Astra tensed as she recalled her conversation with Will about Marguerite’s prospective husband. His ominous words made her appreciate Richard all the more. Her husband had vented his anger at her in humiliating ways, but he had never struck her. Then too, the pleasure he had given her more than made up for the pain.
She glanced at Richard shyly, recalling the wonder of his silent, passionate lovemaking the night before. He caught her looking at him and gave her a hard, probing stare in return. Her body responded instantly. Her breasts felt warm and heavy beneath her clothes, and the familiar ache started between her legs. She met her husband’s lustful eyes with surprise. It was hours from nightfall and miles from their bedchamber. Did he intend for her to endure this agony of desire all day? Was this some new form of punishment?
She had little time to dwell on it, for they reached the edge of the forest and the formal procession ended. Ladies and knights dismounted to take quick refreshment before the hunt began. Falcons were unhooded, dogs unleashed and supply carts unharnessed. The noise and confusion made Astra uneasy. She had never been on a hunt before and she had no idea what to do. She worried that if she got off her horse, she would have to ask for assistance to mount again. Marguerite had no such concerns. She had dismounted and now stood with her cunning little russet and gray gyrfalcon on her wrist. She was showing off her bird to some dark, immensely tall knight that Astra had not seen before.
Astra rode towards her friend and paused when she saw Will had the same destination. She hoped he would be able to get Marguerite away from the knight and warn her about Faucomberg. Astra bit her lower lip, wondering what to do. She had almost made up her mind to go to Marguerite and see if she could help Will when she felt a hand upon her knee. She looked down into Richard’s intense black-brown eyes,
“You will ride the course with me, lady,” he said in the lazy, husky voice she knew so well. She nodded, forgetting for a moment her worries about Marguerite.
“Should I dismount?” she asked him.
Richard shook his head. “We’ll be setting off soon. Stay on your horse and follow me.”
Astra nodded, wondering if she could manage that. She’d never ridden in the woods before. On the journey to London they had stayed to the roads and trackways, and even at Ravensmore they had done most of their riding in open country. She watched her husband as he exchanged words with some other knights. She was afraid to trust this change in his attitude towards her. Only days ago, he had been cold and harsh, taunting her with his plans to go whoring. Now he was acting much like the Richard she’d once known, seductive and possessive. What did it mean? And why was he so quiet, almost brooding?
The hunting horns sounded with a harsh, melodic blast, and the confusion in the field intensified. Astra gripped her reins with sweaty palms as she contemplated the ride to come.
“Astra, are you thirsty? Do you wish some wine?” Richard had appeared beside her again. She took the wineskin.
“Don’t be so nervous, lovey.” Richard smiled. “I’ll ride slowly. I promise I won’t leave you behind.”
“Who else will be riding with us?”
Richard shrugged. “I don’t think anyone else will want to lag back. Most of this band takes their hunting seriously. They wouldn’t want to miss seeing the kill.”
“And you?”
“I’ve been on hunts before—but never with you.” Again he gave her that look. It seemed to make her heart cease beating in her chest.
The horns sounded again and Richard mounted his horse, guiding the mare ahead of her. In a flurry of dust and bright color, the main portion of the hunters set off into the woods. Small groups of knights and ladies followed after them, until the trampled field was empty except for the provision carts and servants. Richard and Astra were the last to ride out after the horses and bellowing hounds.
Astra felt the throb of excitement pulsing in her veins. The mild wind in her face, the sharp scent of fallen leaves and dying vegetation, the thrilling cry of dogs and horns in the distance—it was like nothing she had ever experienced before. Ahead of her, Richard’s mare flashed dark and lithe through the underbrush, and the molten gold sunlight trickled down through the half-bare trees. She forgot her fear in her enjoyment of the fine day and the pleasure of being away from the stink and crowds of London. She had missed the woods, the soft call of thrush and nuthatch from the upper branches, the whispering sound of small animals scurrying along the forest floor, the scent of fresh air and foliage.
The autumn woods seemed peaceful and quiet. A few stray leaves floated down upon her hair, and beneath the horses’ hooves she could hear the crunch of dead leaves and grasses. The green of summer was gone, but here and there among the drabber browns and grays of the fading forest could be seen small patches of fiery red berries, sparkling yellow birch and russet maple leaves. It had rained the night before, and the very air seemed to sparkle, as if the autumn shower had washed away the dust and left the forest one last day of glory.
