Chapter 12

I T WAS LATER, MUCH later, when he dared to return to the cottage.

By then, the fire had burned low within the hearth. The room was cast in almost complete darkness and shadow.

He strode over to the pallet. She was there, lying upon it. He could easily see the white of the robe, but in the darkness he had to come close to see her face. She lay within a tangle of her hair and the robe, as if she had tossed and turned a great deal already. The material had fallen away from her long legs, and the sculpted forms of her calves and her small slim feet were just visible. She seemed to sleep very deeply.

With a sigh he lifted the helmet with its attacked mail visor and set it upon the table. He rubbed his hands through his thick dark hair, stripped off his tunic and shirt, then sat to remove his boots. It was very late. He prayed that he could get some sleep.

He lay down beside her. He was barely stretched out there more than two minutes before he knew he was a fool. He would have a better rest if he slept on a rock outside!

Comfort, bah! There was no comfort beside her!

He started to rise, but before he could do so, she suddenly bolted up beside him. An anguished scream tore from her lips. "Jesu!" he cried out, putting his arms around her, pulling her back down beside him.

"Katherine, you're dreaming again!"

Her eyes were open. They were wild. He was certain that she did not see him at first, not that she could have seen more than a shape in the dark anyway. "Kat, Kat! It was a dream!"

She shuddered and turned to him, burying her face against his shoulder. He smoothed back her hair. "It's the wine," she moaned. "I drank too much wine. Not enough to elude you, and too much to sleep at all well."

She pushed away from him suddenly. She tried to open her eyes, tried to focus on him. He realized then that she had imbibed a really good quantity of wine in her pursuit of escape, and that now—with the dream leaving her—it was having a mellowing effect on her.

He suddenly felt her hand on his cheek. "Who are you?" she whispered. She was trying to see him. Too late. Her eyelashes were fluttering.

But her fingers were warm. Their caress was seductive.

He caught them. "No one …"

She shuddered fiercely. "The dream is horrible. De la Ville is so real in it! Tonight the Prince was there, too. I keep trying to believe that he isn't evil. But there's something about him. And the stories I hear …" Once again, a shudder ripped through her.

"When you marry Montjoy—"

"Montjoy is one of them!" she said fiercely.

He sighed, catching her hand. "My lady—"

"It's so awful. I'm running and then I know that I'm caught. And then—" She broke off, groaning, and turned against his shoulder once again.

He touched her cheek, touched her hair and smoothed it back. His lips brushed her hair, and her forehead, and fell against her earlobe. "It's all right. It's nothing but a dream."

Her face twisted to his. He wanted to kiss her in the darkness. Taste her lips without the mail between them.

His mouth found hers. Lightly. So lightly. Touched on it and molded to it. Parted, and parted hers beneath it, savoring her, exploring her.

And all the while …

Explosive things found root within his body. In his limbs, and in his loins. His arms wrapped around her. He had to touch her. More and more of her. Her fingers were shaking as he began to stroke her throat, to thrust the material from her collarbone.

To plant his lips there.

She inhaled sharply, and twisted within his hold. The supple form of her body touched him and seduced him in a way she might never have planned.

At his bidding the ties fell free from the robe and it was parted completely, baring all of her to him. Thought was gone. The desire that had eaten at him, torn at him, tormented him throughout the long day—nay, since the moment he had taken her!—surged forth to rule supreme. He rose, trying to see her face. He saw the spark of the eyes in the darkness that joined them, saw just the contours of her face. Saw her lips, glistening in what dim light they had with the moisture left from his last kiss.

His mouth lowered to hers once again. He tasted the richness of the wine they had shared, tasted the sweetness of the honey that was hers. This touch was not so gentle. Now his was a forceful kiss, one that demanded she yield, that there was more than that, for he seduced, wanting what was good and sweet, and not what could just be taken. Even in the dark desire that knew no bounds, he would have her acquiescence. His mouth molded over hers. His tongue teased her lips, worked its way past her teeth, caressed her mouth, played with her tongue. Her heart lay beneath his hand. Beating. So hard. He kissed her and kissed her, allowing his hand to move. Stroking her flesh, touching her breast, his thumb rubbing over the peak of her nipple.

