A Perfect Knight For Love (23 page)

“You locked me in!”

“We’re both in,” he remarked.

“But . . . how can you lift such a bolt?”

He smirked slightly. “It slides.”

Amalie looked over her shoulder and grit her teeth. Stupid. She’d been aroused from a near-sleep existence and hadn’t been thinking. And now, she’d lost her chance.

“There’s naught outside this room for you, lass. Save my brother. Is that what you want?”

She gave an involuntary shiver. “All I want . . . is . . . freedom.” She knew it wasn’t true as she said it. But he’d never know.

“Too late.”

“No, it’s not. We haven’t—” She couldn’t say the word but he knew what it was.

“You should’ve kept your mouth closed, then.”

“What? When?”

“Must we go over all this again? Now?”

Amalie raised her chin to look at him and suffered through a full blush as her heart reacted. That couldn’t be helped. Nor could the rapid pants for breath she made. She told herself it was due to her exertion and then forced the belief in it. They had two torches lit on either side of the door, and candelabra on each step. Lighting everything easily. Making it impossible to avoid eye contact with him. They were at an exact level, because she was three steps above him. But he wasn’t close. The width of his three steps separated them.

“I’ve informed all of your position in my household. You’re the chatelaine. You’re granted control of the keys to the buttery, armory, and treasury. You’re to receive additional allowance for your needs.”

“I don’t want it.”

“You doona’ want an allowance?”

His eyes flicked to how the wool was failing at its job of covering her. She watched him do it. Then he licked his lips, making her rock in place and stumble. That was before he took a step onto the lowest plateau, narrowing the distance between them and forcing her to look up to keep contact with his eyes.

“I don’t want any of it.”

“Too bad. And much too late.”

“Now . . . wait! We don’t have to do this. You-you-you . . . have a seaport! You said you d-d-did.” He’d moved another step closer, gotten taller, and Amalie’s stutter showed the effect.

“Aye,” he replied.

“I can catch a ship! I can disappear!”

“We truly do have to go over this again, doona’ we?”

“Don’t . . . come any closer!”

She released the hold on the material at her throat to stave him off. His approach was more dangerous. The hand she put out to stop him would’ve come into contact with solid male except he stopped a hairsbreadth distance from her and sent sparks instead. She watched her own hand tremble with the sensation, despite willing it to cease. Nothing was working. And when he took a huge gulp of air, moving his chest even closer, the solid flick of lightning tingle got even worse.

“Lass.” He breathed the air out, cleared his throat, and looked slightly discomfited. And that just made her heart pulse again. “I’ve claimed you. Afore God and man. I gave my word.”

“I’ll never tell,” she whispered.

“You canna’ stop your word, once given.”

“You can put out more word. Tell them I . . . died.”

“You want me to lie? Be just like my brother, Jamie?”

“No,” Amalie whispered.

“Good. Because I’ll na’ stoop to that. You should na’, either.”

“You can . . . let me go. Get an annulment. The babe is safe. You’re safe. There’s no need to continue this farce.”

“You’re truly na’ going to keep your word?” he asked.

Amalie narrowed her eyes, hoping it showed disdain. It probably failed and didn’t mute much of his impact, either. “I was forced to say it. It was life or death. Or worse. You know that. You were there.”

“That’s na’ the word I refer to,” he replied.

She went pink. And then all the way to red. She knew exactly what he was referring to, now. “But that was also forced! As the better alternative!”

“Have you finished this argue?” he asked.

“Argue? I haven’t shown argue yet.”

“Then what? Fear?”

“I don’t fear you.” The breathless tone gave that lie away. As did the full tremble of her body.

“I can understand maidenly fear. But ’tis rather late. And senseless. Had we na’ been interrupted, we’d have been fully man and wife already. Two nights past. At the hut.”

Unfair. The man was totally unfair. She hoped it showed in her face.

“That makes this entire thing senseless. Aside of which, if you make me chase you, we’ll have a powerful long night. And a painful one. For both of us.”

Amalie gasped and watched his glance flick to her revealed cleavage before moving back. The lighting was also unfair, as it reflected off dark lashes as he blinked. And then a large rush of noise tamped her ears, muting his next words.

“I’m failing to speak the right words, I think.”

