“Very.” She swiped at heady tears. Although she lay still, her body still trembled in the moments after release. “Has been from the first.”
“Interesting,” he said, lazy fingers fondling her nipples. “Must explain why you find me irresistible.”
“Like when I twirl, I only want you for the color.” She cupped his face, feeling his grin. “But mind you, I saw rainbows when I was about to drown.”
“You’ll agree this is much safer. And more pleasurable.”
“For certain.”
Those lazy fingers became more insistent, tugging her nipples. “Now, as an alchemist, would you recommend we attempt to create the experiment anew?”
She gasped, arching slightly. The slick skin of her inner thighs slid with the softest friction, hot and wet. She rubbed them together, wanting. But the void remained unfilled and unsatisfied. Enjoying him with her eyes closed, her heart closed, her body open—only then could she truly indulge in the man she had taken as her husband.
She welcomed the return of that sharp physical need, staving off the reality of their hasty marriage. Agreeing to his proposal had been an impulse. Because Will refused to lie with her until they married, the solution was simple. Her body craved his—that much she would never deny—and he kept her safe from all manner of physical harm.
But the rest…she would not think of it, not when his hands on her breasts offered the most mindless sort of distraction.
“For certain,” she said. “First results can never be trusted.”
“Does the process need to be duplicated exactly?”
“Perhaps only the end result must be repeated.”
“I can aid you in that.”
He dipped his head and took a firm peak into her mouth. His tongue softly laved the sensitive skin. Each wet, lingering caress sent shivers of fire to her sex, as did the soft sounds of his lips stroking her, licking her. Her breasts swelled, aching and full. Again, more—she writhed under his patient attention. Fiery color played behind her eyelids.
With the same maddening care, he moved to the other breast. One hand molded the soft flesh in a rhythmic massage. He squeezed, bringing a rigid nipple to his warm lips. He kissed, the simple touch of skin to skin. He sucked. Hard. His tongue flicked endless patterns over the sensitive tip. Gentle teeth tugged and caressed. She gasped, shivering as he nibbled and nipped.
His hair tickled her skin, yet another caress. She delved into those thick bunches and savored the straight, silken texture. Color blazed in the darkness, spiraling in beautiful patterns of light against the familiar black.
She pulled his head from her aching breasts. “What color is your hair?”
He laughed, the sound rippling through his strapping body. “I’ve been inside you twice but that remains a mystery to you.”
“Indulge me.” She slipped her hand between their bodies and clutched his thickening shaft. “And we’ll make it three times.”
He shifted on the pallet, raising above her, muscles taut. She caressed his length with insistent strokes and spread her thighs, guiding him. He tried to thrust but she gripped harder, restraining his eager need. She savored the unusual texture of him, softest skin and hardest flesh. She slid her palm over the firm head, finally pressing it against her most sensitive nub, rubbing her there.
He cursed, a harsh whisper. “My hair is brown.”
“You can do better.” She sucked at the hollow where his neck met his shoulder.
“Meg—”
He groaned, his hips flexing convulsively. He claimed her mouth in a demanding kiss. The tightness of his muscles and the rough push of his tongue told her how hard he fought for control. But he played her game. He let her take her pleasure. His submission thrilled her, left her wet and flushed. She kissed him in return, taking the hard thrusts of his tongue and nipping, tasting, fighting him.
He broke the kiss and whispered against her lips. “Light brown.”
“Better still.”
“Like ripened wheat.”
“Good,” she sighed, smiling. She allowed him the slightest entrance. A scant inch of him pressed between her wet folds. “And your eyes?”
She fanned through the possibilities. Blue. Hazel. Black. She could imagine them all, just as she could imagine the feel of him sliding fully into her. But still she waited. His hips begged for entrance with tight, truncated thrusts, and his pulse throbbed beneath her curious fingers. He pushed her breasts together, hands trembling, his mouth dancing from one nipple to the other.
“Tell me,” she said.
“Green.” Warm breath washed over her wet skin.
“More.”
“Green,” he rasped. “Like your emeralds.”
She sighed and removed her imprisoning hand. He filled her. Their moans wove together. She pushed her hips to meet his, accepting the sweet invasion of his quickening thrusts. Muscle, skin, breath—she lost hold of the world until only his body remained, above her, penetrating her.
She whispered his name, or maybe she only imagined the word. Will, her husband. Will, with his hair the color of wheat and eyes of emerald.
Will.
Pleasure crashed over her. She arched and rode the tide of her release, bucking her hips to take him, take all he could make her feel. He groaned and stiffened, burying himself a final time in her trembling flesh.
Groggy minutes passed. Will lay collapsed atop her slack body. She petted the sides of his face, combing the hair back, imagining wheat fields ripened beneath the autumn sun. But she would never know its color, not beyond her thoughts.
A bittersweet tide swelled beneath her tenuous happiness.
“I wish I could see you,” she whispered. She cringed at her ragged vulnerability. “I want to catch your eye and share this closeness across a distance. I want to see your smile.”
“And if it’s not as beautiful as you imagine?”
“It would be.” She traced his lips. “It is.”
“But I’m relieved.”
“That I cannot see? Why? Why would you say that?”
“Calm yourself.” He lifted his head from her breast and snuggled her nearer. “I mean nothing by it. But you save me much embarrassment.”
“Embarrassed how?”
“I watch you all the time,” he said, his voice deep and hushed. “My pride would not survive if you knew to what extent.”
“You and your pride.”
“With you, I have none.” He pushed fingertips over a few disobedient tears, blending them into her cheeks. “Meg, I would do anything,
anything
for you to see again.”
