wcEND.rtf (20 page)

His gaze followed hers as she inspected his sparsely furnished chamber, taking in its lack of comfort. She glanced over the still-full round tub he had used earlier to bathe, the dirty clothes on the floor, the weapons scattered over the table, the war shield leaning against the wall, then stared at his full hauberk hanging over a stool by the cot. The rest of his knightly ensembl
e
—
m
ail coif, gauntlets, hel
m
—
r
ested inside the chest and out of her view.

She walked to the cot, sitting on it as if intending a long visit. She lifted part of the hauberk with her hand. "It is heavy," she said as if surprised, men turned her attention on him. "You must be a sight to behold in full armor." She gave him an appreciative look.

"You
are a sight to behold, my lady wife."

She smiled at his compliment. "Have you been in many battles?"

He nodded, not interested in discussing his warring pursuits at this moment.

"Is there any tale you would like to te
l
l?" Her gaze strayed to the war chest. "Any mementos you would like to share?"

Suspicion crawled inside of him again. "No mementos," he said. "I carry only memories with me. As for tales
,
I am no troubadour capable of weaving enchanting words to entertain a noble lady."

"Wel
l
, at least you are home safe. May I assume we are not at war at the moment?"

Her apparent lack of knowledge of England's current affairs lent credence to her claim of memory loss. However, that might be exactly what she wanted him to believe.

"We are at war, my lady wife," he said, wondering where this odd conversation would lead.

She cocked her head slightly to the side in a manner he had never seen in her until two days ago. "With France?"

"Edward guaranteed peace with France, at least for the time being, by marrying the French princess, Isabella. Scotland is our foe for now." Though she quickly subdued it, Hunter did not miss the fleeting interest that crossed his lady wife's face at the mention of Isabella or Scotland.

He knew not which.

A connection between Détra and Queen Isabella would do them no harm. However, the thought Détra might have any association with Scotland or the traitor settled heavily in Hunter's gut. And though his duty to the king would be to pursue the matter, he decided to postpone it.

"Did you seek me to discuss England's foes?" he asked, perching on the chest across the cot, more on eye level with her. Thus far he was still uncertain of her purpose in seeking him out.

"No," she said quickly, then repeated slower, "No.
I
—
I
came to clear the air between us. What happened earlier
was a misunderstanding. I unintentionally hurt your feelings and in return you lashed out at me, hurting mine." She lifted her dazzling green gaze to him. "Can we just forget about that and start fresh?"

He was very agreeable to the thought.

"How do you suggest we do that?" He wanted to hear her words of commitment to a new beginning, for if she hoped to convince him to wait any longer than this night to have her, she would be sorely disappointed.

"How about supper later on? We can talk then and perhaps find some common ground on which to stand together."

"Yours is a timely suggestion," he said, then moved from the chest to sit by her side on the cot. "Since I already had planned o
n
sharing a meal with you this eve."

"Good," she said, rising. "Then I will see you later."

"There is no haste." He gently pulled her back down by his side, their thighs touching on the narrow cot. Why wait for this night when she was here now? "I would
l
ike to ask a boon of you, a small token of goodwill, if it pleases you."

She gave him an uncertain look.

'To cement our new beginning," he added.

"What do you have in mind?"

Her throaty voice pleased him immensely. "It would give me great pleasure," he whispered, watching as she swallowed hard in anticipation of his request, "to see your hair free of restraints. I very much enjoyed the sight of it in the orchard yesterday morning."

Her hesitation lasted but a moment. She reached for the silk ribbon confining her hair and untied it. She ran her fingers through her tresses until the curls cascaded free over her shoulders and back in a fiery mantle.

Hunter's groins tightened. So much for keeping his lust in control.

"Beautiful," he said as he captured a handful of curls in his hand, reveling in their softness, inhaling deeply the rosemary scent. With the tip of his fingers he trailed the curve of her shoulder and neck up to her earlobe, then down to her throat. Encouraged by the slight tremor of her body, he drew near, then kissed the sensitive skin of her neck, nibbling at it, indulging in the sweet taste of her
.
She moaned and turned her head slightly to the side in surrender to his touch.

With his right arm supporting her back Hunter trailed kisses along her cheekbones then settled over her parted lips, tasting her sweet nectar in repeated forays of tongue and lips. He caught her lower lips in his alternating between suckling and soothing.

"The very sight and taste of you give me pleasure," he confessed against her mouth.

She moaned again and he brought her closer to him, her breasts against his chest. Her hands encircled his neck, and as their knees fought for leeway, she swung her legs over his thigh, resting against his ever-growing arousal.

With the back of his injured hand he caressed her breasts. He could feel the nipples hardening even through the fabric of her gown. Frustration mounted, as she arched against him, clearly expecting more than his accursed injured hand could give her.

