Awakening—A Medieval Romance (The Gresham Chronicles) Page 3

This time as the heat built up she felt his finger slickly move around and then inside. It seemed to meet and intensify the sensations and she jerked her hips up and slowly slid her legs open. With each movement of her legs, she felt him tense. As her legs widened, she felt a second finger slip inside her. At the same time he pulled his mouth from her and sat back.

  She inhaled sharply and also sat up, propped by her elbows. Her legs now open wide, she drew up her knees slightly and watched him, watching her as his fingers slid repeatedly in and out of her: a repetition that was no repetition, but an accumulation of tension taking her closer to that blissful oblivion for which she now longed. Each movement of his fingers was the same, but each movement notched her one step higher. Then three fingers; she felt the pressure and sensations increase. She tried to hold back, to wait for what she wanted, but she couldn’t. And her head fell back and she cried out as the rhythm continued and she pushed herself onto his hand, wanting him to feel the movement of her, the quivering, fluttering sensations within her and the intensity of her swamp his fingers.

  Only when she stilled did she feel him withdraw. She closed her eyes briefly. When she opened them she saw what she’d been wanting to see; what she’d only been seeing in her dreams and mind and imagination; what her body had known but her eyes had never seen. Even if she’d seen him naked years ago, she wouldn’t have recognized him now. There was power everywhere: from the hard, rounded muscles that bunched in his arms, more used to wielding a sword than a quill, to the tight ripple of strength across his stomach. He’d always been a man of control and it showed in his body. Never more so now, when her eyes settled on his cock: thick and long like his body. She licked her lips involuntarily and reached out to him. He closed his eyes as it jerked beneath her hand. It felt like silk under her soft fingertips. She moved her fingers round until it touched the end, so smooth except for the bead of moisture that pearled at the end. She rubbed it and brought her finger to her lips. Watching him all the while she sucked it off her finger.

  Then with one swift movement he’d brought his hands under her hips and she could feel his cock pressing against her, demanding entry. She brought her legs up and he slipped inside her.

  Sex with her husband had been painful. But now, her gasp had nothing to do with pain and all to do with pleasure as he filled her inch by smooth inch with himself. He held himself there for a long moment, each of them feeling the intimacy of the connection, something much more than physical. He filled her so completely that she felt impaled by him, except that it was an impaling that brought exquisite sensations that coursed through her body, ran in waves across her skin, heat engorging the skin that wrapped tightly around him, swelling the lips that received his kisses.

  Slowly he began to ease himself out of her and she almost panicked until he stopped and pushed back into her. He repeated it, pushing harder each time until she rucked the fine linens of her bed that lay beneath her. His rhythm increased and so did the weightless bliss that ebbed and receded inside her, shifting with each movement he made, until the waves took a life of their own and she cried out, a cry that rose to the oak rafters, to the warm, smoky air that lingered high above them. Only then did she feel the tensions in his body heighten, the movements of his hips grow smaller, yet more intense as he filled her with his seed.

  They lay for some time, panting, their bodies slick with sweat, her body trembling from the tumult of sensation that had every nerve ending, every fiber of her body alert, charged with sensitivity.

  She closed her eyes and submitted to the bone-relaxed floating feeling that overtook her. Slowly through the mists of oblivion she felt the sharp, tender touch of his fingernails slide down her chest, her breast, before resting on her sex.

  “Angel,” his voice came out of the dark to her, came from another world, calling her back to him. Slowly she blinked and registered the red lick of the dying flames in the brazier casting overlarge shadows on the tapestries and the knapped flint walls of the solar. They met and blended and overtook the tapers that still sputtered in the wall sconces. “Angel.”

  She turned to him and saw him for the first time.

  “Guy.” She felt, rather than heard, her voice. It breathed out towards him and he seemed to catch it as he brought his own mouth towards her and kissed her. She rolled over to him until their bodies were touching once more. She moved her open palm, her fingers outstretched, taut with expectation and disbelief, across his body. She felt his shoulders tense under her touch, felt his muscles move as his own arm reached up and pulled her tight to him; felt the tight swell of his bottom and his leg as she reached around and down his leg and then around, between them.

  He was hard already and his eyes closed. He pressed his forehead to hers and she could feel his breathing tighten and quicken against her skin as her hand moved around him, moving him against that part of her that made her feel so good, until she, too, felt her body quicken in response to his.

  Except this time her need was, if anything, greater than his. What he’d shown her hadn’t lessened her need but had exposed her to how great it was—with the right man. Her body, legs, hands, moved instinctively over him and she pushed him until he lay on his back. She captured his hands above his head—his arms, shoulders, hands, so strong and yet so yielding within her own slender ones. Again she felt her power. She dipped her head to his and sought his mouth with hers in a deep kiss, allowing her breasts to dangle over his chest, her nipples grazing the rough hair, stimulating them, and him, as she rubbed herself up and down the length of him.

  She rose then, drawing her mouth away from him and rested her sex on his, stimulating him with the feel of her and his juices combined. She slipped easily over him, closing her eyes to relish every inch of sensation he gave her. It was different this time. She felt again her power and sat upright, feeling him, like her back-bone, keeping her body together, making her whole.