Soft, muted sounds rumbled from her throat, in protest or in agreement, he did not know. Nor by that point could he really care. Her hands were upon his shoulder and chest, her fingers rubbing the taut muscles of his flesh. It had been her game. Time and time again she had been willing to play it. And now the game had commenced.

His face rose above hers. He trembled with the force it took him to move away from her. He tried to read her eyes in the darkness, yet the night that protected him also shielded her from him.

He did not want this! She was to be his wife, and his temper would forever flame at what she had done.

Ah, but his temper flamed already at her willingness to do it!

And he did want this. Wanted it with every painful, throbbing sensation in his highly aroused body. Aye, he wanted this …

"It's tease and taunt no longer!" he warned her, his tone husky, shaking with both anger and desire.

He felt her trembling in turn. Was she afraid?

Of him? Of Montjoy?

"If you are afraid—"

"Never afraid!" she whispered back. Her words were so soft. Slightly slurred. Bravado? The sweetness of the wine talking?

"So you would give—anything?"

"So you would ask—everything?" she returned, and a curious smile curled her lips. "You're the Silver Sword, champion of justice. A kiss, sir, I freely give!"

"A kiss, lady! I've warned you, Katherine, you value yourself too highly!"

"Do I truly? Perhaps my kiss should be worthwhile, more reward than you might imagine!" Her arms were suddenly around him. Her fingers delicately played upon his naked chest.

Her lips touched his. The tiny wet point of her tongue suddenly moved, around them, licking them deliciously.

Tantalized.

She practiced her power on him, he thought, and he drew from her, though every fiber of his being demanded that he not. A kiss. A kiss she meant to give. How much more? "So you think to play and tease!" he whispered, his mouth so close to hers. Oh, she did tremble! Her flesh seemed nearly as hot as his own. That web of golden hair was around them, soft as fur, entwining them. There had never been a more beautiful or more desirable woman, even though the darkness shielded most of her from sight. Perhaps she knew it. Perhaps she was certain of her power. Perhaps she did not know quite with what she played.

Or perhaps she did know.

"Be certain!" he warned. "You are not afraid of me—or Montjoy?"

Did she, in truth, tremble fiercely then in the darkness? There were too many tricks of shadow and ebony in this room!

"I am not afraid of Montjoy!" she cried out.

And that was it for him. His anger and the feel of her beneath him seemed to explode into something together. Hunger smashed through his body, hardening the whole of it into knots. His hand fell upon her cheek, and he held her face as he kissed her again. With all his strength he tried to lessen the brutal impact of his sudden hunger, though he knew not why. Somewhere inside him he wanted to hurt her. And somewhere else inside him, he did not. His passion barely tempered then, he kissed her.

And kissed her. And did so with such demand that she was drawn into the kiss. Lips parting to his again and again as his mouth touched hers, rose just slightly, found it again. Devouring. His kisses rained down over her forehead, her cheeks, touched her eyes. Moved to her throat. Found the pulse there, massaged, caressed, demanded. And then his onslaught eased, and he used just the tip of his tongue to follow a trail down the length of her body, teasing just the side of one breast and then the other. Then he held her taut, hands on her hips, and closed his mouth on the peak of her left breast. Nuzzled it hard, tormented it with his tongue, encircling it again and again, then sweeping it deeper and deeper into his mouth, sucking seductively, and with that same hell-bent hunger. And all beneath him he could feel the vibrance of her body. Feel its quivering, as taut and as expectant as a bowstring. Sounds escaped her once again, soft cries. A thunder entered into him. A sure pounding. A pulse that beat against the shaft of his desire, and throughout the length of him. The taste of her breast, the supple movement of her body beneath him, inflamed him.

A great, sweeping shudder streaked throughout her as he kissed and touched her, his hand roving over her hip, then coming curtly and boldly between her thighs. He touched the tightly ringed curls there and she gasped. He gave no quarter, thrusting, probing, rubbing intimately.

With a cry she rose against him. He pressed her back firmly into the furs, his legs straddled over her, his weight a force against her. He met her eyes. Caught her lips again with his kiss. Then he lifted his face from hers, and she was still, her eyes closed. He lowered his body against hers. Pressed his mouth hard against her belly, then caressed the soft flesh there with his tongue. He lowered himself still further against her, fingers touching the soft, intimate petals of sex, his kiss lowering blatantly, determinedly there, the wet heat of his tongue sweeping and bathing and seducing with raw and relentless desire.

