Forbidden Night with the Warrior Read online

  It might only be infatuation, but she could not deny the feelings he conjured within her. She wished that she could sit beside him now and speak with him.

  As the meal ended, Lord Montbrooke called for everyone to gather outside for evening stories, contests, and games. Rosamund followed the others and took her place beside her sister when Lady Montbrooke called her forward.

  ‘Will you join the other ladies in a game of stoolball?’ she enquired.

  She had never played the game, but it sounded intriguing. ‘If you wish.’

  Several other young ladies were gathered together, along with Lianna MacKinnon. Lady Montbrooke gave each of them a small tansy cake wrapped in linen, explaining, ‘I know we usually play this game at Easter, but it’s one of Rhys’s favourites. These are the prizes.’ Then she led them to an open clearing where six wooden stools were placed. On the opposite end, there were several wooden balls and a stick with a paddle on one end.

  ‘Go and choose a stool to stand upon,’ she directed the women.

  Lianna hung back, unwilling to join them. ‘I have no wish to play. Let the others enjoy themselves.’ But after Lady Montbrooke spoke with her quietly, Lianna reluctantly chose the stool nearest to the men.

  Rosamund didn’t understand what they were meant to do, but she followed what the other girls were doing. One of the women nearby was giggling, and Rosamund asked, ‘Why are you laughing?’

  The girl stepped onto her stool and said, ‘Because the men can choose which prize they want. Either the tansy cake or a kiss.’

  Rosamund felt her face burn with apprehension at the idea. Especially since Warrick was one of the men competing. Now her mother’s earlier warning made sense. She had no desire to be kissed by a stranger. But if Warrick wanted a kiss...she didn’t know what she should do.

  At the far end, the men lined up for their turn. She soon realised that one man was attempting to throw a ball at the stool Lianna was standing upon. Another man defended her by striking the ball away with the stick. He ran hard around the line of stools, and his ball struck the base of it. After he had scored a point for his team, he returned to stand before one of the maidens. She offered him the cake, but instead, he took her face between his hands and brought her down for a deep kiss.

  The men cheered, and the winner escorted the maiden away from the stools. Another young woman took her place.

  Rosamund studied the crowd of men and women and saw Rhys pick up his ball. Warrick took his place with the bat and waited.

  ‘Don’t hit it, Brother,’ Rhys warned. His betrothed wife, Lianna, stood motionless while he prepared to aim the ball towards her stool. Rosamund almost pitied the woman for if Warrick did nothing, she would certainly be kissed in front of everyone. But Rhys’s anger made it an uncomfortable moment. It seemed that he wanted to humiliate Lianna, to force her to accept him.

  Rosamund lifted her gaze to Warrick, hoping he would understand her unspoken message. He glanced at her and gave a single nod. The moment Rhys released the ball, Warrick struck it hard with his bat. It bounded across the grass and struck Rosamund’s stool hard.

  She should have realised he would aim it towards her. It might have been luck that he’d hit it there, but she wasn’t certain. But as he ran past all the stools, she glimpsed a hard smile.

  Would he try to kiss her in front of everyone? If he tried, her father would be furious. And yet, she wanted nothing more than to feel his mouth upon hers again. Her heart pounded when he approached the stool.

  She remained frozen, feeling terrified that he might actually kiss her. But there was a way around this. In the barest whisper, she said, ‘At dawn, I will meet you by the stream for the kiss. For now, please accept the tansy cake.’

  He made no effort to hide his interest. But when he took the tansy cake, he unwrapped the linen and broke off a piece. In front of everyone, he fed it to her, his thumb brushing against her lips. The gesture startled her, and she tasted the cake.

  It was terrible, and she made a face at the herbs. With a laugh, she broke off a piece and fed it to him in return. ‘You try it. It’s awful.’

  But his mouth closed over her thumb, gently kissing it as he ate the cake. There was no doubting that he wanted the kiss. ‘Tomorrow, Rosamund.’

