Angie Arms - Flame Series 03 (14 page)

She swallowed, was it wrong for a woman to want her husband as much as she wanted hers?  Surely it was not, for she would bare his children, she hoped many.  “I look forward to our arrival at Fenton.”

She watched Garrick’s back stiffen and slowly he turned to study her.  His face was hidden in the darkness
, and she could not tell if her words pleased him.  His voice sounded tight when he said, “To bed.”  She stood there another moment, waiting, hoping, and then she turned away.  The sooner to bed the sooner tomorrow would come.  She hated the thought of leaving her friends, but it was time for a new life.

Chapter 9

His patience was quickly waning as he counted wagon after wagon.  How could one woman have so much to take with her
, and still leave enough behind that the household could still function?  The impatience ebbed when Ryann stepped from the keep.  Not a hair of her brilliant golden hair was out of place.  Truly every inch of her was perfection as she stood in the sunlight, her hoard of admirers gathering about her to get one last farewell in.   Soon, he told himself to calm his hammering pulse.  He swallowed once, then again, before forcing himself to look away from her.  His goddess, his alone.  Again that thought calmed him, and a feeling of peace settled over him.

He counted the wagons.  Twenty?  It could not be.  Where would she get so many?  He counted again.  Twenty.  It would take forever for them to make it home.  Home, it was a nice thought.  With his entire wife’s possessions it was going to take his entire army to protect them.  Irritation had his head swinging back to his bride as she descended the steps.  Patience, he told himself
, wanting to throw her on the back of Malik and race to Fenton.  If they rode hard all day they could make it there not long after dusk.  With his army and all her wagons, they would be lucky to make it in two days.

Ryann made it to the bottom of the steps and was moving toward Fleet with Christopher moving toward her.  Quick strides carried Garrick to her side
, and effortlessly he picked her up with a surprised gasp escaping her, before he plopped her down in her saddle.  Her soft blue eyes were round, but quickly softened as she looked down at him.  He offered her a smile he knew was stiff, somewhat crooked, but it lit up her face and brought one to her own. 

“Take us home husband,” she said with a nod.

Suddenly his smile did not seem as awkward as he turned from her.  He passed the order to Halvor to get the army moving, and Marcus passed the order on to the wagon drivers. 

It was a snail’s pace at best, Garrick though irritably.  Normally his place was in front of his army, leading.  Despite the snail’s pace
, he felt the sweat that formed on Malik where he had not been satisfied to ride in the front.  He found himself abandoning his post to ride along the lines, just to catch a glimpse of Ryann.  He never approached her for fear that would be too obvious.  He would just ride to within her vicinity, and ask some unimportant question of one of the men that was nearby, then return to the front or more often proceed to the back, just so he could ride past her again.  This need to be near her, but unable to assuage the urge, brought on an irritation still foreign to him.  Where was his control?  If he had no control of himself, how could he have control of the others?  This made his irritation expand to the point he would explode.

He turned Malik now and rode back toward the front of the massive line.  As soon as her golden head came into view he felt the bad mood disintegrate.  He slowed Malik and took a moment to watch her
, as her hips swayed with her horse.  Another overwhelming feeling flooded him and he spurred Malik forward, to get away from Ryann.  He could suppress his irritableness he knew now, but did not think his lust could be so easily controlled at that point.

~ ~ ~ ~

She watched Garrick ride by yet again
, without saying a word to her.  She sighed, wishing he would talk to her.  He had not said a word since last night.  Could he be worried just talking to her would put him in a weakened position with his men?  She had pondered this often.  She knew she spent far too much time trying to figure out how a man thinks.  She didn’t think she was successful in it because it was difficult for her to get passed trying to understand their desire to wage war, to hurt the innocent.  She came to the conclusion however, that she was an innocent under Garrick’s protection.  If he showed an interest in her, that would make him vulnerable, because his enemies could hurt him, by hurting her.

