The Countess (15 page)

Nay, she wanted to
feel
. Duncan seemed intent on ensuring she did precisely that. The lace at the neck of her kirtle was already loosed, the tie of her chemise similarly undone. Eglantine shivered as Duncan pushed the unwelcome cloth aside, exposing her breasts to the cool air. She saw heat flicker in his eyes and felt a surge of nigh-forgotten feminine pride.

Then his lips closed over her nipple and she forgot all but sensation. His tongue flicked the peak, urging it to tighten further, his touch sending a surge of heat straight to her toes. The warmth of his hand closed over her knee and eased over her garter, the touch of his palm upon her bare thigh more delicious than she could have believed.

Eglantine's heart was thundering, her mouth was dry. She wanted as she had never wanted before. She pushed her hands into the thickness of Duncan's unruly hair, letting the thick waves wrap around her fingers. She gripped the back of his neck as his teeth grazed her nipple and arched against his strength, wanting only more.

His questing hand slipped through the hair at the top of her thighs as he lifted his head and met her gaze. His fingers parted her, his hand landing with a surety that made her jump. And he smiled at the wetness he found.

“Tell me what you desire, Eglantine,” he whispered, his eyes gleaming as his fingers worked. Eglantine writhed, certain she had never burned with a lust of such vigor before. She gripped his shoulders, her nails digging deep, her nipples taut. His hand closed around her waist possessively, his lips grazed her chin, her earlobe. “Tell me,” he urged.

“You know the truth of it.”

She felt his smile against her flesh and nigh swooned when he licked her earlobe. “Aye, I could guess, but I would have the tale from your lips.” His tongue rolled in her ear, his persuasive fingers made her moan. “Tell me, Eglantine.”

“I want pleasure.”

Duncan chuckled, his breath warm against her neck. “No more than that?” He rolled his hips against her, letting her feel the fullness of his erection. “How would you be pleasured, Eglantine?”

“'Tis vulgar to converse in this moment,” she charged, breathlessness stealing any indignation from her tone.

Duncan laughed and drew back to watch her. “But I am a barbarian, am I not?” He had that unpredictable look about him, but Eglantine only had a moment to recognize the fact of it before his heat was suddenly gone.

He slid beneath her skirts, cupped her buttocks in his hands and closed his mouth over her.

Eglantine moaned, powerless to keep silent, and lifted herself against him like a wanton. She had never felt such an intimate kiss—and she did not want it to cease anytime soon.

Duncan's tongue rolled against her, exploring, teasing, coaxing her ardor to a crescendo. He held her fast in those great strong hands, though Eglantine writhed and twisted. She felt the brush of his teeth, his nose, the roughness of the whiskers on his chin, but all served only to further enflame her.

And his tongue, oh, his tongue had a wicked skill.

Her desire rose to heights previously unscaled, there was an inferno blazing unchecked beneath her flesh, and her hips began to buck of their own accord. She gripped the breadth of Duncan's shoulders and heard herself cry out as pleasure washed over her in a sudden wave.

Before she could catch her breath, he was crawling over her, his eyes burning with his own desire. He laced his fingers through hers and stretched her arms over her head, bending to suckle her breast anew. Eglantine found herself moaning, her fingers gripping his tightly as her desire roared once more. He sampled one breast then the other, gazing upon her with satisfaction when the nipples were drawn to peaks.

Then his gaze locked with hers and his weight settled between her thighs. She caught her breath at the size of him, the hardness of him, pressed against her, and she wanted.

“Your eyes are telling tales again. Eglantine,” he murmured, with no small measure of pride. He smiled and rolled his hips against her. “But tell me what you desire.”

“You,” she whispered before she could stop herself.

Duncan arched his dark brow, tempting her to surprise him in turn.

“You, your heat inside me, filling me as none other has ever done,” she declared, her pulse racing at her own boldness. “Take me, Duncan, and please me again while I am wrapped around you.”