  She took his arm, and he guided her away from the others. With a soft smile, she answered, ‘I promise.’

  Chapter Four

  Warrick rode towards the forest, but Rosamund was not yet there. He sat upon a rock, waiting for her. Only a few moments later, he heard a rustling noise in the tree beside him. He glanced up and saw her sitting among the branches, a delighted smile upon her face.

  ‘Why are you in the tree, Rosamund?’ Though it wasn’t high above the ground, it must have been difficult to climb with her skirts. And he saw no sign of her horse anywhere.

  ‘I had to, else someone might find me.’ She beckoned for him to climb up with her. ‘Will you join me here?’

  ‘It would be easier to kiss you here on the ground,’ he pointed out. Her promise had haunted him all the night, as had the fleeting taste of her skin. He could not deny the effect she had on him. He would have walked through a pillar of fire to kiss her again.

  ‘No one will see us here,’ she said. And in that, she had a good point. Warrick wasn’t entirely certain how she had managed to get into the tree, but he seized a large branch above his head and swung one leg over. He was upside down for a moment and then righted himself. It was then that he saw her studying a bird’s nest between two smaller branches.

  ‘Look at the blue eggs,’ she murmured. ‘They will hatch any day now.’

  ‘Don’t touch the nest,’ he warned. ‘Else the mother will abandon them.’

  She nodded, her face alight with wonder. It was something he would never tire of seeing—her reaction to the world around her. Rosamund saw beauty in the most ordinary things, and it pleased him to see her smile. He had brought her a gift this day, one that he hoped she would like.

  ‘I have something for you,’ he said. ‘First, the sewing you left on the stairs.’

  Her face relaxed into a smile and she accepted the folded linen. ‘Thank you. I was hoping you would bring it to me.’

  ‘But I also wanted to give you this.’ He pulled out a small pouch and handed it to her. It pleased him to see the delighted expression on her face. But when she opened the pouch and withdrew skeins of dyed thread, her smile faded. Instead, she appeared upset, and he had no notion of what he’d done wrong.

  ‘Don’t you like it?’

  Her eyes welled up with tears, and she nodded. ‘No one has ever given me such a gift. I adore it.’ And yet, she appeared miserable.

  An awkward silence spread between them. He had thought she would be overjoyed, that she would smile and embrace him. Instead, she appeared devastated by the gift, regardless of her words.

  ‘Why do you weep?’ he ventured. He wasn’t entirely certain he wanted to know the answer.

  Rosamund tucked away the pouch of threads, swiping at the tears. A pained expression came over her face as she gathered her composure. Then she took his hands in hers, swallowing hard. ‘Because my mother told me I am to be married to Alan de Courcy. And I would rather be married to a man like you. Someone who understands me.’ She lifted her gaze to his, and in her green eyes, he saw the yearning.

  In that moment, time seemed to stop moving. He understood that he was not worthy of her, but he needed to show her how much she meant to him. This exquisite woman was so far beyond his reach, but he could not deny the need to touch her. He touched the edge of her cheek with his knuckle, and she covered his hand with her own.

  ‘I want the kiss you promised.’ His voice came out ragged, and he wanted to lose himself in that mouth, to show her how much he wanted her.

  Rosamund pressed her lips to his h
and, kissing it softly. With a wry smile, he remarked, ‘That isn’t where I wanted you to kiss me, Rosamund.’

  Her expression held amusement, and she lifted her face to his. Her lips were soft, moulding against his. Rosamund wound her arms around his neck, and he was careful to keep her safely balanced upon the wide tree branch. He couldn’t get enough of her, and the kiss turned wilder, hotter. Warrick felt the primal needs rising, and he moved her so that her back was against the tree trunk. He straddled the branch and brought her close so that her legs were around his waist. Then he wrapped his arms around the tree trunk, nestling their bodies close.

  And yet, it wasn’t close enough.

  She let out a gasp when he slid his tongue inside her mouth. Though she was an innocent, she pressed her hips close so that the ridge of his arousal lay between her legs.