She was suddenly a swirl of protest against him, trying to rise, trying to twist. He caught hold of her hands and held them tight. The twist and writhe of her body brought her more fully against his mouth, and he probed more deeply with the thrust of his tongue. She cried out, trying to deny him. It was far too late. The very subtle but completely feminine scent of her sex surrounded him. The taste of her body filled him. The tension within him was harder than any steel, and in this moment of intimacy between them, he had claimed her in a way that she would never understand. Perhaps he would never understand it himself. The darkness, the night, the wind, all seemed to wrap around him. He would have her. Now. With the taste of her on his lips, with the air hot with the sexual tension between them, with the blood running in a rage throughout him.

"This kiss I did not offer!" she cried out in a strangled voice.

He rose over her, adjusting his chausses. "My lady, you said anything! You are far too late to barter the fine points of your contract!" he warned her in a hoarse whisper. "You offered everything!"

"I said—"

"Oh, lady! Think of all that you have said!"

He could not see her eyes, or her face, for no light seemed to enter the room then. All that he could do was feel her in the darkness. She swore suddenly, and shied away. He reached out, capturing her knees, parting her thighs, and pulling her to him with the length of her limbs spread around him. She screamed, fighting his hold then, but she was pinned by his merciless hold. His hand brushed her mound, still damp from his lips. He lowered himself against her. He could then feel that silky wet and beckoning triangle with the tip of his shaft, and a blinding lightning seemed to tear through him, wretched, cascading fire in his blood and sinew and sex. "Oh!" With a furious cry she tried to rise against him. Her wetness seemed to capture him further, to tease ever more mercilessly. And movement at all would bring him closer, closer—

And into her.

She went still.

He caught either side of her head, fascinated even now by the soft, seductive beauty of her hair, tangling more tightly about them.

He found her lips once again.

His kiss then was oddly gentle as she stiffened beneath him. Coercive.

Near tender.

And he kissed her long and lullingly. Until the tight constriction began to ease from her beguiling form.

Until the fire within his own aching body seemed hotter than molten metal. And he whispered then softly against her lips. "Lady, take care when you play! For men are made in such a way that they will be determined to win any game!"

She was silent, eyes closed, lips slightly parted.

He moved. Thrust into her. Slowly, deeply.

Her eyes flew open. A shriek tore from her lips. Her fingers clawed at his naked flesh. He did not move, but held her more closely. Felt the beating of her heart. Felt her inhale, shivering, sobbing.

"This was your doing!" he told her. "Ah lady! You were so determined. You would learn something about men tonight!"

She did not deny it, but neither did she accept it. "Stop now!" she commanded in a tense whisper.

He shook his head. He doubted that she could see the movement. "Ah, nay, lady, those words come far too late! You are the damsel who offered everything."

Even as he spoke, he felt the give of her body to the thrust of his own. A slow, tearing give, but one that was natural. He heard the grating of her teeth as she felt him enter her more and more deeply, become a part of her.

"So it is met then!" she cried out. "The bargain is made, and I am free. Have done with it!"

He held himself over her briefly. The muscles in his face tightened with anger. He brought his lips closer to hers. "Lady, lady! You've much to learn about the fine art of negotiation. I gave you no promises, made no bargains!"

She shrieked out in fury again, rising against him.

Perfect.

By her own movement, she forced him to tear through the last of her maiden's barrier. A startled sob escaped her.

And a surprising need for tenderness seized him once again, despite the rage of desire that now seemed to scream like a war cry throughout him.

"Gently, my lady, ever gently," he whispered, and folded his arms around her. He kissed her cheek and tasted the tears she would deny were there. He found her lips, her eyelids, the lobe of her ear.

And he began to move. Slowly. Subtly. Achingly. He would take the night, if need be.

Perhaps it would …

But then, as he kissed her, it seemed that she kissed back. A soft sound muffled from her throat. The tension of her fingers against him eased, then began anew. Her hands moved upon his shoulders, upon his chest.