In the distance, the sounds of the hunt receded until Astra could almost forget their purpose in riding out. She followed Richard dutifully, trying to keep up with the mare’s swift pace even as she longed to stop and savor the sights around them. They had fallen hopelessly behind the rest of the hunting party. The realization made her a bit uneasy, but did not quell her enjoyment of the forest’s autumn splendor.
Richard reined the mare to a halt and waited for her to pull alongside him. “Shall we stop here?” he asked, smiling.
She frowned in puzzlement. “But the others... we’re already behind. We’ll never catch up if we stop now.”
He leaned very close. His mouth quirked slightly. “Do you really want to watch some helpless animal die?”
“No, of course not”
He dismounted and tied the skittish mare to a tree and then came back to help her off her horse. He reached up and put his arms out for her. She hesitated only a moment before sliding down into his waiting embrace. His hands were iron-like around her waist, and he did not release her immediately. They stood face-to-face, chest-to-chest. She looked up at him, feeling the sudden excitement flutter through her.
“We’re alone.”
She nodded. His dark eyes were opaque, unreadable. The faint smile was gone, and that odd look again touched his features. His hands moved over her possessively, gliding from her waist up her back, then resting against either side of her neck. His fingers fanned out along her nape, then reached forward to stroke the hollow of her throat. She could feel their calloused tips against her throbbing pulse.
“Do you know what I’m going to do now, Astra?”
“What?” she whispered back.
R
ichard’s dark eyes glowed. “I’m going to do exactly as I wanted to do that first time I saw you in the woods. I’m going to lay you down upon the forest floor and pleasure you as you’ve never been pleasured before.”
“Here?”
Richard nodded. “What better place?”
She frowned, still puzzled. Why would he choose a forest glen over their beautiful bedchamber at the palace?
The riddle lost her interest as his fingers crept lower, gliding over her shoulders, her arms and down to her waist. He drew her forward slowly, then dipped his head and slanted his lips to hers.
It was a tender, lingering kiss. Astra slid her hands along his back and leaned her body into his. She felt safe, utterly secure. She wanted to melt into him, to bury herself in the sharp, male scent of his body. He cradled her in his arms for a moment and then his hands went to her neck again, sliding beneath her veil and braids to fondle her nape. There was something very gentle in the way he touched her. His fingers were soothing, skimming over her flesh almost delicately. He fingered her hair and then kneaded her scalp until Astra’s whole body went limp.
His mouth moved over hers, savoring, nuzzling. Astra kissed him back with breathless wonder. It had never been like this between them before. There was no hurry, no urgency. Time stood still as he explored her mouth with lazy enjoyment. Astra dared to meet his probing tongue with her own, to taste her lover’s mouth with an eagerness that matched his.
He was so different than her. Everything about him was bigger, harsher, rougher. She reveled in the contrast between them, his hard mouth devouring her delicate lips and tongue, his strength crushing her softness, his massive arms and chest enfolding her smaller form. She imagined the contrast of their naked bodies, his so dark and lean and angular against her milky, rounded fairness.
She ran her hands along his back and felt him shudder with desire. She was enthralled with his powerful, male physique, delighting in the feel of the thick, firm muscles along his back and shoulders. Boldly she sought the taut, tempting flesh of his buttocks. He did not resist her caressing fingers, but his muscles seemed to tighten as she stroked them. Intent upon her exploration of her lover’s body, Astra scarcely realized how passionate and greedy her fondling had become until Richard reached down and grasped her hands.
“Nay, lovey,” he whispered. “You must not hurry me.”
Astra looked up at him, probing his dark, mysterious eyes. They held her, ensnaring her hopelessly. His hands went to her waist, and she arched her back and thrust her breasts up, offering herself to him. She saw his breath catch, and his eyes grew darker and wilder, glistening with desire.
He lowered her slowly to the ground as he slid to his knees and then stretched out beside her. His hands appeared to tremble as he searched for an opening in her bodice. Her riding costume was modestly cut and unlike most of her gowns, laced not up the front, but under her arms. She drew his hands there, and then giggled as his fingers tickled. Her laughter seemed to ease his passion, for he smiled and abandoned her laces.
“You thwart me, lady, but it is all to the good. I would have you uncover your hair before I see you naked.”
She nodded, and sat up so she might undo her coiffure. It would be a pleasure to discard her veil and let down her heavy braids. He watched her. A faint smile lingered on his lips and softened the passionate look in his eyes. Astra felt so dreamy and content, she did not even worry about how she would ever repin her hair by herself.
She had no sense of any world outside this one. The sun would always shine. The soft breeze was never ending. They had all eternity for their lovemaking.
