Chapter 18
Chapter 18
Carenza was staring at his crotch.
She probably assumed he couldn’t tell. But her gaze might as well have been a caress, the way it was affecting him. And her distraction became glaringly obvious, especially when she began wrapping the linen in a spiral up his wrist.
Part of him was amused. Nothing was more engaging than a woman interested in his body. Her curiosity was endearing and arousing. But part was afraid the change in him as he swelled with desire would show through his braies and trews and leine to horrify them both.
He had to distract her before he shamed himself and she wrapped the linen halfway up his arm.
“Are you planning to bury me?” he asked.
She started. “What?”
He raised his brows and looked pointedly at her linen handiwork. “’Tis beginning to look like a shroud.”
“Och.”
Flustered, she turned the loveliest shade of pink as she quickly reversed the winding and tied off the linen around his palm. Then, without a glance, she gathered her things and returned the basin to its place.
He couldn’t help but be charmed by her blushing naivete. And he feared that—more than her beautiful face and her delectable curves and the lust in her eyes—was going to make her hard to resist. Like an exquisite itch he was forbidden to scratch.
Which reminded him… Now that his arms were healing, the itch was unbearable. He started sliding his leine sleeve back and forth along his arm to rub away the tingling.
“Does it itch?” she asked.
He nodded.
“’Tis good news. That means ’tis healin’.”
He knew that. He was a warrior. He’d suffered countless wounds. Nonetheless, he replied, “Does it?”
“Aye, but ye shouldn’t scratch it like that.”
He knew that too. But it never stopped him.
“Here. Let me…” She started toward him, then changed her mind. “If ye’d remove your leine, I have some oil here that might help.” She wheeled about and started searching through several vials of oils on the table.
Hew hesitated. Removing his clothing was a bad idea. They were alone. It was one less layer between them. And he was well aware of the effect a naked chest had on women.
But he couldn’t think of an excuse that wouldn’t make things more awkward. Besides, it was a weak man who couldn’t control himself, just because he was missing an article of clothing or two. So without ceremony or fuss, he pulled the leine over his head and draped it over the chair beside him.
Surely she’d prepared herself for the sight of him. After all, she’d been the one to ask him to remove his leine.
Still, when she came near with the vial of oil, her step was halting, and her gaze skipped about like a gnat, deciding where to land. Then she closed her eyes. When her bosom rose and fell with a deep, steadying breath, he was instantly reminded of the peek he’d stolen down her leine. Her breasts had looked so round and soft and smooth. Like twin loaves of bread set out to rise.
Unfortunately, his loins were instantly reminded as well. He judiciously moved his arms between his knees then, blocking her view.
Carenza gulped. Had Hew grown even more massive since she’d last seen him without his leine? Perhaps it was only seeing him sitting up rather than sprawled unconscious on a pallet that made him seem more muscled. More forceful. More intimidating.
Her heart pounded. A sheen of light sweat formed above her lip. He looked to her like a dangerous animal now. An animal capable of crushing her.
Yet she felt more exhilaration than fear. She’d faced this beast before. Leine or no leine, there was no need to be intimidated. And she intended to get another kiss. So she shook off her self-doubt and held up the vial.
“Oil o’ newt,” she announced.
The look of disgust on his face erased all her fears.
A snort of a laugh escaped her.
“You’re a wicked lass,” he growled.
“Don’t worry. ’Tis lavender. Perfectly pleasant.”
She pulled a chair close to his and poured a thin stream of oil atop one powerful shoulder. Then, setting down the vial, she let her fingers catch the drop. With a light touch, she spread the oil down his arm.
“Does that pain ye?” she murmured.
He shook his head and closed his eyes.
She thought it would be quick work. Then she meant to proceed on to the kiss.
But she became fascinated by his body. The warmth of his flesh. The curves of his muscles. The subtle pulse of his veins. She explored it all with her hands, molding her fingers along each plane, smoothing and soothing his skin as if she sculpted him from clay.
