging it to the floor beside hers. “Is that more to your liking, my lady?”

“Aye, ‘tis,” she whispered. She traced the breadth of his shoulders with her gaze, eyeing the hard definition of his torso. She followed the dark trail of hair as it spread across his chest and tapered down the contracting muscles of his stomach until it disappeared below his waistband. She took a deep breath. “May I? Is it permissible for me to touch you, my lord?”

Quinn did not answer, but tugged her arms up and flattened the palms against his chest. His heart beat strong and steady beneath her fingers. She luxuriated in the crispness of his hair as it rubbed against her and marveled at the solid strength of him. Firelight and shadow danced across his body as his muscles rippled in response. Intrigued, she caressed his warm skin from shoulder to waist and back again, until he circled her wrists with his fingers.

“Touching is but a small part of it, Lady Fire. You like the feel of my hands on your breasts,
non
?” Again, he cupped her, gently kneading.

“Aye,” she whispered, and shivered at the sight of her milky white skin wrapped in the strong bronze of his hand.

“And the wetness of my mouth?”

She drew in a shuddering breath as he put motion to his words. “Aye.”

“There is much more to teach you, little warrior.” He flicked his tongue against the sensitive hollow of her stomach.

She shook and clutched at his head. “Nay, my lord, please. What are you about?” Fear mingled with a spiraling feeling she could not name.

“‘Tis part of the loving,
Stirling
,” he soothed, his fiery gray gaze sweeping over her nudity and back to her face. Their eyes held as he stroked her hip. “Indeed you are perfectly made.”

Fire, hot and blazing, shot through
Stirling
when he eased her thighs apart and cupped her moist warmth. She gasped. He smiled. With the tip of one finger, he nudged aside the downy softness that hid her from his view and teased the nubbin he found to wet attention.

“Quinn!” She was captivated by his touch, did not want him to stop. She flushed and her hips undulated slowly in tune with his movements.

“Do you like it, little warrior? Tell me and I will please you.”

“Aye.” She jerked sharply when he smoothed over the same sensitive point between her thighs. “I’ve never felt the like, my lord.”

He gave a strangled shout of laughter. “Indeed, I hope not, my lady.” He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her mouth. The familiar scent of lavender filled her nostrils combined with the pure masculine aroma that belonged only to Quinn. He smelled of heat and light, of springtime and supple leather. The combination was intoxicating.

When he cupped her nest of curls with his warm palm, the heat burned brighter. “Here is where I shall join our bodies, where we shall become one.” He slipped his questing finger into her tightly guarded portal and she moaned. Quinn’s breath hissed from between clenched teeth. “God in Heaven, you are so hot and moist. I long to feel the warmth of your body as it draws me in.”

“Please, my lord, do not torment me. There is, I want, please.” The incoherent words tumbled from her parted lips. Her mind whirled with dizzying speed as the pressure built. She closed her eyes and tried to capture just one of the riotous sensations he’d roused in her.

Quinn moved his hand rhythmically and she clutched at his arm.

“Quinn! It is too much. I cannot!”

He kissed her softly and brushed the hair from her eyes. “Ah, but you can, little warrior and you will.” He increased the momentum of his finger, and she contracted around him. The throbbing deep inside
Stirling
continued to build. It pulled at her, tempted her. She clenched her eyes tighter and focused only on Quinn and the incredible motions he made. Bright flashes of light sparked in her head and she gasped. She could not breathe! She struggled against the roiling light and then the world shattered and
Stirling
broke with it. She cried Quinn’s name and blindly reached out to him.

He withdrew his hand from her dewy warmth and pulled her trembling body against his. He murmured soothing, comforting words in her ear until she stopped shaking.

Hesitantly she caressed his chest, teasing the nipples as he had hers, delighted when they stiffened. “My touch pleases you?” she asked shyly.

“Aye, too much,” he muttered, but let her hands wander where they would.

She sorely tested his restraint with her innocent pats on his stomach and the earnest desire he saw in her eyes. When she worried her bottom lip with her pretty white teeth and cast her gaze away from him, he groaned and gave in to the needs he’d roused in them both.

Quinn drew her to him and kissed her, a long, lingering kiss that took his breath away. Lightly he nibbled the corners of her mouth, laving her lips with his tongue, aroused even more when she responded in kind.

Her arms crept up around his neck and her fingers curled in his hair. Quinn kneaded
Stirling
’s hip with one hand and tugged open the breeches that bound his hardened shaft with the other. He eased himself along her silken flank, raising a brow when she laughed breathlessly.

