The Firebrand (31 page)

“This
will
change everything,” he warned again, cupping her face in his hands. He gazed steadily into her face until he was certain she was listening to what he was saying. “From now on, Adrianne…this is forever.”

He watched the haze of passion clear a little from the blue depths of her eyes. She nodded, and he entered her in one swift motion, penetrating her maidenhead.

Adrianne didn’t cry out as he had expected, but the digging of her fingernails into his shoulders told him that he had hurt her.

She was incredibly tight, and Wyntoun, buried deep within her, remained very still. He waited, pushing himself to the very limits of his endurance, straining to control his own body…a body on fire.

“You don’t appear to have enjoyed this mating as much as I enjoyed myself on the bluffs, Wyntoun.”

The laughter began deep in his belly and then rose to his chest. In a moment, the tears were rolling down his face, though he still tried hopelessly to remain motionless within her sweet center.

“You did not find me desirable.” She punched one shoulder as he continued to laugh, unable to speak. “I asked you to show me things...and I could have made it more pleasant for you. You have truly hurt my feelings this time, Wyntoun MacLean.”

Sobriety came quickly as she tried to push him off her body. Still smiling, he caught hold of the fists that were now pummeling him and raised them above her head, holding them captive with one massive hand. Her breasts, lifting high, beckoned to his mouth, but instead he gazed into the blue depths of her eyes and the pool of unhappy tears that were straining to spill free.

He kissed her cheeks, her nose, he claimed her mouth for a long moment as he withdrew slightly and again buried himself deep within her. When he lifted his head, her eyes were wide with a new wonder.

“We are not finished with our lovemaking yet, Adrianne.”

“Oh! But you stopped.”

“Only to allow time for the pain to go away. For you to get used to the feel of me.”

A deep blush crept into her cheeks, but he didn’t let her look away as he again claimed the softness and heat of her mouth.

A moment later, he felt her hips move slightly beneath his weight. Still fighting his control, he broke off the kiss.

“The pain has already gone away. And for future reference...” She gasped as he pulled back slightly and slid deep inside her again. “You...you might consider me to be a wee bit tougher than you imagine...oh, my!”

“Is that so?” he groaned, straining for control as she arched her back and writhed beneath him. Her eyes were now clouded over as again waves of passion started to take charge of her body.

All his discipline crumbled in one instant as he saw her lips part and the shuddering gasps begin again. He could hold back no longer. He withdrew to the very tip of his shaft and plunged into her again. Letting go of her hands, he reached under her, cupping her buttocks as her ankles instinctively hooked around his legs. He kissed her mouth hungrily as the rhythms of the love dance overtook all conscious thought. Again and again he slid out and rocked into her, accelerating with each succeeding stroke. Out and in, again and again, he drove into her as she writhed and pulled, arching and crying out.

And then it came, an explosion of passions. A brilliant, mind-shattering explosion that consumed them both in a glittering moment of oblivion. And in that moment, as their bodies melded into one, as the two of them simultaneously spiraled upward, a heaven was created…a golden place for them alone.

An eon later, as Wyntoun held Adrianne in his arms, he smiled at the sparrow eyeing them with cocked head from the stable rafters. He touched her hair and gazed at her bonny face. In his heart he could feel the bliss, the utter satisfaction of knowing that he was now forever bound to the loveliest and most giving woman ever born.

His smile faded. Now, if he could only halt the passage of time.

Restless, she paced across the chamber of her tower prison, listening for any sound that might indicate the knight’s return.

After the unexpected visit from Sir Henry, Nichola Percy had spent two days and nights brooding over what had passed between them. Mired in guilt, she had tossed and turned, paced and prayed. And then, as a black night sky had edged into the gray light of dawn, her mind had cleared and common sense had finally prevailed.

It had only been by chance that Nichola had discovered that the bar no longer secured the heavy oak door. That morning, her silent keeper had brought Nichola her breakfast. When she’d left, the prisoner realized that the bar had definitely not been replaced on the outside. Indeed, when Nichola had pushed open the door, she could see that no guards watched the stairwell leading down from her tower prison. Closing the door quietly, Nichola had endured one more unending day of solitude. And each time the old woman came and went, the door had remained unbarred.

