Forbidden Night with the Warrior Page 7

  ‘There is beauty in everything around us.’ She turned and caught his gaze. Though she still held the embroidery, he leaned in and stole a swift kiss. Her smile warmed him, though he didn’t miss the cast of sadness.

  She leaned back against him, continuing her sewing. It contented him just to hold her while he watched her add the colours of green, grey, amber, and light blue, forming dimension within her embroidery. Only when she had completed a small sample of the landscape did she set the sewing aside. ‘Thank you for bringing me here, Warrick.’

  He stroked her long black hair in answer, drawing her back into his arms. For a time, she lay back against him while the waves coursed over the rocks.

  ‘We will be leaving soon,’ she murmured. ‘And I do not want to go.’ She turned to face him, and he saw the sorrow in her eyes. ‘I cannot imagine marrying someone else.’

  The force of his own denial was a silent fury. No longer did it matter that both of their families would oppose a match between them. What mattered was this woman and what she wanted. He would find a way to provide for her, even if it meant going with Rhys to Scotland.

  Warrick tightened his arms around her waist. ‘We will find a way to change your father’s mind. You will marry no one but me.’

  She leaned in and kissed him. ‘It’s what I want, too. But I don’t know how, unless we run away.’

  He thought back to her earlier wish, for children of her own. And though it would be a move born of desperation, there was another way to force her father’s hand.

  ‘You could wed me, if you were carrying my child,’ he said quietly. ‘Your father would have no choice.’

  Her face paled at his proposition. There was fear in her eyes, for she understood the consequences well enough. ‘I want to be with you, Warrick. But if I act against my father’s wishes, I—I’m afraid of what he’ll do.’

  ‘I will protect you,’ he swore. ‘From him and from everyone else.’

  She grew silent for a time. The wind blew her hair back from her face, and he supposed he had asked too much of her. Then, from a fold of her cloak, she withdrew another piece of linen she had been embroidering. ‘I made this for you.’

  He unfolded it and saw the outline of a tall tree beside a stream. She had stitched the water with a light spray of mist over the rocks. Even the leaves of the large tree had shades of green, grey, and blue. It was a scene of the place where he had first kissed her.

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ he said. But he was looking at her face and not the fabric. Her expression softened and in her eyes, he saw the longing that mirrored his. Yet he understood that she was an innocent, untouched and pure.

  ‘I want you to have it,’ she said. ‘So you will remember me.’

  It was the last thing he’d expected her to say. She acted as if she would never see him again, as if this were a final farewell. And it infuriated him.

  ‘Is that what you want?’ he demanded. ‘For me to stand aside and let you wed another man? Or do you not believe I am capable of protecting you?’

  His mind and body had gone numb. He had wanted so badly to believe that he could change his life, to live with someone who cared for him in the way his father never would. And yet, her hesitance was real.

  Her face paled and she shook her head. ‘No, that isn’t it. It’s just that I don’t want our two families to war against one another.’

  Warrick cupped her face and drew her into a kiss. He poured himself into it, wanting her to know how much he needed her. She responded with her own desires, clinging to him as he showed her without words what she meant to him.

  ‘If you want to wed me, I will take you away from this place,’ he said. ‘We will be together.’ He hardly cared if anyone approved of the match—all that mattered was Rosamund’s desires.

  ‘I’m afraid,’ she confessed. ‘Both of our families will cut us off. We may be outcasts if we dare to defy them.’

  ‘Trust in me,’ he ordered. ‘I will find a way for us. I swear it.’ He caressed her cheek and added, ‘But it is your decision to make.’

  * * *

  Rosamund had spent several restless nights, trying to decide what was right. Warrick had given her distance, not asking her to meet again. And yet, every time she had caught a glimpse of him, she yearned to be in his arms. The thought of marrying another man was simply unthinkable. And though it was dangerous, she knew she had to follow her heart’s desires.