Why the contact should affect her so, she didn’t know. But soon she felt the eagerness in her fingers spread to a longing deep within her. The same longing she’d had when they’d kissed. A tightening in her breasts. A tingling in her nether parts. A fierce urge to be closer.
Her hands contacted the bandage then, and she picked up the vial to start on the other shoulder. His eyes were still closed. She wondered if he’d lied about the pain.
“Are ye sure it doesn’t hurt?” Her voice came out on a rough whisper.
To her surprise, he replied with a self-mocking, rueful chuckle. “My arms? Nay, they don’t hurt.”
She smoothed the oil down his other arm. Her mind wandered, imagining his bulky arms, as unyielding as oak, enfolding her. Holding her. Protecting her. How safe she would feel in his embrace.
She slid her hand up along the inside of his arm, lightening her touch where the flesh was more delicate. As she reached the top, her fingers brushed the hollow under his arm, where a soft tuft of hair grew. Intrigued by the texture, she didn’t pull away at once. She ran her thumb back and forth along the fringe.
Suddenly, he jerked and clamped his arm against his chest, trapping her hand.
She gasped. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt ye.” She tried to slide her hand down.
He grunted and clamped harder.
She tried to wriggle her fingers out.
“Stop it,” he bit out between his teeth.
Then she realized he wasn’t in pain.
Sir Hew du Lac, powerful Viking warrior, was ticklish.
A slow grin found its way to her lips.
A grin he instantly understood.
“Nay,” he warned.
But she wasn’t about to heed his warning. She wiggled her fingers again.
“Wench,” he hissed, squeezing harder.
“I’m tryin’ to get them out,” she told him with false earnestness, “but I just can’t seem to…” She fluttered her fingers ferociously.
He grimaced. Squirmed. Chuckled. But he was helpless to pull her fingers away with his bandaged hand.
“Oh dear,” she said, “I’m quite trapped under your arm. Perhaps if I try with my other fingers…”
“Nay!” he burst out.
“But I’m afraid I’m caught,” she protested, edging her other hand closer.
He narrowed threatening eyes at her. “Don’t. You. Dare.”
Yet how could she resist?
“If ye lift your arm a wee bit,” she offered, “perhaps I could withdraw my hand.”
“Will you withdraw your hand?”
“Of course.”
But there was still a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. She could feel it.
And he could see it. “I don’t believe you.”
“What?” She pretended to be hurt by his words. “I thought we were friends.”
“And I thought you were a trustworthy lass.”
“Yet ye’re the one who’s trapped my poor hand under your big, fat arm.” She wiggled her fingers to prove it.
“Bloody—” He twitched again.
“I wonder if ye’re ticklish under both arms,” she mused.
“Nay!” he said on a laugh, reflexively clamping down his other arm.
But that didn’t stop her. She was having too much fun. She walked her free fingers across his chest and began digging under his other arm.
“Nay, you don’t,” he gritted out, trying to fight her.
Her small fingers burrowed under his arm as easily as a mouse under a stump. And aye, he was just as ticklish there.
His laugh, peppered with oaths, was delightfully full-throated as he thrashed against her attack.
But then she made the mistake of letting the first hand slide free.
Now he could seize her with his unbandaged hand. And that was exactly what he did.
Her wrist was suddenly gripped in his iron fist. His eyes gleamed with triumph and a wicked promise of revenge.
She couldn’t allow that. But there was one thing she could do to stop his vengeance. One thing that would destroy his resolve. The thing she’d been dreaming of doing all morn.
While one of his arms was clamped against his side and the other hand was busy shackling her wrist, she closed her eyes, leaned forward, and planted her lips squarely on his.
The combination of being weakened by mirth, stirred by battle, and overcome by love made Hew respond with more enthusiasm than he intended.