Finally, as evening drew on, Nichola summoned enough courage to pass through the door, descending the winding stairs as her heart pounded in her chest. How far would she be allowed to stray? Perhaps, she thought, Sir Henry had decided to treat her more as a guest than a prisoner.

She was already standing before the door to Sir Henry’s study when she discovered the guard standing at the far end of the corridor. So much for her hopes of freedom, she thought, stopping dead in her tracks. The foot soldier stood by the stairwell at the far end of the corridor, staring into the fading twilight through the long, narrow window that opened out onto the castle courtyard below. He did not look up.

Nichola could not push herself to move forward, and she would not allow herself to retreat. She stood in silence for a long moment, and then turned and entered Sir Henry’s study.

As it was when the knight had first found her there, the chamber was empty. She looked about once again, taking in the worktable—now neat and tidy—the gold-fringed blue veil and the shield hanging on the wall, the settle before the fireplace. The room was comfortable, a small fire burning in the hearth.

What would she say to Sir Henry? Surely, he was simply waiting for her…waiting for an answer.

Her face burned with her own thoughts. She had done no wrong, Nichola told herself. She had been faithful to her husband and to her marriage vows for all the years she and Edmund had been together. She had done nothing to encourage Henry Exton’s attentions, then or now.

If their relationship had changed—as it obviously had—then
he
was the one to blame for initiating the change. Aye,
he
was the one to blame for the flurry of strange sensations that had plagued her, confused her, terrified her these past few days. He was the guilty one.

Nichola touched her mouth with her fingertips. Henry Exton had kissed her with a passion so startling that she could still feel the heat of his kiss on her lips. She fought down the butterflies stirring treacherously in her belly.

There were so many questions that had to be answered. Sir Henry’s words had been too filled with hints of impending danger, of how time was of the essence. If she could trust the words that he’d spoken, words that bespoke his great interest in her, then by the Virgin, she deserved some answers.

She forced herself to focus once again on her surroundings. They had to be in a holding of Sir Henry’s. In Northumberland, perhaps? She didn’t think so. Farther south? Probably not.

She sat down on the settle by the hearth but leaped up at the sound of voices in the corridor outside the chamber.

Henry Exton himself opened the door, and for an insane moment Nichola had difficulty controlling that fluttery thrill in her belly as she looked up into his handsome face.

“Lady Nichola.” His tone clearly conveyed his delight and his surprise. He paused by the open door for a moment, staring across the chamber at her.

As she hesitantly stepped forward, she noticed the presence of a cowled cleric in the doorway behind the knight. Although she did not know the priest, the look in his eyes told her that clearly
he
was cognizant of
her
identity. Her eyes flicked back questioningly to Sir Henry’s face, and he quickly turned to the priest.

Clasping her hands nervously before her, Nichola waited in the center of the room as the knight and the priest exchanged a few hushed words by the door. In a moment, the cleric disappeared into the corridor, and Sir Henry closed the chamber door.

As she watched the knight turn toward her, Nichola’s gaze dropped to her hands clasped before her. The room was glowing with a golden light from the fire burning in the hearth, and every detail of the chamber was suddenly sharp and distinct, from the curl of a vellum scroll on the desk, to her own shadow dancing on the carpet of woven rush on the floor before her. As she raised her eyes once again to her host, she wondered at the feeling of excitement that seemed to prickle along the skin of her arms and back.

He was watching her, but with none of the casualness that she’d hoped.

“Can I send for some food or some wine, m’lady?”

“Nay, Sir Henry. I am fine. I did not come here to be fed.”

As he took a step in her direction, she pretended not to notice and turned to move toward the veil and the shield, putting the desk between them. There was no denying it, though. As strange as her feelings were, as unfathomable as her body’s reactions were to his mere presence, being alone in the room with him was discomforting for her in a myriad of ways. Recalling his intentions now, she suddenly felt like the doe facing the hunter.

