Samantha James (14 page)

The sound she made was half-fury, half-plea. “I—I wish you’d stayed in London and had your fill of women there!”

His smile was icily unpleasant. “Ah,” he said smoothly. “But you were ever on my mind, Saxon. Why, I’ve lain with no other since the day I came to Brynwald. Indeed, I’ve
wanted
no other. And aye, I will take you, but not by fear or by force.”

Alana trembled. He toyed with her, like a hunter with his prey. She averted her face. “It can be no other way!” she said desperately.

His gaze hardened. “Oh, but you are wrong, Saxon. It can be. By God, it will be.”

He stepped forward. A flicker of panic raced through her like a blazing star, for his expression was one of brittle resolve. Her knees began to quaver. She recognized how useless it was to fight him.

But oddly, though his mood was harsh, his hand was not. His fingers slid beneath the fall of her hair and curled warmly around her neck. His thumb at the point of her chin, he guided her face upward.

“You have naught to fear, Saxon.”

“I have everything to fear!” she cried. Jesu, even her voice was shaking.

He merely shook his head. A corded arm slid around her back. With subtle pressure he brought her resistant body flush against his. Alana inhaled sharply and then his mouth captured hers.

A tremor went through her. There was no evading his kiss. There was no evading
him
.
Aye, and angry though she was, confused as she was, the pressure of his mouth was scarcely as unpleasant as she might have wished. He kissed her endlessly, sweetly greedy, until her lids drifted shut, until her head was spinning and she knew not where one kiss ended and the next began. She was only half aware as he unlaced her bliaud and slipped it from her shoulders. Her chemise soon puddled around her feet and then his arms locked tight around her. She was borne high in the air then lowered to the bed.

Her eyes snapped open. Merrick had just divested himself of his tunic. Confronted with the hair-roughened expanse of his chest, she was all at once quiveringly aware of him as a man, of his strength and masculinity. She quickly averted her gaze and curled away from him.

But he did not stretch out beside her as she expected. The mattress dipped as he sat. An instant later he brushed his fingers lightly across the marks on her lower back.

“Does this still pain you, Saxon?”

“Nay.” She stuffed her fist into her mouth to keep her lips from trembling.

“You will not scar. I am glad.”

Alana bit back a sob. “I-I wish I would!”

“Why?” With his fingertips he traced the slope of her naked shoulder, down her arm and back.

She heartily longed for him to stop. Shivers played up and down her skin. “Why else? Because then you—you would not—” She
stopped, unable to put into words what was about to happen.

His fingers paused. “Desire you?”

“Aye!” she said feebly.

“Oh, but I would, Saxon.” There was a smile in his tone, but before she could respond, he turned her bodily toward him. Leaning low, he kissed her once. Twice. Again. And then he rose once more, his hands on his braies.

She stared helplessly, unable to look away as he stripped away the last of his clothing. Her stomach dove as his manhood sprang taut and free, swollen and erect, a blade as deadly as the other he wielded, just as fiercesome.

Some ragged sound escaped her. “Sweet Jesus…I’ve seen men before. I’ve seen
you
,” she gasped. “Only now you are different. You—you are surely deformed…!”

He laughed. The wretch, he laughed!

She lurched upward, in fear or indignation, she knew not. She cared not. But alas,
he
was there. With the breadth of his chest he tumbled her back against the pillows. Alana’s mind reeled at the shocking feel of his skin naked upon hers. The knotted plane of his belly pressed the softness of hers. She dare not even
think
of what lay between…Indeed, there was nowhere they did not touch.

She squeezed her eyes shut in abject shame, convinced a night of horror awaited her.

Merrick propped himself on his elbows to stare down at her.

Gently he brushed a tangle of golden hair
from her cheek. “’Tis not me you fear,” he said softly. “’Tis the unknown.”

Her eyes fluttered open, and she found him resting on one elbow, staring down at her.

A bitter ache wrenched at her chest. “The unknown? Nay, for I-I know what you will do.” She shuddered. “I saw one of your men with Hawise, the dairyman’s daughter. She screamed and screamed and he would not release her. He lay upon her and he—he would not stop. He made her bleed…”

Her hands had come up to jam against his shoulders. Merrick allowed it but he did not retreat.

