Samantha James (43 page)

She wanted his heart, for she'd already given her own.

Suddenly she was trembling so that she could hardly stand, confused and frightened by all he made her feel. She swallowed miserably. "What would you have me say?" she whispered. " 'Tis the same for me. You know that, for I have known the touch of no man but you, despite what you think!" When he said nothing, merely continued watching her in that disturbingly piercing way he had, she cried out in weary despair, "Damn you, Guy, I— I do not know what you want from me!"

His expression seemed to tighten. "What do I want? All that you have to give—all that you refuse to give!"

His eyes tangled with hers, seeming to possess her, inside and out. The temptation was strong to give up the struggle within her and cry out that she loved him. But he took all from her—and still he demanded more. Nay! She could not surrender all to him, for she was desperately afraid of losing some vital part of herself, of being wholly in his power.

But when his lips captured hers, she could fight him no longer. She could no longer fight herself. She clung to him blindly as he lifted her and carried her to the bed.

Her gown was swept to the floor, swiftly followed by his tunic, braies, and chausses. To deny him was to deny her very self, for in spite of her fear and anger, she wanted him. She wanted him with a yearning desperation that seared her blood and a tempest that stormed the heart. Firelight played over the muscles of his shoulders, gleaming and bronzed, and in him, she discovered all that she sought. He was muscled and sinewed; he was beauty and strength, sleek and naked and gloriously hard as he lowered himself beside her.

He kissed her, his hands wandering at will, his tongue dueling with hers in a wild prelude of the act to come. He played with the tips of her breasts, tantalizing and arousing. A dark heavy warmth unfurled within her, centered low in her belly. Lightning sizzled through her when at last his mouth encompassed first one straining nipple and then the other. Her teeth dug into her lower hp as she bit back a cry of pleasure. And still he was not content.

He shifted suddenly. Te heel of his hand grazed the fleecy apex of her thighs. The muscles of her stomach quivered as that brazen mouth charted a forbidden pathway down over the newly concave hollow of her belly. His hands caught at her hips and her heart leaped to her throat. The heated trickle of his breath fanned lower still.

Her eyes flew wide. She gazed in stricken horror at that dark head poised between the cradle of her thighs.

"No," she whispered. "Oh, no . .."

Slowly he raised his head, his eyes fever-bright. "You are mine, Kathryn," he said thickly. "And before this night is over you will know it, too."

A dry sob escaped. She pushed frantically at his shoulders, but it was no use. He was as immovable as stone.

His breath caressed her first, warm and damp, like the first faint whispery wings of night. Her heart raced madly. Her entire body jerked when at last he found her heated core. He discovered the dark, tangy taste of her, the rasp of his tongue a divine torment. She shuddered, her fists twisting into the sheet as a piercing wave of pleasure crashed over her. The blood pounded in her ears so that she could scarcely think, and then she wasn't thinking at all. All she could do was feel. With lips and tongue he lured her into a whirlwind of pure sensation. Little whimpers of wanton splendor tore from her throat as he brought her to the brink of rapture.

She nearly cried out when he left her. But suddenly he was there above her, the velvet tip of his manhood poised at the heart of her. Her breasts rose and fell with each frenzied breath. She dug her fingers into his shoulders, trying to clutch him to her but he braced himself above her, his arms bulging.

"Christ, you're beautiful." His voice rushed past her ear, hoarse and strained, his eyes nearly black with the passion that seared his veins.

The look in his eyes robbed her of breath. Hot and possessive, it thrilled her to the tips of her toes. "Please," she whispered. "Oh, please .. ." The sound was no more than a wisp of air; it was a marvel she could speak at all. Her senses clamoring, she thrust up against him, seeking desperately to show him what she wanted.

He gave an odd little laugh and kissed her nose, her cheeks, her lips. "Easy, sweet," he muttered. "Or you will make me forget this is your first time since the babe."