He lay her down, freeing his
ri
ght hand for the caress. While he kneaded one breast, his mouth nibbled on the nipple of the other breast. Détra whimpered, arching to him. Their awkward position, made more difficult by the narrowness of the cot and Hunter's injured hand, frustrated him. He lifted from her and scooted down the cot, bringing her legs, knees bent, to the top of the thin mattress.

He planted her feet slightly apart, then his hands buried underneath her skirts. He sought her gaze and she looked
at him with dazed eyes. Slowly he pushed her skirts up and over her knees to let them fall and gather in a bundle at the top of her thighs as she lay back on the cot. He undid the garters then rolled the woolen hose down to her ankles, his rough hands caressing the uncovered skin.

Deus!
He was throbbing already.

He nudged her knees
f
urther apart, revealing the dark triangle at the entrance of her womanhood. With the tip of his fingers he raked the soft, warm skin of her inner thighs, feeling the goose flesh rise in response. She arched against him, scooting in the direction of his fingers. He obliged her.

When his finger entered her, heat and moisture welcomed it, closing around it. He placed his palm against her mound, rubbing it as his finger reached deep within her. Détra moaned, almost bucking out of the small cot. He moved his head between her thighs. She was now utterly open to his mouth and hand. He continued to thrust his finger inside of her as he kissed her inner thighs. Détra
's
moans came in quicker gasps as she undulated against his hand until her cry of release reverberated in the small chamber.

Hunter lifted from her, breathing as harshly as she did. He began removing his garments with jerky but quick moves.

He was ready to end once and for a
l
l the drought of his life, to consummate his marriage, consolidate his hold of Windermere, and finally possess the woman of his heart.

ISABEL'S head flopped to the side, her face resting against the hard cot, her eyes open but unfocused. She lay in languid abandon, relishing the last waves of the orgasm that still thrummed inside of her.

"
Détra."

She heard Hunter calling his wife's name and the sweet pleasure partly vanished. She didn't want to face him right now. Not as vulnerable as she felt.

Her gaze wandered and, spotting the war chest, she remembered her reasons for coming to the soldier's barracks. Not to find Hunter as she'd made him believe, but to search for the chalice that would take her back to her own body and life. The chalice that would save her from doing exactly what she'd just done: succumb to Hunter's touch.

Irony of all, Isabel truly believed she had found the
chalice. It had to be hidden inside the war chest. Where else would Hunter keep it?

And tomorrow it would be almost too late
.
Not too late for her return to her own body, but too late for what had already happened between them, for what was still to come.

Isabel felt Hunter kneeling between her legs, and though she didn't want to, she looked at him. He was magnificent in his maleness, rough-looking yet utterly handsome. Tousled dark hair, inscrutable onyx eyes, and the blue-black stubble of a beard shadowing his sun-bronzed face.

And he was naked between her thighs, his arousal eagerly reaching out for her.

Isabel swallowed hard, her heart stammering at just the sight of him. She'd postponed the inevitable for far too long. After their encounter earlier in the war room she knew Hunter wouldn't wait anymore.

Her time of reckoning had arrived. Isabel understood survival, understood she'd be doing more harm to Hunter and Détra's relationship if she denied him again. And yet she also knew that making love to Hunter would forever reverberate in her soul, wherever she was.

Suddenly the mask she hid behind fell, and Isabel finally admitted to herself she'd kept her distance from Hunter not only for Hunter and Détra's sake, though she'd considered their feelings, but for her own.

With her skirts tossed up to her belly, exposing her moist, recently satisfied, and yet still very eager body to him, Isabel knew there was no running away now. And she wouldn't. She would go to him willingly, no, more than that, she would go to him eagerly, for she'd thought of being with him many times since she'd first set eyes on him.

Wasn't that what had kept her hesitating? Her own
feelings for him? Feelings that could never be returned, for when he looked at her it would be Détra he saw?

He knelt there, softly caressing her inner thighs with his fingertips
,
watching her, as if waiting for her consent. Isabel almost screamed at him, "Go ahead, get it over with."

Sex devoid o
f
emotion would be much easier to face than her wanting to make love to a man who belonged to another woman, especially knowing that man would be thinking of his wife when he came inside of her.

Isabel winced, the painful pang of guilt and jealousy spearing her heart.

"I burn for you," he said as he spread his own thighs and gently drew her hips to him, her feet resting on either side of his hips, her back and buttocks sitting on his powerful thighs, her center open to him. Unhurriedly, he rubbed the tip of his engorged penis at her exposed entrance and Isabel could feel her juices flowing, rushing to welcome him.

He burned for his wife!
The thought intruded.

Isabel's pride rebelled against it. The body belonged to Détra but it was Isabel's mind, her heart
,
and her soul that commanded it to feel, to respond, and to accept what Hunter was offering.

She pushed aside the nagging doubt of her very convenient rationalization. Hell, she'd already come this far, had already crossed the line she'd swo
rn
never to cross, she wouldn't turn back now.