Knight of Desire (13 page)

He watched the boy’s face in the lamplight. Jamie, who was always in motion when awake, had the face of a cherub in the peace
of sleep. The sweetness of his expression made William think of his brother John at that age. William had not been allowed
to visit his mother’s home often. But when he came, it was to see John.

“God protect you,” he said, touching the top of the boy’s head.

Having no more excuse for delay, he trudged down the stairs to his and Catherine’s rooms. He gave yet another heavy sigh when
he saw no light under her door. For the hundredth time that day, he reminded himself of the abbess’s advice. He must give
Catherine time to trust him.

Where was Thomas? God’s beard, the man did not even light a lamp for him. Further punishment for his sins—as if he needed
to be chastised by his manservant.

He felt his way in the dark to the table and lit the lamp. He yawned and stretched his arms wide as he turned toward the bed.

Catherine. Catherine was in his bed.

In three heartbeats, he went from dumbstruck to breathless. She was stunning, with her fair hair spilling over his pillow
like a river of moonbeams. It was a long moment before he thought to drop his arms.

“You have come to me,” he said, not quite believing it.

She clutched the bedclothes to her chin and nodded.

Now that she was here, he could show her she had nothing to fear in his bed. He uncurled her hand from the coverlet and pressed
it to his lips.

“It pleases me very much that you are here.” He squeezed her icy fingers to reassure her and kissed her cheek. “I will give
you no cause to regret it.”

He undressed quickly, dropping his clothes on the floor before lifting the bedclothes. Ignoring her sharp intake of breath,
he slid in beside her.

She was wearing her tunic, but that meant he would have the pleasure of taking it off. He tentatively placed his hand on the
flat of her stomach. Imagining the feel of the smooth skin beneath the cloth, he closed his eyes. He was determined to go
slowly and not frighten her. But he wanted her so badly that would not be easy.

He had wanted her for such a long, long time.

“Turn toward me. I want to look into your face.”

As she turned, his hand slid from her stomach to the dip of her waist. He smiled at her. He hoped his eyes did not have a
predatory gleam. But he thought they might.

He held her eyes as he ran his hand up her side to the tantalizing swell of the side of her breast. Gritting his teeth, he
reminded himself to go slow. He moved his hand back to her waist, then over the curve of her hip and down her thigh.

He was as tight as a bowstring.

His only thought now was that he had to touch her skin. He tugged at her tunic, but it was caught beneath her.

“Help me.” He heard the desperate, pleading note to his voice, but he didn’t care.

She rolled onto her back and lifted her hips, the saints be praised. Without touching her, he drew the shift up to her waist.
His heart pounded in his ears. She lifted her shoulders and raised her arms as he eased it up and over her head. His hand
shook as he reached to touch her. Then he shut his eyes, his whole being focused on the silky softness of her skin.

Repeating his earlier journey, he slid his hand along her side with exquisite slowness. When he brushed the still softer skin
of the side of her breast, his breath caught. How long he had waited to touch her. No other woman felt this good.

In a daze of desire, he kissed her face, her hair, her neck. Against her ear, he murmured, “I have dreamed of this.”

He pulled back to look at her again. Good Lord, she had her eyes squeezed shut and her arms clenched in front of her breasts.
He pried one hand free and held it.

“What is it?” he asked as he looked at her across the pillow.

She did not speak or move. He pressed her hand against his cheek and turned to kiss her palm.

When she opened her eyes, he asked again, “What is wrong?”

Her eyes were wide, her lips parted. She seemed to have trouble finding her voice. “I did not know what to expect. Since you
were ready at once, I… I thought it would be over quickly.”

William guffawed. So, she had taken a good look at him as he climbed naked into bed.

Grinning, he pulled her into his arms and buried his face in her neck. “You have good cause to fear I will be much too quick
this first time.”

Her naked body felt glorious against him. As he moved his mouth down the curve of her neck, he whispered, “I promise I shall
do better the second time. And still better the third.”

He was lost in the feel of her. Her breasts against his chest, her legs against his thighs. And, oh yes, her stomach against
the length of his erection.

“I have longed for this,” he murmured, breathing in the scent of her skin. How could a woman smell this good?

It was no longer enough to feel her breasts against his chest; he had to touch them. The sensation of her breasts filling
his hands was heaven itself. He trailed kisses down her throat to her breastbone. He turned his head to feel the softness
of her skin against his cheek. The wild beating of her heart matched his own.

He kept one breast cupped in his hand as he dragged his tongue across to the other. When he reached her nipple and flicked
it with his tongue, she squeaked. He smiled.

Intent on claiming every inch of her, he eased himself down her body. He ran his tongue along the undersides of her breasts
and planted slow wet kisses across her flat belly. He fought the temptation to move farther down and taste her. Though the
thought made his cock throb, he did not want to shock her. All things in good time.

Still he toyed with the temptation. He grazed the silky skin of her inner thigh with his fingertips as he kissed the inside
of her knee. So close. Before he knew what he was doing, his hand was gripping her buttock and his mouth was where his fingers
had been and was moving upward.

All he wanted in this life was to taste her and then drive into her until her screams rang in his ears.

He got up on his hands and knees and shook his head.

He looked down at her breasts and sighed. How long he’d waited to see them. To touch them. He gave each nipple a light kiss,
then wanted more. When he took the tip of one in his mouth and sucked, he was rewarded by her sharp intake of breath. He slid
down to feel her body beneath him. She felt so good against his chest, his thighs, his shaft. All the while, he sucked her
breast harder, losing himself in the sensation.