“There are no . . . right words.”

He licked his lips and leaned forward, pushing against her outstretched arm and forcing her to accept the weight. And then he just stayed there, balanced against her palm, his face hovering above her. Threatening. Promising. Sending trill after trill of goose flesh shooting down both arms and centering in the most horrid spot. At each breast tip.

“I’m forgetting the best part.”

His whisper was light and sent with breath that ruffled the wisps of hair at her forehead. That sent shivers racing down her back to her feet, and then right back up her legs to join those making pinpricks of her nipples.

“You’re fain bonny. Womanly. I’ve na’ forgotten the hut . . . if you ken my meaning.”

Her cry echoed to the ceiling as she moved, ducking around his side and racing back toward the table, where it was safer. Solid. And dark, so she wouldn’t see so much of him while she tried to speak sensibly.

“You truly plan on making me chase you?”

His voice was a growl, and accompanied by a more pronounced limp as he advanced toward where Amalie was keeping the table between them.

“Yes. I mean no,” she replied.

“Yea or nae. Which is it?”

He’d reached the table. She didn’t know he’d grabbed the candelabra until he plunked it down atop the wooden surface and looked across it at her. There was something sinister about how the light shadowed and defined every portion of him. The firm jaw. Lengthy eyelashes. Set lips. Broad shoulders. Narrow hips. It was totally sinister. And so completely unfair.

“Well?” he prompted.

“I . . . don’t plan on making you do anything.”

“Then cease running. I’ve a hip that nears fire-ache when I move it. You break open my wound and I’ll na’ be as gentle as I planned.”

“That’s your fault.”

“How so?”

“You’re chasing me.”

Thayne shook his head. “I doona’ ken your words.”

“If you’d cease chasing me, you wouldn’t have to worry over whether your wound opened or not.”

“And if you’d honor your word, I’d na’ have to chase.”

“My word. Your word. It’s all just talk. Nobody will know.”

He sighed heavily. Due to the amount of light he’d brought, it was exceptionally visual and stunning and tongue-tying. Amalie gave her own sigh but kept it silent. Where it belonged.

“I’ll know. Now, come here.”

“ No.”

“You disavow your word and now disobey your husband?”

“Only in your opinion.”

“In any man’s opinion!”

“Not a woman’s. She’d understand.”

He put his hands on his hips, stood taller somehow, and narrowed his cheeks and eyes to glare at her. All of it put perfect definition to the size and strength of his frame. And the handsomeness of his face.

“How can you do this, Thayne? You don’t even want me!”

“Trust me, lass. I want you.”

“What of . . . love?” Her voice caught. She pulled her lower lip into her mouth but that hadn’t stopped it.

“Who said aught of love?”

Amalie was eternally grateful she hadn’t said anything of the emotion as anger pumped through his voice. She was terrified that she already loved him, even knowing how foolish that would be. She didn’t need a potent reminder he looked ready to give about it. Her heart reacted to it, pounding mightily and sending the rush of water sound through her ears again. She only wished it blocked his next words.

“Love’s nothing more than a woman’s weapon. Used to enthrall a man. Keep him humbled and subservient. Obliged to pander to her every wish. It’s akin to slavery.”

“No, it’s not,” she replied.

Thayne studied her from across the table, tipping his head slightly. He didn’t say anything for so long her heart had time to return to a regular rhythm while the water sound in her ears faded, making everything perfectly focused and clear.

“You saying something with these words?”

“No.”
Yes.

“Good. Now, cease this and come around the table.”

Amalie shook her head.

“Doona’ make me fetch you. You’ll na’ appreciate it.”

“Nobody’s making you do anything, Thayne. Nobody.”

“Fair enough.”

He nodded, and without giving any warning launched fully across the table, enwrapping her before knocking a chair aside with the fall. They landed hard, Thayne taking the brunt of it on his noninjured side. It still must’ve hurt. Amalie could tell by the groan from between his lips before the ropes of belly against hers tightened with his next move.

“Damn you, wife!”