He cupped her breast. Kissed it. Teased and caressed the mound and peak with his hand and with his lips. Aye, she was beginning to give …

Then he knew no longer just how much he had managed to seduce her. The fires of hell seemed to burst within him. A raw and ragged drumbeat sounded and the rhythm of his thrust and stroke became a savage one. Sweet wildfire seized hold of him, demons swept through him. He drove more and more deeply into the sheath of her body, creating a raw, wild friction between them. He whispered to her. Words about her beauty, about his need. She gave him no reply, but her limbs remained locked around his, her fingers burned into his shoulders. She tensed against him. Gasped, shrieked, and buried her face against his shoulder. To his amazement, he felt a new, nectar-sweet warmth between her thighs. She had learned more than something of men this night.

She had learned something of herself.

That sweet proof of her pleasure enhanced the wild need within him, causing it to echo and rise and plummet within him. Then the fires burst. A thunderous cry tore from his throat, and a savage shudder shook the great length of his entire frame. Then again, and again. And even as he fell to her side, little aftershivers shook him anew as he slowly came down from the frantic climax that had exploded so sweetly within him. It was worth it, Jesu, anything was worth it! He didn't remember feeling like this, certainly not with Affa, and not even with …

Alyssa.

He ground down hard on his teeth, trying to forget the woman he had loved.

Nay! It had to have been much, much better with his beloved. She had not sobbed softly, ever, when it was over, turning away from him to try to muffle the sounds of her tears.

He started to swear in his exasperation, and almost did so in Norman French, for the words Mon Dieu ! were on the tip of his tongue. He caught himself in time, and still his words were explosive.

"Jesu, lady! What would you have of me! All day long you have teased me and tormented me. Could you have been so innocent of men that you had no idea of what you did?"

She didn't reply. Her silence added fuel to the—perhaps unreasoning!—anger that was already growing within him.

She had betrayed him. Well, she had betrayed Montjoy, with him. Maybe she really hadn't intended to, not when it came down to it. But she had offered. Damn her! She had bargained. A night with her for her freedom.

Another oath exploded from him. "I did my very best not to hurt you my lady. And I did very well, so I believe. Few women feel pleasure with their first experience—"

He certainly wasn't prepared for the whirlwind of her small frame turning on him. Her fists were flying furiously. She caught him in the jaw. Then beneath his eye.

"Blessed Mother!" he cried out, imprisoning her wrists, holding them tight. He had her captured then above him, her legs straddled over his hips, her hair blanketing them both. She had no idea of her perilous condition though, for she was swearing wildly at him.

"Oh, you pompous jackal! How dare you, how dare you! Bastard, knave, bandit, fool! Your conceit is incredible beyond belief, you faceless wonder! Whatever makes you think—"

He rose slightly, his fingers tensing around her wrists. "I don't think, lady. I know. And if don't take the gravest care, you will find yourself initiating a second very intimate tryst between us once again!"

"Oh!" she gasped. Then she must have felt the pulsing rise of him beneath her for she gasped again and tried valiantly to free herself. He let her struggle until she realized that she could not combat his strength. Then, regretfully, he let her go.

She had curled up against the wall. He couldn't see her, but he could feel her there. He swore again. "I tried not to hurt you, lady," he said very softly.

After a moment he heard a ragged sigh, and then her reply. "You did not. Aye, you did, you did! But then …"

He smiled in the darkness. There was a wonder to her tone. She hadn't imagined that she could actually enjoy what she herself had offered.

"Oh, God!" she cried out suddenly, and he sensed that she was burying her face in her hands. Memories, intimate, detailed memories, were surging through her, he was certain. "Never, never!" she whispered. "I didn't think—oh, Jesu! I could hang you myself!"

"But think about it!" he advised her lightly, warring with his temper once again. "Better this with me—than with Montjoy."

"Oh, God! Never! I'll never, ever be so with Montjoy! Never so—intimately!" she stated passionately.

Oh, just wait, my lady! You cannot imagine just how intimately you will be with Montjoy! he swore in silence.

"I'm free now—" she began softly.

"I gave you no promise!"

"But you are the Silver Sword! You must behave decently. You must give me your word."

"I cannot do that."

"You will! You must!"

He leaped up from the bed, adjusting his chausses. He wrenched his shirt from the chair where it rested, then fumbled in the ebony darkness for the rest of his clothing and mail. At last he spun around to her. "One thing is certain, my lady, you've the hours till dawn in peace!"