The urge to enter her was almost more than he could bear. Perhaps if she’d not kept him on edge every minute of the last week,
he would not be so close to losing all control. He lifted his head and, breathing hard, tried to calm himself.

Dragging his gaze up from her breasts, he saw her perfect mouth. How had he missed kissing it? He desperately needed her kisses—deep,
deep kisses—before he entered her. As he slid up her body to take her mouth, the sensation of skin rubbing against skin set
his every nerve tingling.

She opened her legs as he moved, and he gasped as he unexpectedly found himself at the threshold. With all his being, he wanted
to keep moving until he was deep inside her. One strong thrust. The urge almost overpowered him. And yet, he held back. He
wanted her mouth on his first.

“Kate,” he moaned as he lowered his mouth to hers.

He anticipated a warm joining of mouths and tongues as a prelude to the joining of their bodies. But she kept her lips firmly
together. Something was wrong, terribly wrong. But he was sliding into her now. It was too late. He could not stop. The urge
overwhelmed him, taking over his body. His mind was one with his body, set on the same goal.

He had to have her. He had to have her now.

At last. At last. At last.

He came in an explosion of pent-up lust and longing, hunger and desire. She was his. She was his.

When he was able to move, he rolled to his side, taking her with him. He had not performed with such speed since his youth.
Happy, but a little embarrassed, he held her close and kissed her face and hair.

“Sorry, Kate,” he whispered, and kissed the tip of her nose. “I shall go slower next time.”

“Slower?” she asked in a startled voice. She did not sound grateful for his good intentions.

He leaned up on one elbow to see her better, but he could not read her expression in the dim lamplight. Gently, he smoothed
back her hair.

He hated to ask, but he had to know. “Did I hurt you?”

She shook her head and said in a soft voice, “It did not hurt at all this time.”

“It hurt you before? With Rayburn?” He did not want to remember that she had belonged to another man and disliked even more
having to mention the man’s name here in his own bed.

Catherine tried to turn her head away, but he would not let her.

He rested his forehead lightly against hers and asked, “Did he never give you pleasure in bed?”

She drew her brows together.

This was worse than he had thought. He sighed and lay back down beside her. Perhaps he should have expected this. But he had
not. In his vanity, he had never doubted that once he had her in bed, she would enjoy it.

He had heard, of course, of wives who considered going to their husbands’ beds a duty to be suffered, an obligation necessary
to meet their husbands’ vulgar needs and produce heirs. All of his own experience, however, was with women who came to his
bed for pleasure. They sought him out and returned for more.

His wife’s voice brought him back abruptly to the present.

“May I go to my chamber now?”

“You are welcome to sleep here.” He hoped she would.

“I am sure I could not sleep,” she said, her brows going up in surprise. “And Jamie would not know where to find me. He has
bad dreams sometimes.”

“If you do not wish to stay tonight, I will not insist upon it,” he said, still hoping she would change her mind.

Her foot was on the step beside the bed almost before the words left his mouth.

“Catherine,” he said, grabbing her arm to delay her escape, “you have a husband now who wants you in his bed. You must tell
Jamie he can find you here when you are not in your own bed.”

As she raced out the door, he called after her, “But teach the boy to knock.”

The succeeding nights were no better.

He told himself he would not take her if she did not also want him. But each night he did. As he moved inside her, he would
close his eyes and think of the other Catherine. The girl who threw her head back laughing and reached for the stars.

She came to him each night without his asking. She told him she prayed daily for another child. Though he knew he did not
take her against her will, he felt shamed by what he did. Each encounter left him feeling emptier than before.

Though she denied him nothing, she rejected him wholly. When she left his bed, as she always did, he told himself he hoped
she would not return the next night.

But in his heart, he knew if Catherine did not come to him, he would go to her. He knew better than to want something from
a woman she could not give. And yet he could not stop himself from wanting more from Catherine.

Other men kept mistresses. There were plenty of women who would gladly fill that role for him. Beautiful women. Eager women.

But he wanted no woman but Catherine.

C
atherine could let her guard down, knowing she would not run into William as she went about her tasks. Early this morning,
he received a report of raiders crossing the border and took a group of men to flush them out.

He seemed grateful for a reason to be away.

She met with Alys as usual. She approved the housekeeper’s plan to send the household servants to do a thorough cleaning of
the gatehouse while most of the men were out of the way. Next, she spoke with the cook. She wanted a hearty supper prepared
for the men when they returned this evening.

At midmorning, she sent Jamie off with his nursemaid and settled herself gratefully into the quiet solitude of the solar with
her embroidery. She felt confused and on edge. William’s behavior bewildered her. When he looked at her with that weary sadness,
she found herself wishing for the burning looks he used to give her.

She perceived she was somehow the source of his wretchedness. But how had she failed him? She had every reason to hope he
would get her with child soon. She went to his bed every night. It was not nearly as bad as she had expected. In sooth, she’d
grown to like the way he kissed her face and hair… and some of the other things he did as well. Most of it was so unsettling,
though, that she found it difficult to sleep afterward.

If only she had another woman to talk to! Her mother had said little about what went on between man and wife in the bedchamber
beyond vague allusions to duty and perseverance. She had no sisters, no close female cousins. The only person she might have
such a conversation with—though she blushed at the thought—was Abbess Talcott.