Return of the Rose (16 page)

She watched as he removed his boots and breeches, trying not to blush at seeing him fully naked and fully aroused. It never occurred to her to look away. His eyes burned into hers as he walked to the bed and lowered himself over her. Gazing into her eyes he said, “No turning back now.”

“Never,” she whispered, intoxicated by his nearness.

His intense gaze never wavered as his fingers foraged a tortuous path over her collar bone and lower still.

She shut her eyes, overcome with desire.

“Tell me your thoughts. What is it you yearn for?” he asked.

“You,” she said between ragged breaths as he brushed kisses across her throat.

“No one else?”

“Only you. Now please stop torturing me!”

“Stop what?” he asked. “Stop this?”

He kissed her further, slowly as he touched her soft skin until she nearly wept. And only then did he stretch his body over hers until she felt the hardness of him press against her thigh. “Don’t stop,” she whispered as he teased her with his soft kisses. She felt like a woman possessed as she clutched at his back and shoulders, eager for him to put an end to the agonizing cravings within.

As if struck by lightning, Derek felt a sudden unnatural loss of power over his own body. His blood thickened as he was now driven by a primitive compulsion to have her. He felt a change in her body as her muscles constricted, bracing herself as he entered her and felt the soft wall of resistance.

She was a virgin.

He knew not what to think about that, except to remove any obstruction in his way. He did so, with one swift thrust of his hips.

Morgan drove her nails into his back as her body tightened in pain. She was going to die after all…literally. Not from blissful ecstasy as she had first envisioned, but from dreadful, tortuous pain. Why hadn’t anyone told her it was like dying? Being stabbed in the gut with a sword and then dying?

He must have sensed her worry or probably knew from experience because his voice was tender when he said, “Try not to move.” He held her down with the weight of his body as she wriggled beneath him.

“Please get off me, you’re killing me. I’ve changed my…” Her voice trailed off as he began feathering her neck and shoulders with light kisses.

Although Derek’s body screamed for release, he restrained himself, something he never did with any woman, uncaring as to whether they received pleasure or not.

Insanity drove this sudden need to pleasure her as she pleasured him. Every muscle was strained and tense in order to keep from finding his gratification too soon. His jaw clenched tight as he fought against the exquisite feel of being inside of her. If he did not move soon it would be too late.

Her eyes were clamped tight, but he felt her body relax as the pain slowly diminished. She moved her legs as she became more receptive to him, obviously expecting more pain. “Trust me,” he whispered. He felt her shiver. She dared to relax one muscle at a time until her hips slowly rotated, her movements instinctive now as he sank deeper.

He had planned to take it slow, but that was impossible. The feel of her wrapped around him was too much to bear, overwhelming him, taking over his senses as the unleashed fervor between them caused his pace to quicken. She moved her hips in unison with his until the splendid torture was brought to a rapturous end for them both. Her body shuddered before every limb relaxed beneath him.

They stayed close, basking in a moment of tranquility, neither speaking. Derek rolled off of her so that he lay on his back with one knee bent upward. She moved her head to settle within the crook of his arm. He brushed hair from her cheek. He’d been caught, he realized. He’d been tangled in the spider’s web so superbly weaved. A sad, indistinguishable pain swept over him.

One hand lay beneath his head as he looked to the wooden beams above. By the time he lowered his gaze to the woman next to him, she was asleep, a contented smile across her lips. His eyes coursed over her and a frown wrinkled his brow. It dawned on him that the innocent way she had looked at him all these days had perchance been real. No wonder she had been frightened at the lake. She had been a virgin, and he had made it clear that day that he had no intentions of coddling her.

He brushed the pad of his thumb across her soft cheek. She was more beautiful than King Henry promised. She was also far different from any woman he had ever met. Although she told ridiculous tales of being from another world and had a vocabulary of absurdly strange words, she seemed naught but sincere with her feelings. Somehow she had even managed to bring forth feelings of his own…feelings he had thought dead and buried.