If she were to be the one seeking Garrick out
, wouldn’t that be okay?  It would show no interest on his part.  Nudging Fleet, he readily picked up a trot, carrying her along the trudging column of men.  All the way to the front, she brought Fleet to a walk next to Malik.  Garrick’s stallion tossed his head, but settled down quickly.  When Garrick did not even look at her, she asked, “How has your day been?”

“It is still morning,” he said
, with some irritation.

It was indeed, she thought with some irritation of her own.  The speed they seemed to be traveling was surprisingly slow
, and boring.  It felt as if the entire day should have already passed.  She felt disheartened to realize it was not even half gone.

“Then how has your morning been?” she asked
, and his sharp look told her he detected her own irritation.

“Progressing slowly," he replied
, looking forward again.  She watched the muscle in his jaw clinch.

She laughed lightly.  That admission was not that of a hardened warrior.  "I have thought so too."

His lips twitched into a tight grim line.  In most other men, it would be a smile.

"Will we be stopping soon for a midday meal?" Ryann asked.

Several strides of the horses later he finally told her they would be.  They rode in silence for a short time before Garrick called everyone to a halt.  Ryann then directed some of the men in handing out the bread, cheese and apples she had carefully loaded into one of the wagons.  It was enough to feed everyone twice over, without having to go through the time and trouble of building fires and cooking.  Once she saw to everyone else, she went in search of her husband once again.

She found him atop a knoll
, overlooking his army.  He stood next to Malik, who grazed away from him on a tether. 

"Will you eat?" she asked
, after climbing the small hill and coming to stand beside him.

He turned on her quickly
, and the look in his eyes told her he was ready to devour her.

"I've brought food and wine."  Was that really her voice she wondered?  It sounded frightened and breathless
, and she felt as if her hands were shaking.

He did not respond but stood, the hunger now gone from his eyes
, replaced by his inscrutable expression.  "Would you come share it with me?"

His head snapped up and he studied her for a fraction of a moment
, before he gave a slight nod.  He turned then and walked away from the camp, down the other side of the hill, making her hurry to keep up.  As soon as they were out of sight of the camp it seemed as if he slowed down to accommodate her shorter stride.

"I thought perhaps we could enjoy the quietness of the afternoon," Garrick explained.  He fell silent
, and she could not help but smile at him warmly.  She took the initiative and led him to an old tree that had fallen, creating a comfortable bench, or a precarious bridge, to the other side of the babbling brook. 

~ ~ ~ ~

He watched Ryann pick her way carefully down the small game trail that le
d to the water of the brook.  The water had been carving its way through the land since the beginning of time.  She gained the small shore, nothing more than a ledge providing a platform the animals could drink from.  Garrick watched his wife cast her blue eyes up to him, and he would swear she looked coy.  Still holding his gaze, she reached down and lifted the bottom of her skirt slowly upward, revealing first her ankles, then her calves before she tucked the skirt between her legs, and into her belt at her waist.  Redirecting her gaze, she slipped from her shoes and gingerly stepped down into the water of the brook. 

Garrick crouched on the bank as he watched his wife move back and forth in the brook, swirling her feet around in the water, letting it lap against her ankles.  She was so carefree in her innocent play
, all he could do was watch her in fascination.  A nearly overwhelming fear slammed through him.  He had seen so much innocence lost, thrown away by the darkest of evil.  Stroud attempted to take that from her.  He could care less about taking her maidenhead, but seeing her as she was now, he could not help but fear one day, someone would do something that would make her lose that part of her innocence he was watching now.  He had to protect her with his life, forever keep that part of her intact, for he saw in her something he had never seen before in his life.  Pure joy for life, because life had not failed her as it had him.

Finally, she stepped back up onto the bank, lowered her skirts and slipped back into her shoes.  Carefully she started back up the bank and he was there, taking her hand
, and pulling her light weight back to level ground. 

Suddenly he had an overwhelming urge to squash that innocence.  It had no place in the world
, for he would have to spend the rest of his life protecting her, even from himself.  He was not a good man, not the kind of man who would have such a gentle wife.  He was the kind of man who deserved a shrew for a wife, who was as cold in bed as a strong winter storm.