“You find humor, madame?” He teased and smoothed his hand slowly over her buttocks.

“Nay, lord. ‘Tis just your hair -” She inhaled sharply when he nipped at a rosy nipple in retaliation. Again he slipped his hand between her thighs and urged her to the brink before backing away.

Quinn rolled atop
Stirling
and looked into the smoky depths of her eyes, his breathing labored.

“You’re a virgin, little warrior, and there will be pain. I will be gentle, but -”

“I trust you, Quinn,” she interrupted and put a finger to his lips. He took her mouth and lovingly bit it.

“Relax, lady-wife,” he murmured and eased the blunt tip of his manhood into her moistness. “Look at me,” he commanded softly when her eyelids fluttered closed. He held her gaze with his as he gently pushed, edging deeper with each slow movement. Her eyes widened when he came up against the thin barrier of her maidenhead.

“Quinn,” she sighed, then fell silent, her breath coming in short, jerky gasps.

He pulled back and tugged her to almost a sitting position. Gathering her close to his chest, he said, “‘Tis not a kindness to be done slowly,
Stirling
. I would have your pain over quickly.”

“As would I, my lord.” She nuzzled against his neck, and a tremor ran through her, but he heard the desire and conviction in her voice.

“Aye, then.” He tipped her chin up, covered her mouth in a searing kiss and sunk his hardness deep within her, tearing through the veil of her virginity in one quick thrust.

She stiffened and arched her back. He swallowed her low moan. He tumbled them back to the bed and struggled to remain motionless within her. He broke the kiss.

“
Stirling
?” He could say no more as he fought to maintain his control. Her sweet warmth wrapped around him pushed him as far as he’d ever been. “Little warrior, is it better?”

“It becomes more so,” she said and smiled at him, though her honey eyes gleamed wetly with unshed tears.

He maneuvered his hand between them and teased her desire until once more her hips moved in small, tight circles. He grit his teeth at the almost unbearable pleasure the movement caused. Finally, he withdrew to the edge of her heat, then sank slowly back into her wet softness. Again and again the gentle rhythm repeated until, at last, his control broke and he surged into her body with powerful strokes.

“Quinn!” she cried out and clasped his waist.

“Forgive me,” he groaned and with one last forceful thrust, he spent himself deep inside her womb. He fell to her side and gasped harshly for air. The soft touch of her hand in his hair brought his gaze up. She traced the planes of his forehead, down his nose and across his lips.

She smiled sleepily. “We’ll need the pelt, my lord. This room gets cold deep in the night.”

He grinned back and pulled the heavy cloth over them. “Aye, lady-wife, but I’ve no doubt we’ll keep it plenty warm.”

Chapter Five

Stirling
woke, naked and tender, to an empty bed. Quinn was nowhere to be found. She drew in a deep breath and sat up, the sheet falling to her waist. She looked down at her bare breasts and saw the red scrapes his unshaven beard left where he nuzzled. Looking down, her gaze quickly skidded away from the blood of her innocence staining the sheet. Both the memory and the sight fueled her heated embarrassment. Scrambling to the edge of the bed, she winced at the twinges the movement caused and cursed her new husband, though she knew he could not have prevented the soreness.

Sliding off the mattress,
Stirling
looked for her clothing, dismayed to realize only her wedding dress was at hand. She could not don the garment again, especially not to descend belowstairs or even to speed down the hall to her own chambers. Surely the guards Quinn posted still remained nearby. She refused to be the subject of any gossip or speculation, regardless of how congenial. She had endured more than her fair share the past two years.

The red and black tunic he’d worn lay amid the skirt of her gown, though, she noticed, his sword was gone. Scooping the shirt up, she pulled it over her head. The hem fell below her knees and the neckline gaped where his broad shoulders would hold it taut. She pursed her lips in dismay. “This will not do at all,” she muttered, pacing beside the bed. “I must get to my chambers, but how?” She frowned, wishing Millane would appear and rescue her, but knowing the brazen maid, she would keep all from disturbing them as long as possible.

Stirling
sighed and surveyed the room once more. Her eyes lit on her parents’ wedding tapestry. “Lucifer’s brains, I am a dolt!” She hurried forward and struggled to lift the heavy cloth, then slide beneath it. Dust and damp air choked her when she let go of the tapestry and she coughed, squeezing her eyes shut. Blindly she searched the stone wall for the doorway to the hidden passage. The corridor would take her to her own chambers, then she could dress and begin her day as the re-instated lady of Falcon Fire. At last, her fingers brushed a bit of loose chinking and she pushed. Cracking her eyes only enough to make out the open doorway, she stepped through into the darkness. A low growl echoed from her right and she jumped, jostling the lever to close the door. She spun, clawing at the sliding door, but ‘twas no use. She pushed against the lever, straining to raise it and re-open the door, but the wooden handle refused to move. She was trapped with whatever beast inhabited this hall, with no light, no weapon, no garments. She cursed her own stupidity. What did she do now? The growl bounced around her again, closer, louder, more menacing. She licked her dry lips, feet riveted to the floor with fear. “Who’s there?”