After a few moments, Derek maneuvered himself from the bed, placing her head on a soft pillow. He donned his breeches and wandered to the window where he stared pensively over his lands. After a while he turned back to gaze upon his betrothed, wondering what cruel fate she had planned for him.

~~~~

Morgan’s eyes flittered open the next morning to the sounds of swords clanking together outside. No sweet chirping of the birds today, she thought with a smile as she snuggled closer to Derek, disappointed to find him gone.

She sat up, wincing at the sight of the blood-stained linens. She slid off the bed and rolled the linens into a ball. As she brought the bed sheets across the room, she moaned at the stiffness she felt in her legs and the soreness between them. It felt as if she’d been riding Emmon’s horse instead of Lord Vanguard. She chuckled at her own devilish thoughts.

Returning to the bed she picked up the torn chemise. Amanda would not be happy at all when she saw what Morgan had done to her clothes. She chuckled again, surprised by the giddiness consuming her. She walked like a bull-legged cowboy to the basin. How could something so good make her feel so darn sore? She splashed cold water on her face before dressing in a mauve-colored tunic.

As she returned to the bed, she heard a knock on the door. Before she could say ‘come in’ Odelia swept into the room with a tray of food. She set the tray down, grabbed the dirty linens and hastily headed for the door.

“Aren’t you going to ask me about last night?” Morgan asked her.

“Aye,” Odelia said, turning back. “What did you do to the poor man?”

Morgan smiled. “I made the man groan with pleasure. Can you imagine?”

Odelia’s cheeks bloomed with color. “Nay, and I have no desire to imagine any such thing.”

“Derek Vanguard, Lord of Braddock Hall loves me,” Morgan said happily.

“Did he say the words?”

“No, not exactly,” Morgan confessed. “But he said we were going to ‘make love,’ and then we did.”

“I have no wish to ruin your mood, my lady, but a man will say anything to get a woman to bed him.”

“Maybe,” Morgan agreed, “but I saw more than desire in his eyes. He loves me. I felt it every time he touched me.”

“The only thing I sensed as his lordship stalked through the keep this morn was fury,” Odelia said. “He wore the scowl of a wolf, he did. And without bothering to break his fast he stormed outside before the sun had time to rise.”

“Where did he go?”

Odelia shook her head. “I know not.”

“That’s strange.” She began searching for her slippers. “Maybe I should talk to him.”

“The chambermaids are heating water for your bath. Perhaps you should wash first.”

“Good idea. I’ll take a bath first. Thanks for everything, Odelia, especially for being my friend.”

Odelia peered into her eyes as if she were searching for something…or someone, as if she wondered who exactly had taken over Amanda’s true form. Then she muttered a few nonsensical words and headed for the door again.

“Before you go,” Morgan said. “Could you tell me if anyone else in the castle knows that Derek was here in my room last night?”

Odelia smothered a cough with the corner of her apron. “I…methinks they are not…” Odelia dropped defeated arms to her sides. “Of course, they all know. ‘Tis the same here as it was at Silverwood. There is naught at Braddock that goes unheeded, my lady.”

Morgan cringed. “I guess I’ll be considered loose.”

“You are his betrothed.” Odelia chuckled. “The consummation of a marriage before the actual event is not an uncommon practice. There will be no taunts or jests coming from these friendly people. Now quit your worry.”

After Odelia left, Morgan slumped back into the feather mattress. “No big deal,” she said aloud. “You lose your virginity to a medieval man, what did you expect? A friendly thank-you note? A good-morning kiss?”

She frowned at the idea of Derek being upset. Men in this century were warriors first, second, and probably third, too. He might as well be a caveman. Did she really think that sleeping with him was going to make a difference in the way he felt about her or the way he treated her? She sighed. She hadn’t had time to think about any of that last night. And even if she had, it wouldn’t have made any difference. Derek had made her feel things she never could have imagined possible. She had no regrets.

By the time she finished with her bath, Morgan felt her confidence dwindling. Why hadn’t he come to say good morning? Where was he? She hated to think of herself as the jealous insecure type, but images of Derek frolicking outside with a newly trained kitchen wench or bonding with the castle’s bloodletter somehow managed to invade her mind.