He shoved to his feet, keeping her plastered to him with an arm resembling iron. He was favoring his entire right side, using that leg for the move and then balance, while dragging his left leg. He snarled at her, before tossing her over his shoulder as if she weighed little, while an arm stayed cocked about her waist. Amalie kicked and gained his other arm about her ankles. She didn’t know why she fought. She knew she’d lose. She had at the inn. She lost just as easily now. It didn’t seem to hamper him much as he walked toward the haven of light about his bed, using a more pronounced limp than before. And he was speaking through clenched teeth the entire time.

“I ask her to assist me . . . she disobeys. I doona’ want an argue . . . but that’s all she does! I beg her na’ to make me chase her. What does she do? Ignores it! She does na’ obey the least thing! Blast you, wife! And your bonny frame!”

She bounced on the mattress once before facing his entire weight as he launched atop her, shoving her into the softness with his body weight and something more. Something indefinable. Potent. Inescapable. Amalie opened her mouth to gain air and got his lips, instead, dragging kisses from her with the sweetness of his tongue.

“Ah, lass. Lass.”

He crooned it to her amid motions that sapped her energy as well as her will. It was her hands dragging through his hair, pulling it loose from the tie. Hers clutching at his back, digging her nails about muscle that rippled and flexed as if for her delectation and enjoyment.

“I wanted this different. Your first time to be . . . soft. Gentle.”

He lifted onto his right side, plying his lips across her jawline to her ear, and sending rivulets of shivers from the spot all over her. Making her thrill to it. Every bit of her: nipples, thighs, her nether region. Amalie bucked slightly up and into him as he stayed in place, sucking gently on the skin beneath an ear, toyed along her ribs. Up her side, going infinitely close to a breast....

And then he grabbed at the material of her robe and shoved it down, at the same time lifting his head, moving to her breast, and Amalie gaped in shock as he lowered his mouth to her and suckled, staying latched despite her lunges to unfasten him. Realms of feeling wove about her, brought into being by the sensations at her breast, and then it softened, turning to something resembling idolatry as he lavished attention to her nipple before moving across to the other one.

Her moans accompanied and urged him, as did the handful of hair she gripped, holding him to her and bucking ceaselessly against him as he brought her other breast to the same plethora of satisfaction as the first. But it wasn’t enough. Everything on her knew it. Thayne went further above her, lifting onto one arm in order to peel the robe apart, sending his gaze where she ached for touch and his breath where she needed fingers. Everything on her knew it.

“Thayne . . .”

His name was an echo of softness, whispered into the air as his fingers slid along her thighs, between them, sending shivers flying from his fingertips that hadn’t a hope of containment. Amalie lunged up at him, sinuously sliding all along the fabric of kilt covering his groin, thighs, hips. Her hands moved lower along his back, defining a buttock . . . feeling him tense.

She roamed her hands to the front, and connected with such strength and rigidity and size, her entire being flinched, going to a shock of stiffness while her wide eyes were caught and held by his.

“Aye, lass. You ken my need now? Feel my want? And soon . . .”

Fingers touched right at her core, minutely tipping her onto a precipice of wonder, and then he cupped a hand fully about her, lifting her at the same time he shoved between her legs. Amalie was held in place, hovering between fantasy and illusion, caught by realms of wonder sparked with intensity. Volition. Sensory primal need. Want. Ache. She rocked beneath his fingers as they endlessly toyed at her, granting her thrill and forcing her to absorb it. Climb toward it. Ache for it. Her breath followed in small gasps of endurance as she worked for it. Strove for it. Hungered for it . . .

Wonder split the air, sending warmth gushing from where his fingers forced the reaction, and then he lifted her, sliding his maleness over and over along her until she pounded at his back with vexation. And then he arched his hips, shoving her down at the same time, the entire time impaling her on complete and total agony with each increasingly deep lunge he made.

Amalie screamed, sending the cry of pain to the top of the canopy and still further as Thayne continued his assault, pushing time and again into quivering rawness nobody had warned her of. The canopy above blurred with unshed tears, and Amalie screamed again.

Thayne caught the second one with his kiss, holding her agonized cry in the caverns of his mouth, while her entire body tried to escape. Deny. Rebut. He was sending fire where he promised and pain exactly as he’d warned. And he wasn’t finished. Grunts filled the chamber, put in place with each of his continuing thrusts, pushing continually into her with ever increasing movements. Jarring her. Bouncing her. Punishing her. Owning her.