She did not expect an answer, and when the brush of something soft touched her bare knee she jumped sideways. She slipped in a sticky mud and fell to the floor, banging her head against the flagstone wall. White spots danced in front of her eyes and an eerie hum echoed in her ears.
Stirling
struggled to sit up against the cold stone and searched the darkness for the creature. ‘Twas impossible to see, the blackness complete. She drew in a deep breath as a spark of indignation gave her false courage. She had not wed the barbarian to lose her life to some
thing
creeping along in her secret passage.

Stirling
gained her feet and reached out a hand, gingerly feeling the air in front of her. When she encountered nothing, she took a few hesitant steps forward, easing her way to the small chambers she used, stopping every few paces to search for the beast. She continued this pattern until she reached another doorway. Though
Stirling
never had need to identify the markings of each door in the dark before, she knew they all differed. Hers bore the figure of a wolf head, carved above the lever. Tracing the stone, she tried to determine where she was. After much concentration, her fingers saw the shape of a shield. The armory. Her chamber lay next door.

Excitedly, she scooted toward the safety of her room and brushed against the softness again. She froze. A low rumble issued from the creature and
Stirling
’s breath came in ragged gasps. The beast followed her. She could not make her feet move, could not force them to flee. She knew not how many minutes, mayhap hours passed before sharp teeth clamped over her arm through her sleeve. She jerked, but the animal refused to let go. Instead, it pulled her forward, the rumble still resonating from deep within.
Stirling
had no choice but to follow its lead. When they stopped the creature released her and she clutched at the wall. To her surprise, her fingers caressed the carved wolf head that denoted her chambers. She yanked the lever down, eyes trained on the ground next to her as the wardrobe swung open. Light trickled into the corridor and she stared in amazement at the huge white animal that rescued her. Again.

She backed into her bedchamber, eyes firmly set on the animal as it matched her step for step. When they reached the center of the room, the beast sat, cocked its head and wagged its tail.
Stirling
shook her head. “What manner of beast are you? ‘Tis twice now I owe you my thanks for your timely assistance.”

The dog, at least she thought it to be a hound, opened its mouth and a pink tongue lolled to the side. The dog whined and lay full out on the floor, paws crossed, and long nose settled upon them. Steady blue eyes remained trained on
Stirling
. She laughed hesitantly, the fear easing at the dog’s calmness. Surely a beast intent on harming her would not make itself so comfortable. Would it?

The dog’s steady regard was nearly eerie but, strangely, comforting.
Stirling
wondered if last night’s pleasuring stole her wits.

“What manner of animal are you?” she asked.

The dog rose, arched its back flopped to the floor once more and exposed a tender pink belly.

Stirling
rolled her eyes. “Well, you’re a girl. Very helpful.”

Blowing a sharp breath out,
Stirling
gathered her courage and strode to the wardrobe, keeping a wary eye on her furry companion. Those incredibly blue eyes followed her and her white ears pricked toward her direction, but she did not move otherwise. Quickly
Stirling
pulled a day gown and undergarments from the closet, then stockings and slippers. Though she’d not performed the arduous task of dressing herself in many years, she managed the feat in a relatively short span of time. Finally decent, she stepped in front of the animal again, set her hands on her hips and tapped her foot.

“An odd creature, you are to be sure. But I would like to know how you entered the passageway. Would you show me?” The dog sat up and bared her teeth slightly, though her tail swished the floor.

“Lucifer’s nose, is that an aye or a nay?” She tossed her hands in disgust. “If anyone heard me talking to a dog, they’d think me addled.” She pursed her lips, steadily regarding the creature. Her eyes rounded with dismay as another thought popped in her mind. “How am I to explain you? What story shall I tell? You’ve proven to be a most useful guard, but I doubt that Quinn should --”

The dog barked, interrupting her.
Stirling
tilted her head. “Do you bark at being useful?” She paused. “Or at his name?” Another pause. “Quinn.”

The hound woofed again, springing to all fours and prancing about her.
Stirling
shook her head sadly. “Of course, you are his dog. Well, come then, we shall find your master together. I’ve a need to speak with him.”