“That is nothing like what I will do to you,” he stated flatly. “And you are not so averse to me when I kiss you, Saxon.”

“Aye, I am. You make me feel most odd.”

Her fervent denial almost made him laugh again. “But it does not displease you when I kiss you, Saxon.” When she said nothing, he prodded her again. “Does it?”

“It—it makes no difference.” Alana shook her head. “When you do…what you want”—She felt her face flame—“then you
will
hurt me. I—I know you hate me, Norman. No doubt you—you want to hurt me!”

Merrick’s eyes darkened. “I do not hate you, Saxon. And I will not hurt you lest you fight me.” He eased to his side and studied her, then smiled slowly. “Indeed,” he said softly, “there are things I can do to ease the way.”

Alana drew a sharp breath. “You lie. This is naught but a—a trick!”

“No trick, Saxon. And I do not lie.”

“Then tell me.”

He said nothing. Instead he bent his head. Very deliberately he kissed the top swell of each breast.

Alana’s heart was beating high in her throat. “Tell me, Norman. What…things?”

He raised his head, his eyes dark and unreadable. Alana was wholly unprepared for his frankness. “I will touch you here,” he whispered. “With my hands, Saxon, the very tips of my fingers. With my lips and tongue I will taste you.” His fingers grazed her nipple, sending a rush of sensation all through her. “And here, Saxon.” Boldly he brushed the golden fleece between her thighs. “I will touch you. Caress you, until your flesh grows damp and ready. I will pleasure you, Saxon, pleasure you as never before.”

Alana’s ears burned. Her body grew hot. Her mind was all atumble. Nay, she thought dazedly. Surely he would not. Surely it was wicked.

His shoulders loomed dark and sleek above her, his skin like burnished copper. “Indeed”—He pressed his lips to the vulnerable place where her shoulder met her neck—“’tis time I showed you instead.”

Had she been able, Alana would have leaped from the bed. “Nay,” she gasped. “Even you would not dare—”

He dared. Indeed, he did…

At first she was tense in his arms, so very tense, her muscles tightened against him and
all he would do. But Merrick was not to be dissuaded. He gathered her close, and when he kissed her lips, she felt her own tremble beneath his as she struggled to hold back.

She was more dazed than fearful when at last he raised his head. But with a swiftly indrawn breath she sought to turn her face aside. Merrick caught her chin. His mouth hovered just above hers. “Nay,” he whispered. “Do not turn away. Surrender to me, Saxon. Surrender…”

Wildly she shook her head.

“Then be conquered,” he whispered just before his mouth claimed hers.

But he did not conquer. He seduced…

His hands were exquisitely tender. He explored her body at his whim and will. And all the while his mouth was sealed against hers, his kiss deep and slow and rousing. There was naught of force in his touch, though she knew he would have his way. And all too soon the battle she fought was not with him, but with herself.

The world spun madly. Her lips tentatively parted as his opened wide, his tongue ever the bold invader. Her palms slowly uncurled against his chest and now his kiss grew sweetly fierce. With one hand, he claimed the naked bounty of her breast; he filled his palm with her flesh. It seemed so strange, she thought, the warmth of his hand upon her naked skin.

Yet all too soon her breath hastened. With his fingers he stroked delicious patterns around the budding crest, teasing and circling. She was
stunned to feel her nipples grow tight and tautly straining. And when his fingers brushed one turgid peak again and again, she couldn’t deny it—there
was
pleasure to be found in the touch of his hand.

His mouth slid with slow heat down the arch of her throat. He paused, and Alana’s breath came in a ragged rush. She couldn’t look away from the sight of his dark head poised above the ivory fullness of her breast; the contrast was stark and riveting.

Then he did what to her was the unthinkable—his mouth descended. She looked on in shock as his mouth replaced the hand that toyed with her nipple. Time stood still as his tongue joined the play, unceasing now, lashing and stroking. And when he sucked full and hard upon one deep pink circle she bit back a low cry. A flood of sensations broke free within her, dark and forbidden.