  Then she rose up on him, watching him from beneath lowered lids. She felt the sensations shooting through her body making her quiver but watching the emotions flit over his face, his mouth, his eyes as she moved, gave her something else again. His hands reached up and cupped her breasts, as she kept moving until she could receive no more and she cried out and fell upon him as her body spasmed around him, kneading him.

  He brought his arms around her and they fell to their sides. It felt more intimate than anything else. Here they were equals; their hands exploring each other’s bodies, while he explored hers inside. They kissed, long and languorously, then her lips descended to his neck, her mouth pinching his neck as she felt the coils tighten within her once more.

  With a grunt he rolled her over and drove into her, hard and fast. His eyes, while still holding hers, reflected the exquisite sensations within him as his movements tightened and he pulsed once more, deep within her.

  They collapsed into each other’s arms then and lay spent. With his body against hers, his arms around hers, they drifted into sleep.

  It was still dark when they awoke. The fire had died down and the tapers had burnt out. There was no light to see but she knew he was awake from his breathing, although he was still. But he said nothing and didn’t move. His arms remained around her although they didn’t stir. She lay listening to the distant roar of the sea, much as she’d lain for years beside her husband while he slept off his drink.

  But it was different tonight. For the first time ever she didn’t feel she had to cut herself off. She had tied herself to this man. Again, she felt rather than heard him drift off to sleep; felt the muscles in his arms relax. But still they held her firm. Where sleep, dreams and reality met, she didn’t know. All became one with the wind that swirled around the castle.

  CHAPTER THREE

  She awoke to the piercing dawn chorus of the marsh birds. It was a lonely sound out here on the edge of the marshes, so close to the sea. Once monks had lived in the old chapel behind the castle, collecting tariffs from passing boats before the channel silted up, and finding refuge
from the world in prayer. Now it was her turn to find refuge. But not in prayer. In the arms of a man whom she realized she’d always loved and would always love. No matter if she never saw him again after today. And she could not.

  Her hand rose and fell on his chest. She could hardly see him as only the barest sliver of pale light of dawn penetrated the solar’s shutters. She dropped her lips to his chest and up to his neck, her mouth coming to rest on his ear with a nip. She felt him awaken and when she pulled away, his hand traced her face and down to her breasts that peaked under his touch before resting on her hip. His face was close to hers, watching the shadows as they formed into her features, just as she was watching his face form out of the darkness.

  “Say something, Angel.”

  She shook her head. She couldn’t trust her voice not to reveal the tears that slid down her cheeks. She turned away and lay on her back, awkwardly laying one arm across her eyes.

  “What is it?”

  He pushed himself up on his elbow and gently pulled her arms away. “This is no time for secrets. What ails you? Did I hurt you?”

  She shook her head. “I had no idea it was like that.”

  Concern melted from his face, forming a warmth that she simply wanted to bask under forever. “It’s not, not for everyone, not with everyone.”

  Just the thought of him with other women made her slip away from his arms and rise.

  “I need to get ready. And you need to be away. The causeway will be clear for you to leave now.”

  “It is early yet. Come back to bed.” She closed her eyes at his touch. “Anyway, who said anything about my going?”

  “I did. Do you think you can stay here? You’ve done what you came here to do. You’ve seen me.”

  “Angel, come, there is no need for this.”

  “There is every need. You’ve got what you came here for—and more.”

  “What do you mean, and more? You think that last night was just a pleasant way to pass the night?” He reached for her hand. “You underestimate me, Angel.”

  “No. I would never do that. I know who you are. I know the nature of the blood that runs in your veins. You are from a long line of noble knights.”

  “Impoverished knights whose lands were stolen from them.”

  “It doesn’t stop you from being who you are. But, for all that, the die is cast. We both have our own futures to follow.”

  Wearily he swung his legs off the bed, pushed his fingers through his unruly hair and stood up. He appeared completely at ease with no clothes on. In the soft light of dawn, Angel could see the full extent of his injuries. She walked over to him and touched a puckered scar that ran across his shoulders, feeling it curve around his body; air sucking into her lungs at the realization of how close he’d come to death.

  He pulled her hand away but held it in his own. “The price of war, Angel. A price I no longer wish to pay.”

  She brushed the back of her fingers gently over the curling hairs on his chest and the abrasions where none grew.

  “What will you do?”

  His face suddenly fell serious. “We need to talk.”

  “Now?” Her hand grew bolder, dropping to his stomach.

  He caught her hand in his own. “Stop that woman, or neither of us will be going anywhere.”

  She cast a glance down and saw what he meant. She felt a deep sense of her feminine power and let her other hand drift up to touch him. He tensed and shut his eyes as her fingers curled and closed around his aroused shaft.

  “You wanted to talk?”

  “Not with you doing that.” She slipped her hand more tightly around him.

  “You have only now. As soon as it’s fully light, my maidservant will arrive.” She reached up to kiss him.

  “You are trying to distract me.”

  “And I believe I am succeeding.”