She walked to the door, but her new guardian pounced in front of it, shaking her head fiercely to and fro.

“Step aside, you pest, I must go belowstairs.” But the animal stood her ground. “You are certainly his dog, you possess the same irritating stubbornness. He never listens to me either.”

Stirling
reached over the hound’s shaggy body to the doorlatch, but her sharp teeth grabbed at her sleeve, tugging her away. She led
Stirling
back to the wardrobe. “Of course. I must leave through the Lord’s chamber. ‘Tis where the guards stand. Yet again, I owe you, a debt I will someday repay.” She plucked a torch from the wall sconce, opened the passageway door and stepped through, the dog at her side.

# # #

“You’ve risen early, Lord Quinn.”
Temple
grinned, lunging at the stuffed quintain, easily piercing its heart. He winked at Marcus while pulling the lance from the straw body. “Should a lady as tempting as your new bride grace my bed, I would still occupy it as well.”

Quinn scowled at the pair of them, ignoring their braying laughter and turned his attention to the men in the courtyard. He would not admit the difficulty he encountered, leaving
Stirling
’s warmth. He’d awakened, hard and ready, to her soft breasts pressed against his back, her arm slung over his waist. The slender fingers of her soft hand dangled inches away from his stiffness and it had been all he could do to ease away, dress and slip from the room. Down the staircase, through the great hall and onto the training grounds he fought the urge to return to her embrace and plunge again into her sweet sheath.

Only the knowledge that he’d hurt her forestalled him. He shifted his weight, easing the tightness of his breeches and concentrated on the noise-filled courtyard. While his knights practiced the training routine he’d set up long ago, the men of Falcon Fire stood by, watching and talking among themselves.

“Why are they not training as well?” he asked Marcus, his tone sharp.

His second-in-command straightened, smile fading. “They wait for Sir John, my lord.”

“And where is he?”

“I do not know.”

“Find him,” Quinn curtly commanded, then turned to
Temple
as Marcus left. “When you’ve finished your practice, come to the great hall. I will listen to your report.”

Temple
nodded. “Of course, my liege.” He raised a brow. “I’ve never known you to show caution with a woman, my lord, not even after --”

“Enough,
Temple
. See to your duties. I will see to my wife.” Quinn whirled and stalked to the large courtyard where his men engaged in mock swordplay. Stopping in the middle of them, he drew his own weapon and spread his arms wide. “Which of you shall fight me?”

Several of his younger knights eagerly stepped forward, but he ignored them. Their situation here was not so secure he could afford to lose one of them to the ill-timed humiliation they were sure to display once he bested them. His gaze scanned the perimeter where several Falcon Fire men edged forward. Grinning, he motioned one closer. The man’s fellows slapped him on the back and pushed at him until he stood before Quinn.

“What is your name, pup?”

“Langeth, my lord.”

“Ah, yes, the troubadour.” Laughter rumbled from the men at his dry pronouncement. “I certainly hope your skill with a sword is better than your skill with the lyre.”

Langeth reddened. “Most definitely, my lord.” He drew his own blade and nodded stiffly.

“Shields!” Quinn yelled. One of the squires ran forward, handing each of them a small shield, then scampered away. “We fight to first blood. Engage,” Quinn commanded.

The younger man surged forward, thrusting his blade with vigor, if not precision, at Quinn’s chest. Easily deflecting the blow, Quinn stepped to the side and swung his weapon at his opponent’s sword arm. Langeth blocked with his shield, whirled and attacked from the opposite angle. Quinn smiled with satisfaction at the boy’s quick thinking, warded off the stroke and returned the riposte. They fought for several more minutes, Quinn surveyed the boy’s form while he easily fended off his attacks. He did not seek to score the young man just yet. Much could be learned about the defenses of the keep by observing the tactics of its army. Perhaps he could yet learn how Falcon Fire remained intact and fruitful during its two years without the guiding hand of its lord.

Langeth gamely hacked at him without luck or hit until, without warning, he slipped in a patch of mud, nearly losing his balance. Quinn’s blade snaked forward, nicking the young man’s shoulder and drawing a thin line of blood. Cheers erupted from Quinn’s men while groans of disgust came from the knights of Falcon Fire.

Langeth bowed and turned away, but Quinn stayed him. “Hold, Sir Langeth.” He raised his voice and the crowd quieted. “You’ve shown yourself to be an excellent swordsman. There are not many among my own men who could last as long against me as you did this day. What post do you hold at his keep?”