  Her eyes widened, and Rosamund pulled back a moment. Her lips were swollen, and she framed his face with her hands. Then she traced a path down to his shoulders. ‘I know I should not kiss you like this. But it doesn’t feel wrong.’

  She moved against him, and he could imagine the sweet wetness between her legs. He wanted to touch her intimately, to move her skirts aside and bury himself within her depths. It took an act of the greatest concentration not to move.

  ‘Do you want me to stop?’ he asked. His tone balanced on the razor edge of unfulfilled desire. Did she understand what she was doing to him when she moved against him? He tried to hold her with one arm, to keep her still.

  Rosamund shook her head. ‘I feel as if you are the only man in the world for me. And it breaks my heart to know that my father chose differently.’

  She closed her eyes, and he saw the shadow of pain. Though he wasn’t surprised at the betrothal, it was her response that startled him. She genuinely appeared upset.

  He held her close, breathing in the scent of this woman. Nothing in the world would please him more than to have Rosamund de Beaufort at his side. He would have slain a thousand demons if it meant awakening beside her each day.

  But he lacked everything her father wanted. He was not the heir, and though he was of noble birth, his wealth paled beside a man like Alan de Courcy.

  Her green eyes held dismay, but he leaned in and kissed her. ‘I would want nothing more than to marry you, Rosamund.’

  But both of them knew it was impossible.

  He tasted the salt of her tears, and she kissed him as if she never wanted it to end. The embrace shifted until he couldn’t stop his own response. He needed to be closer to this woman, and he pulled her onto his lap with her legs around him. She let out a soft moan, trembling in his arms.

  ‘Warrick,’ she whispered. And then she moved herself against him, mimicking the sexual act. She let out a soft gasp, and her fingers dug into his arms.

  He gritted his teeth, trying to hold back his body’s needs. This was about her, about pleasuring this woman and stealing a forbidden moment.

  ‘Do you trust me, Rosamund?’ he asked.

  Her expression was hazy, and she bit her lip as he continued to move against her. ‘Yes.’ Her face flushed with embarrassment and her own desire.

  Warrick ignored the warnings that plundered his mind. He needed to brand himself upon Rosamund, so that no man could ever take his place.

  She was pliant upon his lap, her skirts falling across them. But despite the barrier of fabric, he felt the heated warmth of her womanhood.

  ‘Tell me what you would do if I were your wife,’ she breathed. ‘I want to hear it.’

  He could hardly speak at all from the lust roaring inside him. But he understood that words would have to take the place of touch. He could not claim Rosamund the way he wanted to.

  ‘If you were mine, I would lift your skirts right now,’ he murmured. ‘I would touch your bare skin.’

  In silent answer, Rosamund lifted the edge of her hem and drew his hand to her calf. The invitation was impossible to resist. His hand trailed down until he slipped his hand beneath the kirtle. Against his fingertips, he felt the soft silk of her leg. Gently, he stroked her, his hand rising higher until he cupped her thigh.

  Her face tightened with shock, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she lifted her mouth to his, kissing him again. He traced the outline of her hip and then found the curve of her bottom.

  Against her lips, he said, ‘I want you, Rosamund.’ He took her hand and moved it to his heartbeat. ‘Do you feel how badly I need you?’

  ‘I do.’ Her eyes were hazy with desire, her lips full and red. ‘I have never felt this way towards any man.’ She lifted her hand to his bristled cheek, and her touch seared him. If he didn’t stop now, he would take her at this very moment.

  He kissed her palm and gathered the remnants of his control. ‘Will you come with me on a ride? I have somewhere else I want to show you.’

  She nodded. ‘Anywhere.’

  Warrick climbed down from the tree first and held out his arms. Rosamund slid down from the branch, and he drew towards him, holding her body against his. She fit perfectly with him, and for a moment, he kept her close, resting his arms beneath her hips. Then he let her body slide down, keeping his arms around her. Rosamund framed his face with her hands and drew him in for another kiss. The moment her mouth met his, he was lost. He pressed her back against the tree, claiming her kiss as his own. She gripped him hard, kissing him as though this day were their last. Their tongues met, and he tightened her body against his, nestling his hard erection against her softness.