Merrick hid his satisfaction. He could feel her resistance melting, for when he slid back up to feast on her lips, her mouth clung sweetly to his. Even while her heart beat a wild frenzy against his own, her limbs lay warm and pliant against him.

He skimmed the hollow of her belly with his palm. Christ, her skin was like fine silk! He gritted his teeth, for his loins were like steel, his shaft pounding and near to bursting with the need to bury himself hard and deep, driving into her core.

Boldly he tangled his fingertips within the golden thatch at the base of her thighs.

Her eyes flew wide. Her legs clamped tight against his hand. Her nails caught at the corded hardness of his arms. He had startled her, he knew. “Let me, sweet.” His voice was low and taut against her mouth…into it. “I do not seek to hurt you. I swear by the Cross…”

He kissed away her feeble protest. With his hands he swept aside her doubt. With gentle insistence he parted soft pink flesh, engaged in a tormenting foray, circling and stroking, arousing and exploring. He pleasured her until he felt her shudder; until her breath rushed past his ear, shallow and panting; until he felt the heat of her passion damp and bedewed against his skin and he was half-mad for want of her.

The beat of a drum pounded in his blood, and in his manhood. He rose above her. With the weight of his thighs he kept hers parted. For this time he would not stop. Sweet heaven, he
could
not stop…

Alana had but one shattering glimpse of his eyes, glittering with heat. She could feel the iron strength of his shaft rising against her, huge and pulsing against her. The rounded tip of his shaft pressed within her—into her—and she gasped at his size, certain she would be ripped asunder.

One burning thrust buried him deep—deep!—within her silken depths.

A half-strangled cry split the air. Her fingers curled into the hard flesh of his shoulders, not with passion but with pain. Her bewildered look tore into Merrick like a blade but he could no more have stopped himself than
he could have halted William’s invasion of England.

Hot tears stung her eyes. The shaky breath she drew only made her more aware of his shaft embedded within her, straining and thick, a spear of molten fire.

“I can’t.” Her voice caught on a half-sob. “Dear God, I-I cannot…”

Warm fingertips brushed her cheek, the fleetest of caresses. “Easy,” he whispered. “Easy.”

He ran his fingers gently over her face, as if to memorize its shape and texture. He lapped away the single tear that slid from her eye, kissed the curve of her cheek, and nuzzled the hollow of her throat. And all the while he did not move, allowing her to grow accustomed to the feel of him snug and full within her. The rending pain began to fade. As if he gauged her perfectly, he captured her lips with his. And as the kiss caught fire, he began to move, slowly at first, then faster and faster.

Again and again his rigid shaft pierced deep within her. But moments earlier she’d have thought it nigh impossible…Flames of excitement raced through her as his hips plunged almost frantically. Alana buried her face against his neck and clung to him blindly. All at once she was caught in the same wild frenzy. White-hot needles of sensation gathered tight, then suddenly exploded deep in her belly. She scarcely recognized the keening cry that burst from her throat.

Above her Merrick gave one last, desperate
lunge. His seed spilled hot and thick at the gate to her womb.

Minutes later, she still lay stunned and gasping as he slowly withdrew. He curled a possessive arm hard about her waist and brought her back against him, the curve of her back flush against the furry warmth of his chest.

The fire burned low. The night grew older. But Alana lay awake, staring into the darkness. An aching hurt enshrouded her heart.

He had beseeched her surrender—oh, and so sweetly!—yet what need was there? she reflected bitterly. This bold invader had conquered her people…and now her body. And aye, with pitiable ease…

He would not find her such an easy mark again.

A
s was his way, Merrick woke first the next morning. A tepid sunshine slanted through the shutters, bathing the chamber in a pale circlet of light. He did not rise, but let himself savor the sensation of soft, feminine warmth cuddled against his backside. At length, he shifted, reluctant to awaken his lovely bedmate.