“Don’t say that. You cannot. The quest to restore my sight drove my father mad,” she said. “It cut him from the world.”
“How?”
She nuzzled into the hard surfaces of his body. “When I took ill, he consulted Jewish scholars and women thought to be witches. The people in Keyworth believed I was possessed, and his inquiries did nothing to ease their suspicions. But he persisted. He’d never encountered a question without an answer. He sought refuge here in Charnwood. Earl Whitstowe was his only contact with proper society.”
He tightened his arms when she shuddered. “When Father died, he left no way back to a time when people accepted us. Ada hated it.”
“Your illness took more from you than your sight,” he said. “It took your family.”
She nodded, a dark and silent mourning.
A long breath pushed free of Will’s powerful body. The vigor and strength in those muscles ignited a new heat in her blood. To fight and to love this man tested her, made her weary, made her stronger in turn. And more fearful than she had ever been.
“I’ve never felt more helpless,” he said. “Not like this.”
“And I haven’t felt the need this badly, not for years.” She tried a wobbling smile. “I blame you.”
“A deal, then. To atone.” He sat up, pulling her across his lap and bringing her hands to his face. “Touch me, Meg. Whenever you’re lost inside yourself, scared—I’m here. You don’t need to ask permission. I give it to you now. Simply touch me.”
Tears wobbled at the corners of her eyes. She wanted to hit him across the mouth for leaving her that exposed, for finding where her desires hid. But an irrepressible, foolish part of her jumped at the chance he offered.
“No excuses? No preamble?”
His slashing smile pressed beneath her palms. Her skin tingled.
“Think of it as seeing,” he said. “I don’t need permission to look at you. I take that freely—my privilege. In return, I give you this.”
Laughing and weeping, both, she clung to him as if to a rock face. He held fast, arms and hands and murmuring words working hard to ward off her dread. Wrapped tight to Will’s body, the loneliness of her dark world peeled away, even if the new world he offered was wider, farther, more terrifying than she could have imagined.
He moved to kiss her.
She smiled. “You missed.”
“The torch has gone out.”
“You cannot see me?”
“No.”
Meg sighed and arched against him. This was easier. Loving him was easier, their bodies together. His mouth and hands on her, his lean muscles naked and hard beneath her fingers. She kissed him deeply. “Then it’s your turn to explore in the dark.”
As evening dwindled, Will stared at the ceiling where silhouettes of Ada’s flowers fluttered. Heat from a small fire did nothing to ease the chill snapping at his nose, a foretaste of the frigid winter to come. Beneath a mantle darned with fur, he molded Meg’s nude curves to his body and smiled. Their arms and legs wound together like the twigs of a bird’s nest, the beginnings of a home.
He flexed his left hand, heartened by the resurgence of power and elasticity there. His fingers worked in concert. Even his thumb was on the mend, still bound by a splint. The skin at his wrists itched beneath the bandages, healing.
He
was healing.
Kissing Meg’s hair, he inhaled deeply. His eyes slid closed, floating on their steady heartbeats. The cadence increased. The noise intensified.
He bolted upright. “Meg!”
Bleary and dazed, she rolled onto her back. “What is it?”
“Listen.”
“Horses?” She jerked to her knees. “Armor?”
He jumped from the pallet and donned his clothes, mail, and boots. Meg dressed and tied her hair beneath a cowl.
He retrieved the quiver and bow from next to the pallet and fastened the scabbard at his waist. A compliment of daggers circled atop the scabbard’s leather strap. He pushed the handle of a deadly blade into Meg’s hands. She took position, crouched on the side of the fire pit farthest from the door.
Better than most, she would be able to determine the extent of the odds they faced. She listened.
“How many?”
Face ashen, she said, “Hard to tell. More than a dozen.”
He tightened his left hand. “I cannot fight that many.”
Meg crossed to a wall and pulled a torch from its sconce. “Use the niter beds. They’re flammable, but likely these men do not know that.”
“My clever girl.” He took the torch and dipped its head in the fire pit.
“We’ll have but little time once they burn.”
“After I secure a horse, we’ll make for the woods,” he said. “Like old times.”
“Be careful.”
He circled to the door, cursing himself with less mercy than would the Devil. Happiness made him lazy. He should have known Finch would pursue them, but the existence of her cabin was known to few. Hugo was dead, and Will counted as allies the men who knew its location. Yet soldiers approached. Someone had betrayed them.
Pushing his back into the wall, he studied their attackers. From the northwest, the direction of Nottingham, men circled around the cabin. More approached and stayed to the rear. Horses grunted beneath their armor, the rhythm of their hooves made irregular by the wooded terrain and darkness. They shied and whinnied. The men atop their backs urged speed.
One man’s bellow sounded above the others.
Carlisle?
Impossible. But he listened again, hearing the soldier’s shout cleave the night.
After throwing a prayer to heaven, he charged outside. Four men on horseback with torches of their own circled the yard to the abandoned barn, setting the structure alight. Like teeth on a comb, the niter beds spanned the distance between the barn and the cabin. Errant flames rained down. The barn fire would do the deed—but sooner than he had planned.
He tossed his torch and retrieved his bow.
Regardless of the outcome, nothing of her old life would remain come dawn.
Her mind flicked through the cabin to fix her bearings and envisage an escape. Instead, she remembered her father’s book. She raced once again to the shelves and retrieved the heavy tome, its familiar, dusty leather scent tickling her nose. After emptying a large satchel of its salt, she stuffed the book inside and angled it across her body.
Crashing down the door, the soldiers invaded. She dropped to her knees and scrambled to the fire pit, torch in hand.
Will—