Sharon Schulze (7 page)

Could she help ease some of that weariness, distract him from his worries for a few brief moments?

Should she try?

His touch, before he’d withdrawn it from her so abruptly, had been firm, assured. Yet his gaze held a cautious quality, one she didn’t expect to see in the man she’d begun to know.

Almost as though he expected her to take him to task.

For what, she couldn’t imagine.

It was not his fault they’d been caught in the storm’s fury. ’Twas ill luck, bad timing, misfortune, nothing more than that.

Even so skilled and diligent a knight as Sir Padrig must accept that every day brought events beyond anyone’s power to change.

Or perhaps she was attributing her own emotions to him. After all, if not for her own unrelenting desire to join the sisters at the Abbey of St. Bridget, none of them
would have been traveling upon this particular road just at the time when a vicious storm arrived.

However, she refused to believe either she or Sir Padrig had anything to do with their current situation. All life was in God’s hands, surely. ’Twas presumptuous, indeed, for anyone to suppose they could influence the Lord’s plans.

She nearly smiled at the odd turn her thoughts had taken—to leap from wondering about kissing a man to pondering God’s mysteries was a strange journey, indeed—but she caught herself in time. Padrig would have noticed, since he’d scarce moved or shifted his gaze from her since she’d said good-night.

The power of his scrutiny weighed upon her, warming her from the inside out, quickening her pulse and breathing, making her aware of her body in new and enticing ways. Her mouth ached for the touch of his lips; she wanted to feel the brush of his fingers along her cheek again, the caress of his hand in her hair.

She’d never before noticed the way her clothing felt against her skin, or experienced the hot, tingling sensations that centered in her breasts and her belly and made her yearn for…

For him.

All of that from a look—when he didn’t even know she was watching him.

Of course, perhaps that was why he dared to look at her thus.

Everyone around them was asleep, she reminded herself. No one save Padrig would know if she were to “awaken” and test her newfound boldness on him.

Nay—
with
him.

Did she dare?

She peeked at him through her lashes, noting the strength of his features, the temptation of his tall, lean body…an image she could recall in vivid, naked detail.

She drew a deep breath and her heart pounded fast and loud.

Aye, she dared…

It took but the slightest change of position to shift closer to Padrig, but even so, he’d noticed and moved to catch hold of her.

“Milady, are you all right?” he asked, his hands clasping firmly about her waist to steady her when she swayed in his grasp.

“Aye, Padrig. I am now.” Words she’d intended to sound enticing had come out solemn instead, but she could tell when she looked into his eyes that he understood what she’d meant by them.

She raised her left hand and settled it on his cheek. The prickle of whiskers along her palm sent heat blazing through her. How would it feel to graze the more sensitive skin of her lips over his face? A shudder passed through her at the notion.

Padrig’s hands slid up from her waist, stopping just below her breasts, his hands splayed along her ribs, their heat like a brand upon her flesh.

She glanced up, her gaze meeting his, held captive by the intensity in his dark blue eyes. He caught her hand in his, but made no effort to move it away. Instead he wove their fingers together. “Alys?”

“Padrig?” She’d no trouble infusing her tone with a teasing note now.

“Be sure you want this,” he murmured, his voice low, rough. He brought her hand to his lips, but rather than placing a kiss on the back of it in the usual manner, he
turned her hand over and swept the caress across her palm, then pressed his lips to the spot on her inner wrist where her pulse raced.

She slipped her hand free of his and rested her fingers on his lips. “I’d not have started this if I wasn’t sure,” she whispered.

Smiling, she brought her mouth to his and kissed him.

A
lys pressed her lips to Padrig’s and was immediately overwhelmed by sensations. His mouth was so warm, softer than she’d expected it would be.

And the fact that he was kissing her back was incredibly beguiling.

For all her imaginings about kisses, despite all the times she and Lady Gillian’s other young ladies had discussed kissing, she’d truly very little notion how to go about it. Touching her mouth to Padrig’s was exciting, but she knew there had to be more to it than this simple caress.

Clutching a handful of his tunic, she drew back just enough to see his face. “Show me,” she said, her whispered demand intense with the maelstrom of feeling whirling through her.

His lips quirked into a teasing smile. “Show you what, milady?” His gaze beckoned her, enticed her to lean closer to him. Careful of her arm in its sling, he stroked one hand up and down her side in a leisurely caress, spreading heat from her waist to her breasts. He’d
buried his other hand in her hair, his fingertips moving lightly, teasingly, upon the sensitive skin at her nape.

It seemed since she’d been so daring as to kiss him, now he expected her to be bolder still.

Did she have the courage to continue what she’d started?

A simple glance at Padrig’s face was all the answer she needed.