  ‘He’s w-w-waiting for you outside the g-gates,’ Ademar stammered. Despite his difficulty in speaking, he was taller than the other boys his age. He led her down a darkened corridor, carrying the bundle of her belongings. Last night, she and her sister had packed up their trunks, preparing for the journey home at dawn. But Cecelia knew nothing of Rosamund’s plan to run away.

  She had deliberated upon the decision for days. Her family would be outraged if she defied her father’s command. Although the betrothal agreement had not yet been signed, her mother was behaving as if she were already wed.

  Which, if everything went to plan, she would be after this night—but to Warrick de Laurent and not Alan de Courcy.

  Her nerves were raw as she followed Ademar into the darkness. Inside the bundle he carried, she had packed only a single gown, some jewels she could sell, and a little food. Her heart was racing at the thought of being caught. Her father would punish them both, and she feared for Warrick. Although he was a strong fighter, he would never use his strength against her family.

  She would have to defy all of them, even at the risk of her safety. But the thought of wedding Alan de Courcy was far worse. Her heart was already lost to Warrick de Laurent, and she could not imagine being with anyone else.

  Rosamund didn’t know how Warrick planned for them to run away, but she had prepared herself as best she could. She had chosen a simple dark blue woollen cloak to hide herself at night, but it might not be enough. Now the question was how she and Ademar could sneak past the guards to where Warrick was waiting. The soldiers would undoubtedly see her.

  Ademar led her to stand beside the inner bailey wall while his attention was transfixed upon the guards near the gate. Without words, he pressed her back, waiting. The flare of torches illuminated the walls of the fortress, and she held her breath.

  Then he seized her wrist and pulled her forward to run. Rosamund obeyed without question, and once again, he moved her into the shadows. It felt like a game of predator and prey, seeking to elude the men who would capture her and force her back to her father.

  Ademar bent to her ear and whispered. ‘I will d-draw the guards away from the gate. When I do, you must g-go. You will f-find Warrick waiting for you at the bottom of the hill.’ He didn’t wait for her to respond, but strode away from her towards the men at the gates. The guards were armed with spears, but they did not appear concerned by Ademar’s presence. He spoke to them quietly, and Rosamund was annoyed to hear one of them laughing at the boy’s stammer. She inched her way along the wall, waiting until the two guards had their back to her. There was a slight gap where she could slip past the first soldier, and she seized the opportunity.

  Her heart hammered with fear as she moved past him, praying to remain soundless. She hurried across the drawbridge into the darkness, fully expecting to hear a warning shout from the guards.

  But there came nothing at all. She saw Ademar continuing to distract the guards, and the moment she disappeared into the darkness, she found Warrick waiting. He took her hand in his and kissed her softly before leading her away. She was thankful to have found him, but her fears didn’t diminish at all.

  They walked in silence through the meadow with no moon to guide them. Only when they reached the sanctuary of the woods did Warrick lift her onto the horse, mounting behind her. She had no idea where he planned to take her, and she didn’t care. All she wanted was to be with him, no matter the cost.<
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  He kept their pace slow at first until the castle was well behind them. She was conscious of every line of his body, of the strength and power of his thighs as he guided the horse. And only when more time passed, did some of her fears soften.

  They rode through the night, and Rosamund fell asleep in his arms. When dawn came, her body ached with stiffness as he helped her down. He had stopped beside a stream and let the horse drink for a time. Rosamund spied the ruins of a church nearby and she wondered if this was their destination or only a stopping point. Warrick took her by the hand and led her towards the church.

  ‘We’ll stop here to rest.’ He led her inside the stone ruins, and she stood for a moment, studying the fallen stones. The morning sunlight illuminated the church, bathing the stone fragments with rays of gold and rose. Rosamund moved closer, drawing her hand across the stones, learning the patterns of grey, black, and green within the ruins. She memorised the colours, knowing she could duplicate this with the right threads.

  A few moments later, Warrick came up behind her, resting his hands upon her shoulders. ‘What are you thinking about, Rosamund?’