His eyes flashed as he bent to kiss her and nigh devoured her in his urgency. He caught her hands in one of his now, his other hand fairly tearing cloth in his haste to have it out of the way. Eglantine returned his kiss hungrily, greedily, barely aware of the bareness of her thighs before he was atop her again. She felt the rough tickle of the hair upon his legs, then parted her own, arching against him as she offered what they both desired.

He eased within her, filling her completely. He gave a ragged sigh, his gaze dark as it locked with her own. “Eglantine,” he whispered, the single word filled with wonder. His fingertips eased the hair from her brow, his erection swelled within her.

And Eglantine felt more powerful than she had in all her days and nights. This man who had granted her pleasure fit to melt her bones, this rough man who could seize any trinket he desired, wanted a gift of pleasure that only she could give. She smiled and lifted her hips against him in silent demand.

He grinned, his teeth flashing suddenly. “Do you not ask what I want?”

Eglantine chuckled despite herself. “I know what you want.”

But Duncan's eyes filled with mischief. “Do you?”

Eglantine considered him for a moment, then decided to indulge him. She gripped the back of his neck and drew him closer, deliberately echoing his pose and question. “Tell me what you desire, Duncan,” she whispered, then flicked her tongue across his ear.

He shivered in a most satisfactory fashion and eased deeper within her. “Pleasure,” he acknowledged, his voice strained.

Eglantine slipped her hands beneath his chemise, liking the smooth heat of his flesh beneath her hands. “What else?” she demanded, nipping the corded strength of his neck with her teeth. “Tell me.”

Duncan began to move, his rhythm coaxing the embers of Eglantine's own desire to burn anew. When he looked at her, his eyes had darkened to the hue of slate.

“Your eyes tell tales,” she teased, then ran a possessive hand through his hair. “Tell me what you desire, Duncan.”

His eyes flashed and he gripped her buttocks tightly once more. “You,” he declared. “And you know it well, my lady Eglantine. I want you wrapped around me, I want to scream with your release. I would have you claw my back and fair devour me. I would have you sated in my embrace.”

He eased within her to the hilt, his shoulders trembling with the force of his control. He watched her closely, as though he feared he had moved too deep too fast—though Eglantine gasped at the size of him, his heat was welcome indeed. “And I would have you sate me, in turn.”

Eglantine smiled up at him and watched relief filter into his expression. She reached up, pushed an errant curl from his brow, and framed his face in her hands. “I want all you have to give,” she whispered, liking the flame that lit in his eyes. “And Duncan, I want it now.”

He laughed suddenly, as though she had surprised him, then braced himself over her on his elbows. He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her with new intensity even as he moved within her. And Eglantine writhed anew, loving the heat of him within her, the weight of his hand upon her breast, the fervor of his kisses.

“I want you and I to find pleasure together,” Duncan whispered against her temple. His hand slipped between them, his thumb seeking the bead of her desire and soon Eglantine arched against him once more. She could feel him shaking with the effort of pacing himself and was touched beyond all else at his concern.

Then again, his touch obliterated all thought. Eglantine rose against him, she gripped his shoulders, she writhed and moaned. She nipped at his neck with her teeth and twined her legs around his waist, bucking against him in silent demand.

Duncan moaned, he moved with increasing speed, he held her fast. 'Twas a ride unlike any other Eglantine had shared and truly, she did not recognize her own unrestrained response. But it felt absolutely right. They moved together as though they had loved a thousand nights before. Their gazes locked and Eglantine watched the storm gather in Duncan's eyes. She saw the heat rise in him and felt an answering heat within herself. He drove deeper and moved faster, she twisted against him and moaned aloud.

And a heartbeat later, they crested the peak as one. Her breath caught as her name slipped over Duncan's lips.

“Mine,” he whispered against her throat, he rained kisses along her throat. “Eglantine is all mine.”

Far from arguing with the possessive claim, Eglantine found curious pleasure in it. She closed her eyes and fell back, holding Duncan fast against her chest, the thunder of his pulse indistinguishable from her own. She smiled at the realization that she was warm to her toes for the first time in months.

Then she found the wits to wonder what she had done. Eglantine stared at his dark hair curled between her fingers, felt his breath upon her throat and stared at the marks of her teeth upon his flesh. Horror coiled cold in her belly.