“Show me how to kiss, if you please,” she said in the haughtiest tone she could contrive—though she mitigated that offense with a smile.

“There are many kinds of kisses.” He nuzzled her cheek, then touched his lips to her ear. “You’ve only to tell me what you want, milady,” he whispered. “I am yours to command.”

Unfamiliar desires engulfed her; her body demanded
something,
but she’d little notion precisely what it was she wanted.

What she needed.

All at once the answer came to her. She wanted more.

More of life, of excitement, adventures of her own to write about someday when she was old and gray.

How she would survive
more,
she couldn’t imagine—but she was certainly willing to try.

First, however, she must reach out and grab hold of what life was offering her.

For once in your life be bold, Alys. You may never have another chance like this.

She drew in a deep breath, calmed herself—a little. “Show me how to kiss you as a woman kisses a man,” she whispered, watching his face as she spoke.

“We are man and woman, and we just kissed,” he said, the amusement dancing in his eyes making a
mockery of his innocent tone. He brushed his cheek to hers. “Was that not what you wanted?” The vibration of his voice against the side of her neck made her insides clench and shivers run down her spine.

“I never knew you were a tease, Sir Padrig,” she chided before adding tartly, “I do realize there’s more to it than that.”

A bit shaky, she rested her head on his shoulder for a brief moment, reveling in the feel of strong muscles beneath his shirt even as she was tempted to poke him in the chest. Why must he compel her to tell him exactly what she desired?

Mayhap he thought she wouldn’t do it.

He was about to be surprised.

She straightened and met his gaze. “Very well, milord. Show me how lovers kiss,” she commanded. She traced her fingers over his mouth. “Every detail, if you please.”

Though his expression never changed, his chest shook.

“You’re laughing at me!” she accused, outraged.

“Nay, milady—’tis only that this is a most wondrous ending to an absolutely terrible day. I’m simply amazed at my good fortune.” He stroked her cheek, his palm coming to rest at her throat. “I’m just happy.”

The warmth of his hand, combined with his words, sent heat spiraling along her flesh to center somewhere in the region of her heart.

Could
she
claim some responsibility for his happiness? Should she?

She knew she could hold Padrig responsible for the way she felt at this moment—poised on a precipice, feeling as if she could fly away from her everyday, mundane existence into this new world that Padrig introduced her to.

She didn’t know whether she should trust the sensation. Should she see where it might take her? If she did, would the results wipe her mind clean of all coherent thought and lead her astray?

Sweet Mary save her, when had she become so timid?

Alys savored the faint taste of Padrig clinging to her mouth, and knew she wanted more.

Adventure, Alys,
she reminded herself, her pulse pounding as anticipation flowed through her.
You will never have a chance for anything exciting to happen if you don’t give living your own life a try.

“You’re happy?” she asked, nearly cringing at the eagerness in her voice.

“Aye, truly.” Lips curved in a smile, he cupped her chin in his hand and lowered his mouth till it was next to hers. “Don’t you know ’tis every man’s dream, to have a beautiful woman ask for his touch?” Brushing his lips over hers, he added, “I’d be delighted to show you how to kiss, Alys, any way you’d like. Or to teach you anything else you’d like to learn.” He nipped gently at her lower lip, then soothed the spot with a light stroke of his tongue. “’Twould most truly be my pleasure.”

“And mine,” she murmured against his mouth.

Eager to experience the excitement of these new ways of touching, she kissed him the only way she knew, hoping he’d show her more.

He did not disappoint her.

He stroked his thumb over her lips. “Part your lips, sweeting,” he murmured. “Let me in.” Tracing his tongue along their outline, he tilted her head to allow him better access to her mouth.

Alys was quick to follow his lead, hoping he’d experience the same excitement she did as she echoed the caress.

He touched her slowly, as carefully as if she were made of spun sugar, his tongue painting a delicate trail of fire as he taught her a lover’s kiss.

Swift to learn, she kept pace with him, but soon ’twas not enough to merely touch mouth to mouth. She couldn’t bear to stop touching him—his hair, his neck. Even to simply rest her hand on his chest and feel the thundering of his heart gave her pleasure.

It made her forget about their surroundings, made all her aches and hurts fade away.

There was only Padrig and Alys, huddled together in the dark, encircled within the rising warmth of their bodies and the intensifying passion that pulled them into its web.

Padrig took his time, the leisurely rhythm of his caresses apparently designed to drive her into a frenzy of impatience. Every nuance, every thing he taught her led her deeper into passion.

Though he kept a tight rein on the tempo of their loving, the intensity of it grew with each touch. Finally she could stand his torment no longer. Eager for more, she sought to take the upper hand, to hasten the pace of their kisses.