  ‘Sewing,’ she confessed, turning to smile at him. She drew her arms around his waist, welcoming his embrace. They stood in the early morning light, and she breathed in the scent of his skin. But the longer she remained near him, the more she grew aware of her own feelings. She wanted to lose herself again in his kiss, to feel his skin upon hers. A rush of blood roared through her, and she rested her cheek against his chest.

  ‘I would marry you right now, if I could,’ he murmured. ‘Before God and all the world.’

  ‘So would I.’ She lifted her mouth for his kiss and this time, there was no denying his desires. She tasted the fierce needs, and he devoured her mouth as if he could never get enough.

  He broke free, his eyes deadly serious. ‘Rosamund de Beaufort, I take you as my wife. I swear to guard you with my body and protect you with all that I have.’

  She braved a smile. ‘Warrick de Laurent, I take you as my husband. I promise to love you for the rest of my life.’

  With the marriage vows spoken, it was as if her very blood had caught fire. Rosamund felt the echoing arousal within her body, and the need to touch this man drowned out the voices of reason.

  She reached for his shirt and drew her fingers over the laces. Slowly, she loosened it, staring at him with undisguised need. Warrick’s eyes turned heated, and he pulled the shirt over his head, revealing his hardened chest. She traced the lines of his pectoral muscles, marvelling at his strength.

  And when he began to undress her, she did not voice a single protest. Layers of linen and silk fell away until she stood in her shift in the morning sunlight. The air was cool, puckering her breasts. Her nipples ached for his touch, and between her legs, she grew moist with desire.

  She knew the danger in this, but she understood that it was the only way to force her father’s hand. If she surrendered her innocence and there was the possibility of a child, no other man would wed her.

  But even through the blurred heat of desire, she was afraid. Not only of being claimed by this man but of the consequences.

  ‘Lie down,’ he murmured, guiding her back upon their discarded clothing. She obeyed, feeling a sudden rush of nervousness. He removed her shoes and woollen stockings, and she inhaled sharply as his hand caressed her calves, moving higher.

  He rested his weight upon his arms, staring at her. ‘I’ve never lain with a woman before, Rosamund.’

  ‘It’s all right,’ she whispered. With a rueful smile, she added, ‘I don’t know what I’m doing, either.’

  His hand moved between her legs to the intimate place where he would enter her body. The touch of his fingers startled her, and she admitted, ‘Be gentle with me.’

  She opened her legs, expecting him to take her then, but he hesitated. ‘I have heard that it may cause you pain if you are not ready.’

  Rosamund had heard the same but was trying not to think of it. She knew that this was the surest way to gain a true marriage between them. Consummation was necessary, and she did love Warrick. His quiet strength and thoughtfulness drew her closer to him.

  For a moment, she tried to calm the storm of her rising feelings. She knew what would happen between them, and the heat of his skin was a stark contrast against her own. Softly, she touched him, feeling a strange surge of possession as she traced the lines of his muscles. He went motionless as she did and leaned back to let her do as she wished.

  There was power in this, and she kissed his skin, hearing the pounding of his heart as she brushed her lips over his chest. And in touching him, she felt her own arousal deepen. This man belonged to her now, and she surrendered to her own desire.

  Rosamund kissed him deeply, her body awakening as his tongue slid against hers. Her body grew warmer, and at last she broke away from the kiss. ‘I want to see all of you, Warrick.’

  He stood from the ground and slowly removed his clothing. There was not a trace of softness upon him, and when he removed his braies, she was caught up in the vision of his erect flesh.

  He would slide his shaft inside her, and the thought made her ache between her legs. She hungered for this man, and when she stood up from the ground, he commanded, ‘Now you.’

  She drew up the hem of her shift, pulling it over her head until she stood naked before him. His eyes held wonder as he looked upon her.

  ‘You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen,’ he murmured. With his hands and mouth, he touched her, kissing the buds of her breasts and caressing her. She felt herself rising to him, pressing closer as he touched the wetness between her legs. Gently, he slid a finger inside her, and she gasped, startled by the sudden rush of sensation.