What manner of savage had she become?

D
uncan had tasted paradise and was loath to move. Indeed, he could have fallen asleep readily here, cosseted in Eglantine's soft fur-lined cloak and her even softer embrace. His eyes drifted closed, he breathed deeply of the perfume of her flesh and he let himself ease toward slumber.

Eglantine, however, had markedly different ideas.

“Get up,” she said abruptly, her words more crisp than Duncan might have thought appropriate. He frowned and snuggled deeper.

Aye, the woman was softer than silk and her hair smelled like flowers in summer sunlight. He smiled against her flesh, his lips finding the ripe curve of her breast. He kissed her, cupping her fullness in his hand, then licked the tightening nipple.

Another mating of the ilk of that first one would not be all bad, to Duncan's thinking.

But Eglantine shoved his shoulder and made a growl of frustration. “Get up and get off of me.”

This was the woman with whom he had just shared such pleasure? Duncan could not believe his ears. He pushed his weight to his elbows and regarded her warily.

She looked like the woman who had pulled him closer. Her hair was a tousle the hue of wild honey, her cheeks were flushed and her lips were ruddy.

Her words though were harsh.

“Off!” she insisted, squirming in a way that did naught to encourage him to leave. She glared at him, those green eyes snapping with something other than passion. “'Tis time enough you departed—and make no mistake, you will not be welcomed within my camp again.”

Duncan felt his eyes narrow, and he did not move. “Forgive me, but did you see another woman in this chapel? I could have sworn the woman in my embrace found sufficient pleasure that she would not be in any haste to see me gone.”

If Eglantine's cheeks had been flushed before, now they burned scarlet. “The
wanton
in your embrace is what you mean. The woman so lacking in moral fiber that she could not turn you aside. She turns you aside now!” She moved her knee in a very definite and unwelcome fashion.

For the sake of personal protection, Duncan rolled away, then stood. He was not, however, prepared to leave.

Not without an explanation.

Eglantine hauled down her skirts and laced her bodice with shaking fingers, hastening to stand as well. She granted him a wide berth and marched out into the thin sunlight, leaving him glowering behind her.

“What nonsense is this?” he demanded impatiently. “You were pleased, I ensured as much.”

“Aye, and so were you!” She turned to face him, her gaze flicking over his disheveled garb before she averted her face. Duncan realized his chest was nigh bare and his tartan less than well wrapped, but did not care.

There were more important issues to be resolved.

“I did not argue the truth of it. We both were pleased, or so I believed.” He stepped after her, intending to cajole her with his touch.

But Eglantine danced away. Her gaze met his in challenge.

“What game is this?” he asked with a frown. “'Twas you who said you desired me within you, was it not? 'Twas you who wished to be filled with my heat.”

Though he might not have believed it possible, her cheeks turned yet a deeper red. “But a month among barbarians and I become one as well! What does this place do to civilized souls?”

She was embarrassed at her own passion, no more than that. Duncan heaved a sigh of relief. Fortunately, he shared no similar qualms. He had heard tales of women regretting their passion, though he would never have expected Eglantine to be so shy.

Duncan smiled, and took a step closer, disliking how the lady still shrank from his touch. “This place awakens our true nature,” he suggested, then ran one finger down her arm. “It grants all souls the chance to display their true colors, to wear their passion, to be honest with one another.”

Eglantine shivered so elaborately that he suspected her show of distaste was feigned. “It makes barbarians of us all. You have wrought a barbarian of me.” She grimaced, her gaze flicking to the chapel, then away. “Truly, dogs show more restraint in satisfying their desires.”

“And of what value is restraint?” Duncan demanded. He caught her shoulders in his hands before she could step away. She trembled in his grip, but did not flinch. “What possible evil is there in what we just shared, Eglantine? We desired each other, we confessed as much, and we chose to indulge that desire. 'Tis healthy.”

Now her eyes flashed in truth. “Healthy? 'Tis
savage
! 'Tis undisciplined and unrestrained and...”