Finishing her hair, she lay back and closed her eyes. She heard Richard’s deep, regular breathing as he leaned over her. His fingers fumbled with her laces once again. She lay limp and passive, feeling the warmth of the dappled sunlight upon her face.
* * *
He pulled the loosened gown down as far as it would go and cupped one bare breast in his palm. A hungry, insistent tide surged through his loins, but he ignored it. He wanted this time to last. He wanted to remember every blissful moment of it, to savor every exquisite inch of this woman.
The liquid softness of her breast stirred slightly against his hand. He stroked her deliberately, watching the pale pink areola of her nipple stiffen and swell. He fingered the engorged tip until she began to pant. Had anything more lovely, more enticing ever been created to tempt a man? The perfection of her still made his throat go dry. He had seen her naked a dozen times now, but each time she stirred him almost painfully. He reached for her other breast, teasing the nipple to turgid readiness. Then he dipped his head to taste her. The honey-sweet lushness of her skin made his head swim. He sucked her nipples and lapped her skin, surrendering to some ancient longing to nourish his soul in the soft rapture of a woman’s flesh.
Beneath him, she moaned and stirred. He pulled away, aware that her passion grew too intense for his languid purposes. He eased himself down beside her and turned so his eyes rested on her delicious, tempting form. Then he used his hands to soothe her, pressing his palm against each inflamed nipple until she lay still. Finally he leaned over and began to kiss her again.
He wanted to memorize the shape of her mouth, the way her lips opened for him like a flower unfolding its nectar-laden petals in the warmth of the sun. He wondered at the mystery of her sensual, voluptuous mouth, why it beckoned his tongue to taste and delve and fill it until neither of them could be satisfied with anything but further joining. He wanted to love this woman one last time, to sate himself with her opulent beauty, to pleasure her until he had naught else to give her.
His body began to tremble with need as she arched her hips frantically beneath his. It was time to satisfy her violent craving, but not with the completion she sought. He shifted off her so he could raise her skirts. Again, he was awestruck, wondering. The nest of rosy hair between the curving hips, the rounded silken thighs, the daintiness of her ankles and feet—had ever a woman been formed with such an extravagant promise of pleasure incarnate?
She was a Venus, her nether parts as finely wrought as the master work of the greatest craftsmen. From the red gold jewel-work of her mound to the alabaster perfection of her skin, she was as divinely lovely as the rarest
objet d’art
ever designed.
He nudged her thighs apart, and for a moment all reason seemed to flee from his mind. He nearly surrendered to raw instinct, the agonizing need to fill the silken, pink sheath that awaited him. He held back. It was not time yet. He would arouse her further and satisfy the first heat of her longing before he offered her the final consummate pleasure.
He smiled at her, trying to reassure her. Astra’s eyes were wide, the black pupils dilated until they nearly swallowed the gentian blue of her irises. Her face was flushed a deep pink, her lips rose-colored and deliciously swollen. He kissed her softly, delighting in the yearning heat of her plush mouth. Then his trembling fingers glided slowly down her body.
She gasped as his hand found her mound. He let his fingers rest there for a moment, enjoying the heat of her.
Then he began a leisurely, teasing rhythm, one finger dancing against the quickening nub at the tip of her cleft while the rest of his hand pressed hard against her swollen nether lips. Her body seemed to shimmer with excitement, her breasts bouncing slightly as she worked her hips against his hand. Her head fell back, eyes closed, lips parted in ecstasy. Her thighs fell apart, exposing the slippery pink folds between them. She was wet and glistening, a delicate, blushing pink that distracted him from his deliberate rhythm.
Unable to resist, he pushed two fingers inside her and heard her frantic moan. Then he resumed pleasuring her with his thumb. Her body arched, her fingers clawing desperately at her velvet skirts as the ravaging force of her peak surged through her. He stilled his fingers, feeling the vibrations inside her swell and then subside.
He let her rest as he feasted his eyes on her glowing, dewy beauty. Her legs shifted together, her eyes opened lazily. She saw him staring at her and seemed to flush even more.
“Lovely Astra,” he murmured.
She gazed back at him, seemingly uneasy. He recalled that he had done this to her before, coaxed her to lose control, to abandon herself to the fiery passion of her body. Then he had mocked her afterwards, or threatened her. A stab of guilt stung him. No wonder she watched him with such wary, anxious eyes. Even now she waited for him to shame her for finding pleasure in his lovemaking.
“Wish you there was more, Astra?”
Her eyes widened, as though in dread, and he cursed himself for not choosing his words more carefully.
“I would pleasure you more, should you wish it.”