Even as he spoke, he began to fuse their bodies. His penetration was slow, so agonizingly careful she thought she would go mad before his rigid length lay fully sheathed within her. But then there was only the glorious wonder of being filled with him again.

Shivers played along her spine as he began to move. His breath rushed past her ear, harsh and ragged. The tempo of his thrusts was at first slow and rhythmic, but the velvet clasp of her body around his splintered his self-control. He plunged deep, over and over, driving and lunging and mindlessly hungry. And when the spasms of release spun her away on a cloud of ecstasy, he gripped her hips and followed her to heaven's gate. With a guttural cry, he gave one final soul-shattering plunge, his seed flooding hot and honeyed within her.

Long moments passed before the throb of their heartbeats grew deep and even. Guy combed his fingers gently through the wild web of black silky hair tangled about them both. Easing to his side, he pressed Kathryn's face against his shoulder. His hand lay just beneath her breast, the hollow of her belly flush against the jutting ridge of his hip. She lay curled against him as if they had lain just so for the span of a lifetime.

Though the winds of passion brought the sweet satisfaction he craved, he could not stop the weary bleakness that slipped over him like a shroud. The peace his tormented mind sought was simply not to be, for he realized with stark painful clarity that while Kathryn's body had accepted him long, long ago, her heart was another matter.

Chapter 20

The day was unseasonably warm for spring.

The sun shone high and brilliant, bathing the valley in a glorious golden haze. A faint breeze carried with it the sweet scent of wildflowers.

Guy and Sir Michael had spent the afternoon hawking, though the enjoyment Guy usually gained from such sport was sorely lacking. He was restless, and even brooding.

He need not wonder why.

Two days. Two days had gone by since his return home from London. Egad, it seemed like a lifetime! And to think how he had driven himself and his destrier to a point near exhaustion, eager to hold his wife in his arms again, anxious to make amends to her, so very determined to set aright all that had gone wrong between them.

But he'd be damned if he'd give her his heart when she gave hers elsewhere!

"Michael." He spoke abruptly. "I would know what you think of Sir Roderick.

Michael's eyes flickered. Somehow Guy's question did not surprise him, since he was well aware of the dissension between his lord and lady. Nor was it difficult to attribute such to the presence of a young and handsome outsider. Michael surveyed his lady and the knight in question when he thought they did not see; Lady Kathryn eyed her husband with longing and distress, her heart plainly writ upon her sleeve. Michael heaved a silent sigh. Unfortunately, the earl had always been rather blind where his lady was concerned.

'To be sure," Michael said finally, "I can find little fault with Sir Roderick's behavior. He certainly seems an agreeable fellow."

Aye, Guy thought blackly, Sir Roderick was the perfect guest—his wife the perfect hostess. Roderick was charming and engagingly humorous despite his injury, Kathryn attentive and considerate of his every need.

Guy said nothing, merely stared moodily off into the distance.

Michael eyed him with a frown. "I have the feeling, milord," he said slowly, "you do not trust Sir Roderick."

"I cannot," Guy replied bluntly, "if for no other reason than that he was one of Richard's most trusted men."

"He pledged his oath to you," Michael reminded him. "And now Sir Hugh as well."

Guy's laugh was short and harsh. "A man will swear most anything when he fears death is his only other choice. And methinks Roderick's first loyalty is to himself—"

He broke off, suddenly twisting in his saddle, his gaze intent as he scanned the surrounding forest. The woodland animals went on about their chatter as if naught was amiss. Someone, he thought, was watching them—

The thought advanced no further. Nearby there was a whoosh of sound. Vaguely aware of Michael shouting, Guy threw himself low in his saddle, and only just in time, for an arrow whizzed by his head, so close he felt a hiss of air sting his cheek.

The thunder of hooves shook the earth. There was the sound of someone crashing through the underbrush.

Michael had already ripped his sword from his scabbard, his spurs digging into his mount as he took off toward a copse of trees. Guy whirled his destrier and quickly followed; the light of battle leaped in his eyes.