He threw open the door and paused there, looking back with a raw fury. "Indeed, you've the hours till morn!"

He slammed the door behind him and stared blindly into the night.

"Oh, aye, my lady! You will be so intimately with Montjoy! Trust me! And soon, my lady! Very, very soon!"

He sat on the rock, as he should have done in the first place.

He waited for the hours to pass, alternately furious and bemused.

Vengeance, he promised, would be his. In that tempest, he let the hours of the night pass, making certain that she was trusting in her certainty that the Silver Sword meant to let her go, and that she did not intend to escape.

As dawn neared, he whistled for his horse, and then swiftly rode the distance to Clifford Castle, his own home and inheritance.

He was barely there before he turned around.

Katherine had spent the rest of the night in a tumult of anger and wonder and fear. What had she done! She trembled, wondering what a husband would do when he discovered her to be … less than a maiden.

She replayed within her heart and mind each small thing that had happened.

Each little thing that he had done.

Each caress. Each touch.

She remembered the pain and the fury.

And she remembered the burst of wonder …

And her body colored, and she refused to let herself think anymore. But the truth would come back to haunt her again and again. She had let herself be taken by a total stranger in an ebony darkness.

A man whose face she would not recognize were she ever to see it!

"Oh, sweet Jesu!" she cried out, and hugged herself, and swallowed hard.

It was only the amount of wine she had drunk in her determination to be free that finally granted her an hour's solace at last. She could sleep. She had to sleep. And it was all right. He was gone. He did have his honor. He meant to honor the bargain, though he had said that he had made no bargain. He would not turn her over to Montjoy.

And indeed, both her life and her virtue had lain in peril. She didn't know what the future would hold. He had managed to give her … something. Something sweet. And she couldn't hate him or despise herself because …

No matter what he said, she knew that he had been the hidden archer in the forest the day that she had ridden in with her father. He had been the man to save them, when it had seemed that all was lost.

He had saved her father's life. For that alone, she would have given him anything.

She didn't know that she had finally slept until she was rudely awakened by the sound of a multitude of horses prancing within the copse beyond the cottage wall.

Her eyes flew open, and she wondered at the sound. Then panic seized her.

She was still alone. Alone in the bed she had shared intimately with the Silver Sword. Her head was still spinning. It had been the wine. It had blurred everything.

Nay, none of it had been really blurred in the least, not the pain, not the pleasure.

Oh, what had she done?

And who was coming now?

She clutched the white furred robe to her breast and leaped out of the bed, trying to wrap her garment more tightly about her. A million fears swept through her.

It was de la Ville. He had found her.

It was Prince John.

It was …

The door burst open. The sun blinded her for a moment. She stood there, wrapped in the white robe, her hair still a wild tangle from the night of intimacy that had so recently passed, trying to shield her eyes from the brightness of the day.

And then she saw him.

Montjoy.

Tall, hard, and ebony-haired, the man stood imposingly, his muscled shoulders filling the doorway, his silver eyes blazing as they seemed to pinion her there. He was fully, nobly clad in his family colors, his Norman lions emblazoned on his tunic. Handsome, arrogant—and Norman!—he stood there, assessing her.

"My lady. I had heard that I would find you here. Safe, and waiting."

The French tones fell over her courteously—with no affection. For a moment she felt her knees quivering.

Damn him. Damn the Silver Sword! He had betrayed her!

And damn Montjoy. She would have none of him!

"Come, Katherine. We do not know one another well, perhaps, but we are not strangers. You know that I am Lord Damian Montjoy. Count Clifford. And Richard has commanded that we shall be man and wife."

She found her courage. "I understand that the King has ordered a betrothal—" she began, but Montjoy chuckled softly.

"A betrothal, my lady! Ah, but these are dangerous times. We shall be married immediately."

"But we cannot! The Church—"

"Immediately, my lady. Why, a priest awaits us this very minute. And you are beautifully dressed for the occasion in pure, virginal white."

Color flushed her cheeks. "My lord, I tell you that I cannot—"

"Ah, but my lady!" Sharp, furious silver eyes narrowed upon her. "I assure you. You will!"