She said nothing. He fumbled with his chausses, pulling them down to bare his rigid shaft. Her eyes leapt there, and he saw her longing. He drew her hand to him, finally indulging himself in his own passion. Bit by bit his self-control vanished with each stroke of her caressing fingers. Sweat broke out on his forehead, and the muscles in his legs went rigid with tension. When he could tolerate no more, he gently pulled her hand away and rolled sideways to cover her. His shaft slid within her newly-primed sheath with slippery perfection.
* * *
She felt complete, utterly content. Their bodies were joined, her essence enveloped in the dark, lovely warmth of his embrace. But between her legs, the greedy, insatiable throb had already started again. She felt him move deep inside her, finding her limit, pushing her to accept more and more of him. Her body responded, stretching and swelling to draw him to the very threshold of her womb. She wanted him like this, so far inside her there was no memory of them ever being separate beings.
The journey began with a slow, smooth rhythm that rocked her to higher and higher peaks of pure pleasure. She clutched him desperately, holding on as tightly as she could to his sweaty skin. He growled and thrust deeper, touching some place so sensitive it immediately sent her to the shattering heights of paradise. And then there was only darkness and roaring red fire burning a pathway across her soul. As her lover plunged and pounded and thrust she dreamed she died and shot across the heavens like a dazzling cascade of stars.
Breathless. Her lungs felt too big for her chest, and her body lay heavy beneath his hot, slick-skinned weight. But for all she fought for breath, she did not want him to leave her. Ever. She could die like this, in Richard’s arms. She wondered if perhaps she had. Could a mortal soul endure such stark fantastic pleasure and not float away into the heavens forever?
A leaf blew down on her face, tickling her. She felt a moment of disappointment to realize she was still alive, crushed in the arms of a flesh and blood man. To console herself, she stroked him, savoring the scent and feel of the exhausted male creature who sprawled over her. He had a right to be tired. No warrior had ever fought a battle with more grace and skill and passion. He was a heroic, divinely-inspired lover, a dark, muscular angel come to earth.
He stirred beneath her caress and finally lifted his weight from hers. She watched him, wondering if he had felt even a tiny bit of the soul-capturing awesomeness that she had known.
He looked very weary, and for the first time, she was aware of faint lines etched in the tanned skin around his dark, compelling eyes. His gaze was -unreadable, mysterious, but there was naught in it of anger or contempt. She relaxed slightly and leaned back on her pillow of fallen leaves. He continued to watch her, his gaze burning over her body. She had the sense he was trying to memorize how she looked.
He eased himself up to a sitting position, then leaned over and gently patted her between her thighs, as if he could not resist touching her there one last time. After pulling her skirts down, he helped her sit up, his fingers brushing over her breasts almost wistfully as he straightened her bodice. Then he patiently redid her laces, and retrieved her veil and hair pins from the ground.
He stood up and adjusted his worn chausses, then helped her stand. To Astra’s surprise, he did not appear ready to leave yet. Instead, he led her over to a large oak tree and sat down beneath it, pulling her down at the same time. Leaning back against the tree, he pulled her near so her hips rested between his thighs, and her head and shoulders were against his chest. He sighed contentedly, and Astra nestled herself against his warmth, giving in to her own lazy, satiated lethargy.
* * *
Richard sighed softly as he inhaled the fragrance of the woman in his arms. It was the aroma of contentment and security, the soft, safe sanctuary of childhood that beckoned unnervingly to a man the rest of his life. He had thought he was beyond the longing, but he was not. For years he had kept up his defenses against it. He had used the harsh excitement of battle, the thrill of danger and death to distract himself from his need to be loved. He had tried for years to be strong and tough and uncaring, to struggle and rage against the deadly mire of domesticity and weakness.
Now he was torn, tormented. Every fiber of his being longed to lose himself in his love for Astra. To bury himself in the velvety, fragrant warmth of her. It was a longing beyond the fever to press his shaft into her body, a hunger greater than the burning hum of lust in his veins. It was a deep ache unto his soul, a passionate craving for some elusive dream of tenderness and hope.
But he could not give into it. To do so would be to risk the shame and despair of his childhood. If he had learned one thing at his mother’s knee, it was that it was dangerous to love. The world had no place for love. The harsh brutality of life always conspired to destroy it. Astra did not know that yet, and he did not want her to learn it. To protect her, he must leave her. The thought choked him, filling him with the burning sickness of despair. Desperate, he clutched Astra more tightly against his chest. He would not leave her yet. Just a few moments of holding her, feeling her heart beat so close to his.