  But then, she gathered her courage and reached for his hardened length. His skin was so warm, the tip of him smooth with a bead of moisture. He guided her palm around him, and she drew it up over the length.

  He inhaled sharply, and slid a second finger within her. His thumb nudged the folds of her flesh, and she felt her own arousal rising.

  When she gasped, he ceased his movement and asked, ‘Am I hurting you?’

  ‘No...’ She sighed, closing her eyes. ‘It feels good.’ But she was afraid of the strong feelings rising up. His hand was gentle, and yet, she sensed that everything was about to unravel.

  ‘It’s all right, Rosamund,’ he said, leaning down to soothe her. ‘I will stop if you want me to.’ He kissed her lightly to underscore his words.

  She looked into his eyes and moved her hands to his shoulders. There was no doubt in her mind that he would not take her against her desires. But she gathered her composure and locked her gaze upon his. In his eyes, she saw a man who wanted to pleasure her, and the knowledge evoked an aching need.

  ‘Don’t stop,’ she whispered.

  His hand was gentle, kindling a fire that burned through her. Her nails dug into his shoulders, and she shuddered at the ripple of delicious sensation. His mouth captured hers, kissing her deeply while his fingers entered and withdrew. She caressed his shaft, and as they touched one another, her yearning grew stronger.

  Warrick drew her back down to the ground. This time, he rolled to his back, bringing her to sit astride him. She was startled by the heat of his erection and the way it felt so good to have him nestled beneath her. He raised her hips until he was poised at her entrance. Then he sat up slowly to kiss her again, his shaft slowly penetrating her. The sensation was overwhelming, and she held steady and unmoving as he breached her. There was a slight pain, but she masked it, kissing him.

  ‘You are mine, Rosamund,’ he said. ‘Now and always.’

  ‘I am yours,’ she answered, letting him sheathe himself fully. The pressure of his thick shaft was unfamiliar, and she wasn’t certain what to do. Warrick answered by holding her hips in place
, not allowing her to move. He held her there a moment, letting her adjust to his size. Gradually the pain abated, and he began to withdraw from her, only to thrust again and penetrate her body. He entered her smoothly, and she felt a shimmer of desire take hold once more.

  Warrick continued kissing her mouth, and then changed their angle to take her nipple in his mouth. Rosamund moaned at the gentle suction that echoed within her womb. Instinct claimed her, and she raised up against him, feeling her body aching with need.

  ‘Does this hurt you?’ he asked softly.

  ‘N-no.’ But she was afraid even to breathe right now. The gentle thrusting was a give and take, claiming her while he filled her. He reached up to caress her taut nipples, and she felt the tremors gathering deeper. His hands moved away, and she protested, ‘Warrick, wait. I—I liked that.’

  At her encouragement, he began to stroke her, keeping his thrusts easy while he rubbed his thumbs across her nipples. She found herself riding him slowly, watching as his face grew hooded with passion. She squeezed against him, and he let out a guttural groan. ‘Rosamund, my God.’

  She quickened her pace, discovering what excited him. There was goodness in this joining, and she felt as if they were learning together.

  He rolled her to her back, still embedded within her. This time, he thrust deeply, raising her knees.

  She gasped at the sensation, but welcomed the heat and the drowning desire. Though he was careful not to be too rough, she found that each thrust drew her away from clear thinking and towards a more primitive part of herself. She met his invasion with her own pressure, drawing him into her arms.

  He gritted his teeth, his body tensing as he continued to make love to her. ‘Rosamund, I don’t think I can last much longer.’

  ‘It’s all right,’ she whispered. ‘I am ready.’

  He quickened the pace, and she answered his call by squeezing him. He balanced his weight upon his forearms, and she raised her bottom so he could thrust deeper. She felt herself growing molten beneath him, crying out when the peak rose into a shattering release. Never in her life had she imagined such pleasure, as if her body had been made to love this man. She clung to him while the surging tide seized her, forcing her to arch hard against him and dig her nails into his backside. A cry escaped her lips, and with a few strokes more, he finished inside her.