“And satisfying beyond all else.” Duncan bent and kissed her quickly, but she put her hands on his chest and pushed him away.

“And now you would make yourself a place in my bed. Once granted, you assume my favors are yours to sample whensoever you desire. You are wrong, Duncan MacLaren, you are wrong in this.” She shook her head angrily. “I may have faltered once, but I shall not do so again. I swear it upon the grave of my father and his father before him. I am not wrought of weak fiber and I will not become a woman prey to every desire, like a straw cast into the wind. I will not become a savage, a...”

“A barbarian,” he supplied, much less amused than he had been before.

The lady lifted her chin. “'Tis you who name it aright. Now leave me be.” She folded her arms across her chest and glared at him. “For good.”

But Duncan caught the lady's chin and cupped its softness in his hand. He could feel her trembling, though whether 'twas with anger or fear, he could not say.

And he would not guess, lest he guess wrongly. Nay, Duncan had no taste for a woman's fear. “I will leave you on this day, Eglantine. Your arguments have a rare gift for irking me—if I lingered, I would shout and no doubt matters would be twisted yet worse than they are now.”

Her lips tightened as she stared at him, and Duncan felt that ire rise. “But I will not leave you be for good, for what we shared was finer than fine and I know that I will not be alone in yearning for another taste of such sweetness.”

“'Twill not happen again.”

“'Twill happen again,” Duncan corrected. “On that you may rely.” He hauled her close, wrapped his arms around her. “Mark my words, Eglantine, 'twill be you who invites me to your bed again,” he whispered, then kissed her thoroughly, regretting with all his heart that this sweet encounter had ended so poorly. Aye, he was shaken to his toes and ill prepared to match wits with this beguiling woman.

He was stunned when he lifted his head to find her wondrous eyes filled with tears.

“Truly, it could be said that I have naught to lose, for I am a shy virgin no longer.” Her voice was low and hot, her gaze burning. “I have been loved and I have been claimed and I have even come to love in return.”

Eglantine's lips set and her eyes glittered with those unshed tears that Duncan knew she would never let fall. “You could take what you desired of me, and 'tis clear enough that mine own weakness would betray me. But I will not willingly cede the only thing that is truly mine.” She raised a fist to her heart. “Aye or nay remains with me alone.”

Duncan stared down at her, astonished by her confession and understanding her response a bit better. He recalled now those two men in her life and wondered which of them had forced her, which had stolen her right to decline his attentions. “You have never been wooed,” he suggested quietly.

Eglantine laughed without humor, her gaze suddenly hard. “Men do not woo what is theirs to take.”

Anger shot through Duncan that she would consider all men to be of the same ilk of the one rogue who had served her poorly. “Perhaps some men do not, but a man of merit does woo the woman he intends to keep,” he declared hotly. “When I see fit to woo a woman, 'twill be the one who so captures my heart that I would keep her by my side for all my days and nights.”

He glared at a delightfully disheveled Eglantine. “And that partnership will be wrought of mutual consent and naught more than that. You may call a show of passion savage, but I call it honest, and in truth, I will be happy with naught less.”

And without waiting for her reply, he strode across the chapel and marched back toward his steed.

He waited for Eglantine to mount and returned to the camp with her though he kept his distance and left her in silence once there.

Indeed, he did not trust himself to speak with any measure of temperance.

* * *

Eglantine was worried.

The camp had quieted to the muted sounds of the final labor of the day, the villeins' voices had fallen to whispers, the sea lapped rhythmically against the shore. Half a dozen villeins huddled around the glowing embers of the fire, laughing and sharing gossip. The sky was awash in a thousand rich hues, as though the sun had indiscriminately smeared every hue in the rainbow across the sky before dipping beyond the blackness of the sea.

But Eglantine hesitated outside the silk shimmer of her tent, deaf to all but the chortle and splash of Esmeraude inside as Célie bathed her before bed. There would be no respite from her duty this night.