Without putting much thought into what she was doing she shuffled hurriedly through Amanda’s chest, searching for the daring red gown she’d seen more than a dozen times. After she ripped the fur-lined collar off of the dress, she noticed that it had a very revealing neckline, too. She put it on. The silky fabric hugged every curve. The dress was sure to catch Derek’s undivided attention.

As she entered the hall, she noticed all eyes were on her, and suddenly she felt sort of stupid. She could hardly walk. Not only because of the soreness between her legs, but because the dress was incredibly tight. She had no choice but to sway, a Mae West kind of stride as she crossed the seemingly never-ending room. She pushed a flimsy strap into place, praying the fabric would keep hold of her very compressed bosom. Her breasts had a rhythm all their own as she made her way outside and down the wide steps.

She followed the sounds of clattering swords. Moments later she stood paralyzed by the spectacular sight before her: knights, dozens of them, were outfitted in chain mail. Hundreds of tiny links of metal covered each knight from head to foot. Their blades flickered in the sunlight and the clashes of swords reverberated off one another. The heavy shields they held in front of them provided a barrier of defense.

It wasn’t hard to spot their lord, who stood easily a foot above the others. He wore no helmet and his chain mail covered only his upper body. The man was as big as the Jolly Green Giant. Only he wasn’t green and he certainly didn’t appear to be too jolly either.

With one quick thrust of his sword, Derek easily knocked his antagonist to the ground before turning quickly to another ready opponent. The man on the dirt yanked off his helmet, revealing the angry red face of Emmon McBray.

Unmistakably peeved at being so easily defeated, Emmon stalked by her without glancing her way. A river of sweat trickled down his pouty face and neck, disappearing beneath his padded armor.

“Did he hurt you?” she asked.

Emmon stopped in his tracks as if she were a rattlesnake ready to attack. He glared at her as he turned back her way. His blue eyes narrowed and his face turned a shade of lavender.

Shoot. She’d embarrassed him. She shifted her weight uncomfortably as he studied her attire with a look of disgust. Then he shook his head and stalked off.

Emmon was beginning to like her, she could tell.

Turning back to watch the men on the field, Morgan suppressed a gasp at the sight of Derek stomping toward her, every stride eating up an incredible length of distance between them. His chiseled jaw appeared hard and his lips looked like a tight line across his face. He was definitely upset about something. As he grew closer, his expression remained stony and unreadable.

“Wench!” he shouted for all to hear.

Every knight on the field looked her way. An incredible wave of heat shot up her neck as she braced herself for what Derek might say or do next.

“Females are not allowed upon these grounds. Has Matti taught you naught? It is a known fact that women of such high-born breeding as yourself are well versed on what is right and what is not. Perchance when we are married I shall have to also rehearse with you your wifely duties?”

Morgan glared at him as she swallowed the knot in her throat, refusing to shy away in front of a crowd of lance-toting knights. “Obviously you think I’ll wait for you with bated breath every time you waltz into my room and then leave me without a word. I won’t. And—”

“Cease your foolish prattle, woman, or I shall turn you over my knee right here for all to see the castigation of an unruly wench.”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

He pointed toward the castle and waited for her to leave.

She raised her chin high, refusing to budge.

He cocked a brow and said, “Have it your way.” He picked her up and heaved her over his shoulder to the enthusiastic cheers of his men.

Not again! Refusing eye contact with any one of his men-at-arms, she buried her head in the hard metal links of Derek’s back as his lengthy strides brought them quickly back to the castle.

Within the keep Shayna waved at her, Matti winked, and three little kids giggled as they followed Derek’s quick steps to the bottom of the stairs.

He brought her to his room, dropping her on his humongous four-posted bed as if she were a bolt of cloth. With hands planted on his hips, he stared down at her. And he wasn’t looking into her eyes.

She pulled at the top of the dress, feeling suddenly cheap and ridiculously modest.

“I would ask that you disrobe,” he said in a brusque tone.

“What?”

“Strip for me now,” he commanded.

“Me?” She glanced behind her, and then back at him. “My clothes?”

“Strip until you are as naked as the day you were born. That is an order—not a prayer.”