Drawing back the furs, his gaze wandered at will, for he knew were she to waken he’d not be so indulged. She was deliciously naked and sleek, her skin pale and unblemished, the color of cream. Idly he picked up a strand of golden hair from the graceful slope of one gleaming shoulder. He rubbed it between his fingertips, marveling at the texture. He had a sudden vision of her above him, her hair a golden tangle around her shoulders. He imagined those silken tresses brushing the taut plane of his belly; then lower still, skimming his thighs as she slid down his body, her delectable lips parted and pink and moist, so very near his…

He gritted his teeth and fought a potent swell
of desire. The image provoked an immediate and rather visible effect, and though the urge bit deep to roll her to her back and plunge hard and deep within her furrowed heat, he did not. Indeed, the night had found him replete as never before. And, he decided dryly, he was as greedy as if he were a stripling lad who had just tumbled his first maid.

She would be sore, no doubt. Though he had tried, he had not been able to stave off the seething pulse of his desire the night through. In his arrogance, he’d managed to convince himself that once he lay with her, the web of fascination that so enthralled him would be no more.

’Twas hardly so.

The breath he drew was ragged, for the memory made him stiffen still further. Indeed, ’twas all he could do to allow her to sleep at all. Twice more he had taken her. And though he sought to rein in his passion, to make love to her with lingering ardor, she had been so tight, so incredibly tight around his swollen flesh. And the last time…

Ah, the last time. A primitive satisfaction welled within him. He trailed a finger over the delicate slope of her jaw. She had clutched at him, not in pain, but in pleasure. Oh, no doubt the stubborn wench would never admit to such. But he had pleased her, as she had pleased him…and pleased him mightily.

Bending his head, he pressed his mouth to the rounded, sleep-warm flare of her shoulder. When he raised his head, it was to dis
cover she was awake, her eyes locked upon his. The notion passed through his mind to discover how willing he might find her this morn…He cast it aside, for her gaze was wide and utterly wary. But seeing her so enticingly displayed in nothing at all served as a reminder…

In truth, Alana was stunned that he chose to leave her be. Oh, but she had dreaded the dawn of a new day. She wondered how she could ever bear to look at him without remembering all that he had done—all that she had allowed him to do!

She watched as he rose and stretched, granting her a thoroughly unhindered view of his sex, stark and bold and wantonly aroused. Her heartbeat stumbled. Her face flamed crimson.

She gave a silent prayer of thanksgiving when he washed and quickly dressed. But she was faintly puzzled when he went to his chests.

“Since your wardrobe was sadly lacking, Saxon, I brought these from London for you.” He proceeded to toss ell after ell of fine woven cloth across the bed. “And this as well.” He pitched a heavy woolen mantle atop the pile.

Alana sat up slowly, clutching the weaves to her breast. Overwhelmed, she could only stare, stunned at what Merrick had done. Unbidden, her hand crept out to touch the mantle—why, ’twas lined with fur!

“Well, Saxon?” Merrick watched her closely. “Does such effort warrant no word of thanks? Or would you scorn my generosity instead?”

Alana flushed, for his sarcasm was impossible to ignore. She bit her lip, wondering how she might say what was in her heart in such a way that he would not be offended.

“I—I am truly grateful,” she said at last. “Indeed”—a faint wistfulness flitted across her features—“I never thought to possess anything so grand as this.” Her fingers caressed the mantle’s fur. She swallowed, then forced herself to meet his gaze head-on. “But there is something I would have preferred more than worldly goods. Indeed, there is something I would ask of you now.”

Merrick’s eyes narrowed. He folded his arms across the breadth of his chest, both furious and amazed that she would shun his gifts. “And what is that, Saxon?”

He was angry. Alana could hear it in the tautness of his voice, but it was too late to back down now. “I ask that you grant me leave to visit Aubrey.”

The silence that followed stretched on forever. Alana finally braved a glance at his face only to wish she had not. His features were rigid, his eyes a veritable tempest.

“You are a fool,” he stated baldly, “to think I would even consider it.”

“He is an old man and I would merely see that he is well—”

“I have told you before, Saxon, he is being well cared for. You will accept my word.”