With a growl he used the hand he helped her up the hill with
, to yank her against him.  His anger increased to find her body fit his perfectly, as if she was made for him.  That could not be.  Her fear was not mirrored in those magnificent blue eyes.  What a foolish man he was.  He could not hurt her, not intentionally. 

"I fear," he began
, immediately wondering why he would impart such a personal piece of information.  "I cannot be gentle with you."

A smile creased her lovely lips.  "Then perhaps, my lord, you can teach me to be rough with you."

He scowled.  "Why do you not fear me?" he asked, easing the grip he had on her hair, but not removing it from its silky softness.

"I begin to think you wish me to fear you."

He could only stare at her soft, beautiful face.  Never had he ever had anyone look at him the way she did, and he felt himself spellbound.

"Do you wish me to fear you?"  Her voice was soft, gentle as if she spoke to a frightened child.

Garrick found he had to swallow past the dry lump in his throat, before he could provide her with an answer.  "No."  As he said the breathy word, he allowed his hands to drop away from her entirely.

"This pleases me," she said
, with a gentle smile.  Her small hands reached upward and entwined behind his head.  He felt her gentle pressure and allowed her to pull him all the way down, until she was able to meet his lips.

She greeted him with the gentlest of caresses, as if it was the mere breath of a butterfly wing.  So gentle he felt it would drive him mad.  When he felt the tip of her tongue gently caress the crease of his lips
, his control fled.

He grabbed her roughly, her squeak was los
t as his mouth opened in a hard demand for hers to do the same.  One arm wrapped around her slim waist, the other her back, caging her against him.  When her tongue boldly met the thrust of his own, he felt his knees weaken. A ravenous hunger took hold, and he wanted to consume her with his fire.

Lifting her
, he carried her from the embankment to the soft grass, and going to a knee, he lowered her.  His hands slid from around her, and went straight for her breasts, feeling their roundness through her clothes.  He gripped the fabric between his strong hands, and effortlessly tore it between the two heavenly globes.  His lips only then left hers, so his tongue could blaze a path across her skin, along with nibbles, as he relished the taste of her.  Her body bucked toward him.  Then his mouth latched onto a perfectly pink nipple, and the gasp that escaped her only fueled his blind lust.

He wanted to taste and feel every inch of her
, all at the same time.  He wanted to already be buried to the hilt within her.  He weighed and squeezed her delicate breasts, reveling in their soft perfection.  Drinking up the taste of her as if he had fought a day long battle with nothing to sustain him, and she was now it, his water to quench his thirst, his feast to sate his hunger.

A whimper escaped her
, and it immediately brought his senses back.  His teeth were clamped around an erect nipple, his hand holding it firmly.  So firmly he did not doubt there would be bruises.  His other hand had already hiked up her skirts, and two fingers were nestled deep within her warmth, and he could not recall how they had gotten there.  But her whimper and the tears pooling in her eyes as she looked up at him, made him feel like the lowest of the low.

What might be worse was an entire army could have advanced on them
, and he had been unaware with his beautiful wife spread out beneath him.  He was not a man to admit his mistakes, so immediately did not draw away from her.  His fingers inside her tight heat stilled, and he eased the grip he had on her breast, using his tongue to flick at the nipple that still showed her interest.  A soft moan escaped her lips, and he flicked it again, before allowing his lips to gently rap around it and suckle.  When he took her other nipple between his fingers and rolled it gently, another moan escaped her, and her hips rose toward him.  The action brought yet another moan from his bride.

Keeping his fingers inside
, he found the little bud just above her entrance, and allowed his palm to press down upon it.  As he suckled on her again, her hips undulated, which made his fingers slide deeper, and his palm apply more pressure.  He made a vow to himself no matter how her moans made him want to whip himself out and plunge into her moist heat, he would not until he could have himself under control.   He had to understand control better, and have it when he finally did take her in his bed at Kinsey, not spread out here on the ground, as if she were some lowly whore.