He allowed her control for a moment; then, groaning, he framed her face with his hands and eased his mouth from hers, resting his forehead on her cheek. “Jesu, but you’ve a frightful power, milady,” he murmured against her skin. “I vow you’d make a saint pay no heed to the hope of salvation.”

He
thought
her
powerful? He made her forget nigh everything save the pleasure he brought her!

’Twas a wonder she was aware of anything at all. Her world had closed in until it encompassed them, her
awareness only of Padrig, the sight and smell of him, the restrained passion of his touch.

Her flesh tingling, her body resting against Padrig’s as comfortably as if they’d held each other this way a thousand times before, Alys had to concentrate on simply breathing until she felt some measure of control flow through her.

Then, in command of herself once more, she set about to make the magic happen again.

Yet it seemed they’d scarce touched before Padrig caught her wrist in one hand, cupped her chin in the other, and eased away from her once more. “Enough, Alys,” he whispered sharply when she tried to shift back into his embrace. “By the rood, you’re dangerous! Don’t tempt me past endurance.”

Raising his head slightly, Padrig glanced around the hut, letting out his breath in a sigh when he brought his gaze back to her. “I cannot believe how swiftly you make me forget we’re not alone.”

Alys flinched at the reminder, for she, too, had forgotten. Her face heated. What if anyone had awakened and seen them?

Though she didn’t know what Padrig felt, when they’d kissed she’d become powerfully aware of him—overwhelmingly so. Nothing else existed, even her pain forgotten. She and Padrig had been wrapped about each other so closely that she doubted either of them would have noticed much of anything.

Save perhaps if the storm had returned in full force, or the hut had collapsed around them.

He wove their fingers together and brought her hand to his lips, brushing a kiss over the pulse in her wrist and sending her heartbeat soaring. He watched her all the
while; he must have seen something of her thoughts in her expression, for he stroked his other hand along her cheek, then smoothed her hair back from her face. “I’m certain no one saw a thing, milady,” he reassured her. “We’d surely have heard them moving about.”

“I don’t know that I would have,” she confessed, her face growing hotter at the admission.

“Do you think any of this band of ruffians would have stayed quiet? They’d have had
something
to say, I promise you.” He chuckled, the low sound skittering along her skin to settle deep within her belly.

She drew in a sharp breath as the sensation drifted through her body in a wave of yearning. Her gaze never leaving his, she turned her head and pressed a kiss into his palm.

Moving swiftly, he shifted beside her, drew her half across his lap and into his arms, and took her lips.

His mouth was fiery hot, consuming, undeniable. Alys could scarce keep up with him as he ensnared her with a kiss completely unlike their earlier ones.

He swept her along with him into a passion so straightforward, she could not mistake the depth of his response. If he was determined to overwhelm her, he accomplished his goal with ease.

Then just as abruptly as he had caught her to him, he released her and, cradling her in his arms, set her back upon her pallet.

“Padrig?” she gasped, unable to catch her breath.

Muttering curses, he raked his hand back through his hair and shook his head as if to clear it. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I should not have—”

She lashed out at him with her left arm. The blow caught him in the chest, the impact sending a jolt
straight across her back. That pain was insignificant, however, compared to what she felt inside. “Don’t you
dare
apologize,” she snarled.

“But—”

She poked him in the arm, less hard this time. “No, Padrig—not for anything.”

Alys slumped back against the rough wall, grimacing at the pain that continued to resonate through her torso now that her attention was not distracted by Padrig’s touch. “You’ve done nothing to apologize for,” she repeated. “Not just now, and certainly not earlier.”

Now that they were not touching at all, the sense of loss she felt nigh overwhelmed her. Exhaustion, pain, confusion—all conspired to bring tears to her eyes, tears she refused to shed.

Instead she blinked hard, refusing to meet Padrig’s curious gaze.

He, however, ignored her attempt to distance herself; he leaned close enough to continue their low-voiced conversation without danger of being overheard.

“All right—I’ll be truthful, then,” he whispered. His eyes were fixed upon her face. What he sought to find with his intent gaze, she could not guess. “I’m not sorry we kissed, nor for anything else we’ve done, though no doubt I ought to be.” He brushed his nose lightly against hers and straightened slightly. “However, I
am
sorry you’re hurt, that we’re not alone and that we had to stop just now.”

He reached down to the ground and pulled a rock nearly the size of her fist from beneath him. “Though under the circumstances—” he cast a glance over his shoulder at the men sleeping nearby “—’tis most likely just as well I sat on this.”

Taking her hand, he placed the jagged stone on her palm and closed her fingers about it. “Here, milady—your chastity belt.” He laughed shakily. “Or your savior, more like.”

“What?” she asked, confused.

“If I hadn’t landed on
that
in a particularly sensitive area, I doubt I’d have been able to stop unless you told me to—or until the others pulled me off you.”