Alana cried her outrage. “And what if I do not?”

“You will.” He smiled, but it was a mere
travesty. His eyes, cold as a winter’s sea, rested upon her. “Now come, Saxon, wish me Godspeed that I might greet the day in good humor.”

He approached the bed and bent low. But Alana deliberately spurned the kiss he would have pressed upon her lips, wrenching her face aside.

Merrick straightened. “Ah, but I should have known. ’Tis the way of women to withhold their bodies as it pleases them, to bargain for what they do or do not want. But this will not lessen my desire, Saxon.”

Alana matched his cool stare with one of her own. “Indeed,” she stated icily. “Well, according to you, Norman, my body is not my own.”

“You are learning, Saxon.” An arrogant smile curled his lips. “That pleases me. That pleases me greatly.” With that he spun around and departed the chamber.

Alana’s nails dug into her palms. ’Twas only through sheer effort of will that she stopped herself from bursting into angry, bitter tears. Oh, but he was hateful! Yet in truth, little wonder that he was so well pleased with her—and with himself! Oh, if only she had not been so weak—and so foolish, for he had been right. She had been afraid of the unknown, of what he would do. And in her weakness he found his triumph, for he took from her all that he sought—and she had let him!

A furious resolve hardened in her breast. Not again, she vowed fiercely. Never again would she partake of pleasure at his hand. She
had surrendered once—
once
—but never again would he claim victory so easily.

Just then there came a knock upon the door. “My lord ordered us to fetch water for your bath,” called a servant. “He bade us hurry that it would not grow cold.”

It was on the tip of Alana’s tongue to refuse, for she was in no mood to countenance his edicts. But in the end she decided against it, and moments later she was heartily glad she had not. She winced a little as she lowered her bottom into the steaming waters, for she was decidedly tender there between her thighs.

She had just finished dressing when the door opened. Alana whirled, her heart leaping for she was certain it was Merrick—who else would enter unannounced? But it was only Sybil, who breezed into the chamber as if it were her own.

“Alana, I’ve come to retrive the needles you borrowed from Genevieve—” She stopped short when she spied the mound of cloth still heaped upon the bed. Her pretty mouth pinched together in a way that suddenly reminded Alana of Rowena, her mother. Without preamble, Sybil swept a hand toward the pile then whirled toward Alana.

“What is this?” she demanded.

Alana bit her lip. What might she say that Sybil would not be angry or jealous? There was nothing, she realized, and so she could only offer truth.

“Merrick brought it with him from London,” she murmured.

“For you, Alana?”

Her tone was petty and shrewish. Alana paused, then said lightly, “Oh, I’m sure ’tis meant for the both of us. Indeed, I would hardly know what to do with so many gowns.” She smiled slightly. “Father always said you were very skilled with the needle, and I am hardly so blessed. So please, Sybil, take what you will.”

Sybil’s eyes gleamed. “My thanks, Alana. I do believe I shall do just that.” With that she plucked four lengths of cloth from the pile, one a bold, vivid blue that Alana secretly thought just lovely…She scolded herself firmly. Envy was the curse of the devil, or so her mother had always said.

Sybil breezed through the door a moment later, arms laden with her selections. She had no sooner departed than Genevieve stepped within, an odd expression on her face.

“Alana,” she said, “I do believe Merrick meant the cloth for you alone.”

Alana started. She hadn’t realized Genevieve was near, but it appeared she had overheard the exchange with Sybil. She shook her head, then said softly, “I know. But in truth, she is no less in need of a new bliaud than I.” There was a small pause. “Sybil lost much when the Normans came. All her possessions. Both father
and
mother. It has not been easy for her to suddenly find herself a servant when all her life she has been a lady. And I would not begrudge my sister such small pleasures as she might find.”

For a moment an uncomfortable silence hung in the air. For a time she thought Genevieve might disagree, yet in the end, the other woman smiled. “’Tis rare to find one so unselfish as you, Alana.”

Alana flushed but said nothing. Genevieve was looking at her rather intensely, she realized. Shame flooded her, for all at once she had the feeling that Genevieve knew very well what had passed between herself and Merrick last eve.