  ‘You make me lose myself, Rosamund.’

  Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright from her own arousal. ‘Good.’ She laughed a little and took his hand. ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘It’s about a five-mile ride towards the coast. They are finalising my brother’s betrothal contract today, and we have a little time to slip away.’ He led her towards his own horse, which was tethered near the stream. ‘Where is your mare?

  ‘I didn’t bring a horse,’ she admitted. ‘It would have taken too much time. And it was easier to slip away without one.’

  The thought of her walking alone bothered him. ‘Don’t go anywhere without a guard, Rosamund. It’s not safe.’

  ‘I knew you would defend me if I needed help.’ She touched his cheek, bringing him down for another kiss. ‘And I saw you following me, once I reached the woods.’

  It still unnerved him that she had come this far alone. She was so innocent, she didn’t fully understand the danger. ‘Promise me you won’t leave the donjon without a guard again.’

  She hesitated. ‘I didn’t want anyone to be punished for helping me.’

  He took her hand and squeezed it. ‘Take Ademar with you next time. He is only thirteen, but he’s strong enough to defend you, despite his youth.’ The lad was often teased by others because of his stammer, but he more than made up for it with his fighting skills. Were he a knight, Warrick would take him as a squire.

  Rosamund nodded in agreement. ‘If it will make you feel better.’

  ‘It would.’ He lifted her onto the saddle and then mounted behind her. The position drew her bottom against his rigid erection, and he gritted his teeth against the sensation. By the time they reached the coast, he knew his body would be craving hers in a way he couldn’t control.

  Better to ride swiftly then.

  ‘We’ll return in the afternoon,’ he told her. ‘I brought food for us as well.’

  He guided the horse out of the woods until they reached the open field. The sun was beginning to rise, and it spread rose-coloured light over the fields. He urged the horse into a canter and then a gallop. Rosamund’s hair blew into his face, and he had to push it away.

  She laughed. ‘Don’t spit my hair out!’

  ‘I can hardly see.’ But he moved it over one shoulder, pressing his mouth to her nape. She stilled, and h
e kept one arm around her waist while they rode. It was both torturous and wondrous, having her so near. His mind conjured up arousing images of lifting her skirts and sliding into her wetness, letting her ride him. He let out a hiss, and she tensed against him.

  ‘Is something wrong, Warrick?’

  ‘Only that I want you too badly,’ he said. This journey needed to end soon, or else his very skin would ignite into flames.

  * * *

  After riding for several more miles, they reached their destination, and he dismounted, letting the horse graze. He lifted her down, holding her hand as he took her towards the rocky cliffside. The hill rose up from the embankment in a wall of pure rock, giving them numerous places to sit. The sea stretched as far as the horizon in a pool of endless blue.

  ‘It’s like the edge of the world, isn’t it?’ she breathed. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it.’ She embraced him, murmuring her thanks. Then he helped her walk through the rocks, letting her choose a place to sit. She selected a ledge nearby that was wide enough for them to be seated.

  Warrick leaned back and she sat within his arms, drinking in the landscape. A moment later, she withdrew from the pouch the sewing he had returned to her. Then she took out a needle and the coloured thread that he had given her. ‘Where did you get the thread, Warrick?’

  ‘I had one of the maids buy it for me. I know you enjoy sewing.’

  She pulled out a length of deep blue thread. ‘This is the perfect colour for the sea.’ She threaded her needle and began creating a blend of long and short stitches, creating the movement of the waves. Then she switched to a grey colour, blending it into the blue threads to give it depth. He marvelled in her ability to capture the colours of the water.

  He sat beside her, watching as she stitched the colours of the sea. Though she was quiet and serious in her work, there was also a sense of her joy.

  ‘You have a gift, of seeing things the way you do. You find beauty where no one else would see it.’