But it was no use. The assailant had plotted his retreat well; the two knights could not catch even a glimpse of him before he was lost amidst the shadowed woodland.

Back in the clearing, Sir Michael dismounted and strode to where the arrow had lodged in the trunk of a black oak tree. He heaved it free, spinning the narrow shaft between thumb and forefinger as he turned to Guy.

'This arrow," he said grimly, "was meant for you."

Murder. Someone had tried to murder him. The realization chilled Guy's blood, but he cautioned Michael to silence when they returned to Sedgewick.

He did not question the loyalty of any of his men. But Roderick... now there was a possibility, a very good possibility indeed...

Guy's mood was guarded, his expression granite- hard as the evening progressed. His gaze followed Kathryn as she moved about the great hall. The sheen of firelight gilded the arch of her throat as she tilted her head and smiled at something Gerda said. Her form, clad in crimson velvet, was soft and lush and newly slim.

His mouth compressed. It was little wonder that Roderick—indeed, every man in the hall tonight, including himself—could scarce take his eyes off her. She was all that a man could desire—fierce yet gentle, vibrant and spirited, alive and alluring.

With a scowl he turned aside, and still her picture rose high in his mind. He envisioned the flawless perfection of her skin, her elegantly sculpted features, winged black brows and lips as tempting and dewy as succulent summer berries. And he remembered the feel of her slim hands entwined with his own, the way her hips churned wildly beneath his in the heat of midnight fires.

A surge of possessiveness shot through him. He had wed her, made her his lady in name and indeed. He had gained all that he sought—he had bound her to him in every way possible.

And then he heard her laugh, the sound lilting and musical. But that sweet sound did not bring solace to the bleakness etched in his soul. For she did not laugh for him, but for another.

Someone pressed ale into his hand. He accepted it blindly, all the while simmering inside, jealous and furious. He despised himself as weak for the pain that so controlled him, yet he was unable to banish it.

He felt like an intruder—and in his own home yet!

He turned burning eyes to Roderick, who had settled himself on the bench across from Kathryn. The blackguard! Guy thought fiercely. He eats my food. He drinks my wine. And does he also help himself to my wife? He watched Kathryn throw back her head and laugh again. She was cool and reserved and distant tonight—but there was a spark within her she chose not to reveal to him.

Guy could not prevent the bitterness that seeped inside him, nor the sudden doubts that crowded his mind. Did she still long for Ashbury? Did she regret the circumstances which had brought her into his arm? And into his bed? Of a certainty she found passion there—but she had never claimed to love him. Mayhap because she still loved Roderick? Had the two of them hatched the plan to kill him—did they even now plot his downfall?

She turned suddenly—and caught his eye. Her smile continued to dally about her lips . .. lips that ever lied and deceived.

With a lift of that dainty chin, she turned back to Roderick.

To Guy, it was like a slap in the face. His ire burst into flames. He swore furiously. By all the saints! He'd not stand by and watch her make a fool of him!

He rose and moved to the end of the table where the pair that so tormented him still sat. At his approach, all conversation ceased. Two pair of eyes fixed upon him, polite but questioning.

Again he felt the outsider.

"Sir Roderick," he said coolly, "how fares your wound this eve?"

"My leg fares well, indeed, thanks to Gerda's ministrations." His eyes warmed as he glanced at Kathryn. "And Kathryn, of course."

"How fortunate it heals so well and so quickly," Guy murmured with an easy smile. He laid a hand on Kathryn's shoulder. "Especially since I'm sure you and your men are anxious to be on your way with all due haste."

Beneath his fingers, Kathryn stiffened. Roderick appeared first startled, then rather uncertain.

"And now," Guy went on lightly, "I fear I must rob you of the pleasure of my wife's company." He lifted Kathryn from the bench and pulled her back against his chest, letting his fingers splay possessively across her belly.