  He growled, a deep rumble that emerged from his mouth onto her breast. She gasped and laughed at the same time and twisted in his arms as if to get away. To her surprise he helped her turn around and she felt his hardness pressed against her back. She wriggled against him and closed her eyes in bliss as his hands came around and took her breasts, rubbing her nipples until she felt heavy with need. As if sensing her arousal, he trailed one hand down and, finding her wet, growled once more, his cock straining against her back.

  Suddenly he gripped her around the hips and lifted her onto the bed. But before she could turn he’d raised her hips and his thumb was playing with her. She dropped her head and groaned with pleasure. Each flick, each small penetration was taking her nearer the edge. She pressed into his hand but he withdrew. She opened her eyes with surprise but before she could remonstrate she felt his length slip into her slowly from behind, so slowly, that each silky inch intensified and heightened her pleasure until, with his final thrust, deep inside, she cried out his name for the first time.

  His hands slid round and played with her as he thrust repeatedly. Each movement making her want to faint with pleasure.

  “You are mine, Angel.”

  He continued thrusting, one hand rubbing the nub of sensory pleasure that heightened his movements, the other fingers entering her mouth where she sucked his fingers that tasted of them both.

  “You cannot turn away from me again.”

  She peaked again, but he didn’t stop thrusting.

  “I want you.”

  His urgency didn’t stop.

  Her hands groped behind her so that she could feel his legs, the muscles taut, the hairs rough against her skin.

  “You have me.”

  Only then did he pulse into her.

  He lay on the bed beside her, pulling her back to his chest, his large hands holding her body possessively. “You will be mine then, Angel?”

  “Yes. Here now, I am yours. But nothing beyond that.”

  He lay silent and she could feel the tension of anger spark in his muscles but he didn’t let her go.

  “You must marry me. I need you. The King won’t allow you not to marry.”

  “I cannot have a marriage like my first.”

  “You won’t.”

  “How can you be so sure? No-one can. I’ve seen even the best of marriage twist into ugliness. My own father imprisoned my mother for years.”

  “You have to trust.”

  “I cannot.”

  Something, a light in his eyes, faded from him then and he moved away from her. She watched him pull on his underclothes and pause as he pushed his fingers through his hair. She would have named the gesture one of confusion if she hadn’t known him better.

  “What if there is a child.”

  She hesitated. He would not like it but she’d considered this as she’d lain in the early hours of the morning.

  “I can still pass it off as my husband’s. He’s been dead not yet six weeks.”

  She felt his sudden anger fill the small room.

  “You. Will. Not!”

  She rose and quickly pulled on her shift. “I will do whatever I have to do. Go, now, before you’re discovered.”

  There was a knock at the door and before she could answer, a maidservant entered, saw them both and quickly withdrew.

  She fell back on the bed. “Now everyone will know.”

  “You should have barred the door.”

  “I had no thought at the time.”

  “It matters not. You don’t want me here, so I must go.”

  She felt her heart breaking as she watched him dress, every movement he made was a movement away from her. But she had no choice if she wanted to be free. She’d done what he’d wanted, what she’d wanted. She’d lain with him and discovered a pleasure beyond imagining. But her experience of pleasure was that it was always fleeting. It was nothing compared to the permanence of a husband who ruled her, of a husband who could do as he liked with her. How could she go against everything she’d learnt and trust in Guy?

  She watched as he gathered his cloak and strode across the room, his heavy feet echoin
g through the solar and finding a corresponding hollowness inside of herself. But he did not look at her, not when he got dressed, not when he walked across the room, and not when he closed the door firmly behind him.

  Numbly she swung her legs off the bed and sat with her head in her hands and watched the tears fall. She would cry, but only once, only now.

  The sun had risen by the time Angelique returned to the castle. The little-known path across the marshes out to the seashore usually managed to calm her. But apparently today was different. Rather than enter the rear castle door, she walked around to the causeway entrance and was surprised to see her steward running towards her.

  “My lady! I thought you still abed. I heard you were delayed, so I did not like to disturb you.”

  She shot him a look that should have stopped him in his tracks. He continued to walk beside her and she could sense that something greater than his mistress’s bed sport was occupying his mind.

  “Then you thought wrong, Rankin.” She strode towards the gatehouse and he fell in step with her. “I have been walking. The sea is calm this morning and perfect for our journey north.”

  “Indeed, my lady. But I must speak—”

  “Nothing you can do will persuade me to stay, so don’t try. Are all the preparations made?”

  “It is not of the preparations I need to speak to you about. Please, my lady, we have visitors. They came early this morning. Must have camped on the heath overnight. You’d given orders not to be disturbed—”

  Her step hesitated only a moment before she continued but a chill like a blast of wintry north wind swept her body. “Visitors? Who?”

  “It is the King’s men. It is Sir—”

  She held up her hand to silence him as they entered the bailey. He didn’t need further explanation. The open area was full of men and horses—none of whom were her own. She felt sick to her stomach.

  She strode over to the Great Hall and ran up the steps, feeling the heat of anger giving her courage for what she was about to do.