But if she did, she did not speak of it. Instead she tipped her head to the side. “I came to see if you would accompany me to the village just south of here. The day is warm and clear for winter, and one of the maids told me of the village market in Fengate, and I should like to browse among the wares there. What do you say?”

Alana wasn’t certain that Merrick would approve, and that alone prompted her agreement. And indeed, a surge of defiance rose fast and swift when she and Genevieve arrived outside in the yard. Merrick was there with a group of his soldiers and a number of Saxon men who had taken a respite from their work on the palisade. His dark head swung around when he spied his sister and Alana. Alana stiffened when he immediately started toward them.

He addressed himself to his sister. “Did you need my assistance, Genevieve?”

“Why, no.” Genevieve smiled at him sweetly. “But since you are here, would you order a cart brought round? Alana and I have decided
to visit the village market in Fengate just south of here.”

Merrick scowled. “I have no time to escort you—”

“And we would not think to trouble you,” Genevieve said briskly. “If you could but spare one of the Saxons, a man who may be trusted to protect us and one who knows the countryside.” Alana nearly gasped when Genevieve pointed at Radburn. “That one,” she announced. “Is he a trustworthy man, Alana?”

Alana’s chin tipped high. All at once she knew a perverse satisfaction that for once Merrick might not have his say. “
Most
trustworthy,” she stressed clearly, knowing full well that Merrick’s expression had gone dark as a demon’s.

He gestured for Radburn to come forward. “I am not so convinced as my sister,” he said tightly, “but I will allow her to have her way in this. You will take these two to Fengate market and remain with them at all times. A warning, however—if you are ever to earn my trust, you must prove it, so were I you, I’d not consider this a chance to flee. And were I you, I’d make certain no harm comes to this pair.”

Alana held her breath, for all at once a sizzling tension charged the air. Radburn’s features were as stormy as Merrick’s and for one frozen instant she feared Radburn might lash out at the Norman. Instead he inclined his head, his lips twisting slightly as he said, “As you wish, my lord.”

Merrick gave him a long, slow look then strode away.

A short time later they were clambering onto the seat of the cart. Radburn took the reins, while Genevieve sat between him and Alana. As they left Brynwald behind, the skin at her nape prickled eerily. Unable to stop herself, she craned her neck and glanced back over her shoulder.

Merrick stared at them from near the entrance to the keep. Even from here, Alana keenly sensed his displeasure. Whether it was aimed at her, Genevieve, or Radburn, she didn’t know—in truth, perhaps ’twas all of them.

As the cart weaved down the rutted roadway, Genevieve made idle chatter, asking questions of both her and Radburn, occasionally chatting about her family. At first Radburn’s responses were subdued and restrained. Alana knew he was suspicious of the Norman widow. But Genevieve did not speak down to him as if he were a slave or even a servant, though ’twas obvious from his speech and manner that he was no common villein, despite his tattered and filthy clothing. Instead, Genevieve spoke to him as if he were an equal, and Alana’s admiration for her grew ever more. Indeed, Genevieve’s charm and frankness were such that before long the tautness had eased from Radburn’s shoulders.

Before she knew it, her own worries fled as well, at least for the moment. Though the air
was damp and cool, the sun was bright and the sky clear as a warm spring day.

In Fengate they wandered on foot down narrow, crooked streets of damp, packed earth, browsing through the various booths of spices, fabrics, and goods of every kind. Radburn trailed slightly behind them. Genevieve wrinkled her nose as they passed a pen of oxen but Alana merely laughed.

By late afternoon Alana’s stomach rumbled hungrily. At Genevieve’s insistence, the three shared a loaf of fresh-baked bread and a length of hot, spicy sausage. A short time later, her stomach comfortably full, Alana stood back as Genevieve haggled with a merchant over the price of an elegantly braided girdle of white and gold. At last Genevieve turned away, her face wreathed in smiles. She held up her prize with a squeal of joy.

“Oh, Alana, it’s lovely, is it not? It reminds me of one I had when I was just a girl—”