Yet she was poorly prepared to face Esmeraude's iron will. She had spent the better part of the day cloistered in her tent, haranguing herself for her own weakness and wishing she could undo what she had done. She felt jangled as she never was, unsettled and on edge, and she knew 'twas because of Duncan.

Beneath his touch, she became another woman, a woman who surrendered to desire and passion, a woman unlike the woman she knew herself to be. Was she not widely reputed to be a woman of rare composure? Dispassionate? Aye, she had heard the tales that Theobald had thawed the maiden of Crevy. Though once she had thought she loved that man, Eglantine had never begged Theobald to fill her with his heat.

His touch had been less loathsome than that of Robert, but mating was hardly an event she anxiously sought. It could have its pleasures, though they were not consistently won.

And they had been so shattering as the pleasure she had found this day with Duncan.

As though that was not disconcerting enough, Eglantine yearned for more. She wanted to loose that passionate side of herself again, to touch Duncan again, to surrender to sensation again.

And now, she faced another challenge that could be avoided no longer.

Esmeraude.

The child's goodwill would not be readily won. Nay, Esmeraude had always known her own mind and had no qualms expressing her opinions from the first morn she saw daylight. Esmeraude was a child of extremes, wrought of sunlight and storm—Esmeraude was alternately so charming as to be angelic and so temperamental that she might have been the spawn of demons. Worse, she had been so very close to Theobald.

Like to like, Eglantine supposed. The startling thing about Esmeraude was that her smile tempted even the most beleaguered soul to forgive all her transgressions.

Her father's child indeed. Eglantine knew she would never understand the forces that flowed through her youngest, just as she had never fully understood Theobald. But he had called Eglantine his rock in a turbulent sea—perhaps she could be the same to Esmeraude.

And truly, she had more understanding of passion since coming to this place than ever in her days.

Eglantine thanked the scullery maid who brought her the cup of warmed goat milk and heaved a sigh, knowing the moment could be delayed no longer. Incremental progress would be enough to satisfy on this night of nights. Esmeraude would be tired, after all, and likely to be troublesome. Eglantine took a deep breath and gripped the cup.

“She shall adore you upon sight, my lady.” The girl whose presence Eglantine had forgotten offered an encouraging smile.

Eglantine smiled at this endorsement, though she did not share the girl's optimism. “I thank you again.” The girl bowed and ducked into the shadows of the night.

Eglantine fingered her chemise, wondering in hindsight whether it made sense to approach Esmeraude in simpler garb. She had thought she might seem less imposing in her chemise, with her hair unbound, though in this moment she doubted all her choices.

But delay would win her naught.

Eglantine lifted her chin, cast one glance over her shoulder and froze. A man stood not twenty paces from her, beyond the circle of the tents, yet silhouetted by the sunset, his arms folded across his chest. Her heart thumped in recognition. Though he was wreathed in shadows, Eglantine had no doubt that he watched her.

She similarly had no doubt that 'twas Duncan. The sentry hovered nearby, disapproving, but Duncan came no closer.

He neither moved nor spoke, simply watched. 'Twas as though he could not stay away from her, though she knew that was whimsy.

He but wanted more, as men wanted more.

As she wanted more. Eglantine's mouth went dry. 'Twas as though Duncan would remind her of his presence, as though he did not guess how large he loomed in her thoughts, as though he would compel her to abandon the sanctuary of the camp and speak to him again.

But even now, Duncan looked resolute, dangerous, and unpredictable. The way his features were wreathed in shadow did naught to dispel that impression that he too was beyond comprehension—as Theobald had been. Eglantine knew the risk of approaching him, knew her own response was but tentatively contained.

Yet an errant part of her yearned to join him, to repeat their deed of earlier this day, to confirm his touch was like that of no other. She shook her head. No doubt, that was what he wanted of her. Just as she told her daughters, a man come without a ring desired but one thing.

Eglantine had never imagined that she would be one to surrender it, much less that she would do so with such abandon.

When Eglantine might have turned her back upon him, Duncan lifted a hand in silent salute. She had a sudden sense that he would merely hearten her for the task ahead. Eglantine caught her breath, snared by his watchfulness. How could he know how uncertain she was?