And yet, she reminded herself, she had come of her own accord.

“Whatever your reasons, Nichola, I am very glad you came.”

Her gaze fixed on his blue eyes, studying her with enough heat and passion to set a body and soul on fire. Nichola knew she had to speak now—and quickly—or there would be no hope for her salvation.

“Henry--” She cleared her throat and turned to him, her hands tightly clasped before her-- “I came here to seek some answers.”

“I told you before, there is very little that I can reveal to you.”

She shook her head and watched the knight cross to the hearth and stand with his back to it. “The questions I wish to ask you this day are different in nature than the ones I asked before.”

A dark brow arched slightly as Henry waited for her to continue.

“These questions have to do...have to do...with what you mentioned...in my chamber.”

“Questions about my proposal of marriage!”

She twisted her fingers together, trusting herself with only a quick glance at him. “I have given your words much thought...and there is so much of it...that I…that I do not understand.”

“Then ask.” His voice was quiet…even gentle.

Taking a deep breath, Nichola straightened her shoulders and looked across the room at him. “I ask you to put aside these present troubles for a moment.”

He nodded.

“I have known you for many years, Henry, as a trusted friend of my husband. Over the past two days, I have thought long and hard about how, if Edmund were in your place, how he might have acted in a similar situation…in a situation where his friend’s wife was being chased down…hunted...” She watched his expression. A cloud passed over his face, and she frowned. “Sir Henry, I want you to know, in no uncertain terms, that despite all the hardship…all the uncertainty…that I might face in this world, I shall
never
allow any man to take me as a wife out of pity…or out of chivalry…or even out of some warped sense of obligation!”

“Chivalry has never motivated my feelings for you, m’lady. Nor obligation. And certainly, Nichola, not pity.”

“Then what is it that motivates you?” she asked shortly. “I pray you, sir, to explain to me what ‘tis that you wish to gain by choosing me as your wife.”

“I thought I made my feelings clear the other morning.” He straightened to his full height and took a step toward her. “But I’d be happy to repeat…”

“Sir, keep your distance. I need to keep a clear head.” She raised a hand to the knight, signaling for him to remain where he was. “I ask you, Henry, to place yourself in my position and consider this…this confusion that has all but left me amazed.”

He didn’t speak at once. But as he stared at her, a smile began to soften the edges of the lines around his eyes.

“I am delighted,” he said finally in a gentle voice, “to hear of this confusion. But perhaps you should explain your doubts.”

Nichola closed her eyes for a moment before continuing. “Henry, you know better than anyone that after Edmund’s death became known, I was left with no land and no prospect of regaining it. My wealth is gone, and the king’s men are searching after me. I have no friends to come to my aid in the English court. No one would dare even to speak my name aloud in the king’s presence. None of that has changed.”

“I have no concerns about any such thing, m’lady.”

“Then
what
are you interested in, Sir Henry? I am not vain! I know that at my age of five and forty, I could hardly be called a beauty.” This time she didn’t dare to look up into his face. “And regarding what you, in your position, should truly be concerned about—with your own wealth and name—I have nothing to offer you. Henry, I am too old for bearing children. And that’s exactly what you
do
need, a young woman who can give you heirs.”

“Having no one to follow in my footsteps has been no torment to me these past years.”

“But it should concern you,” she scolded gently. “You are still too young, too handsome, not to contract a good marriage with someone more worthy than I…a lass much younger. In fact, I can perhaps be of service to you. Successful or not, I have been able at least to plan for potential marriages for each of my daughters. If you will allow me, I can certainly arrange something for you, as well.”

“Nichola, I will not be needing any bride finder!”

She frowned, somewhat disconcerted by the way his blue eyes glinted with humor. “Very well, then, do it yourself.”

“I am trying at this very moment to do just that.”

She started to back up as he moved closer to her. “Henry, I thought I clearly explained myself. I am not the wife that you should seek.”