He knew it was wrong. He vaguely recalled something about keeping his distance. But he welcomed and deepened the kiss. His caution dissolved like mist as their mouths waged a gentle war and their breath mingled together in gasps and sighs.
Her fingers stopped their mischief then and dragged across his chest, rubbing with interest over his nipple.
Desire surged between his legs as her tongue delved between his lips. He released her wrist and lay his palm alongside her neck, holding her there so he could answer her hungry exploration.
Some faraway voice inside him was bellowing at him to stop.
But Carenza’s mouth was begging him to continue.
Deaf to everything that would keep him from savoring this precious moment, he gave himself over to his passion. With a possessive growl, he sealed his lips to hers. Holding the back of her neck, he rose slowly to his feet.
Her hands crept up his chest, exploring him, kneading him. She looped her arms around his neck as if she never wanted him to leave.
Her kisses became greedy, frantic, and demanding, driving him mad with longing.
She leaned against him, pressing her breasts against his chest. And for a moment, it felt as if their hearts beat in tandem.
Then she broke away from the kiss and moved her mouth along his jaw. Down the side of his neck. Across his collarbone. Leaving a sensuous trail that left him breathless with arousal. She licked at the flesh of his chest, lowering her head to capture his nipple in her mouth, circling it with her tongue.
He stiffened and threw his head back, enjoying the playful curiosity of her lips.
Then she moved to the other nipple. She nibbled lightly there, teasing him, and chuckling low in her throat when he responded, hardening to a nub.
But that wasn’t all that responded. The ache between his legs was growing sharper and more insistent.
He had to stop her. So he told himself. Over and over. Yet he might as well stop the sun from rising.
She pulled back then. For an instant, he thought she must have seen reason. Come to her senses where he had failed. When it came to temptation, she must be stronger than he was.
In that instant, he hoped he might be able to seize the reins of the runaway horse of desire. To stop both of them before they did something they’d regret. To stop things before they went too far.
But that instant passed. And in the next, she only made things worse.
Blushing at her own daring, she cast modesty aside. With frenetic fingers, she unpinned her arisaid and let it fall. Then she tugged the leine from off her shoulders until it perched atop her breasts.
Her glazed eyes compelled him to return the favor. To do for her what she had done for him. To finish what she’d started.
How could he refuse?
Her flesh was so soft. Warm. And willing. He longed to feast on her delicious skin. Almost as much as he longed to give her the gift of pleasure.
Still, he cared for Carenza. He loved her. If he gave in to his cravings, and she regretted it later, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself.
So he managed to grate out, “Och, lass, are you certain?”
She licked her lips and nodded.
Every inch of his body sizzled with need. Fire burned in his loins. His heart galloped like a steed.
With any other woman, he would have dived in with all the force of his lust.
But with Carenza, he wanted to temper his passions. To go slowly and cautiously. To take care with not only her body, but her heart.
So, trembling with restraint, he slipped his hand gently down the front of her leine, freeing her breast from the linen.
She shivered as he bared her. Her tiny rosebud nipple tightened. She sighed as he lowered his head, brushing her delicate skin with his hair.
He placed tender kisses along the top of her bosom. Warmed her flesh with gentle breaths. Then he closed his lips around her nipple and bathed it with his tongue.
Her soft moan of delight gave him almost as much pleasure as the sweet taste of her. She arched toward him in invitation, and he swirled his tongue over her flesh. She gasped, fiercely clasping his shoulders, like an eagle holding onto prey. When he’d sampled his fill, he dragged down the other side of her leine, exposing her virgin breast, and began again.
Still, she couldn’t be satisfied. Eventually, she craved even more. When he gave her breast a final kiss and moved his way back up to her mouth, she whimpered in complaint.
She pressed forward against him, searing his flesh with hers and driving him to new heights of torment. Her breasts cleaved to his chest like sun-warmed silk. And below, she surely could feel the pressure of his swollen cock low against her belly.
But despite her hunger, he knew there was no more he could give her. It was a risky game they played. They should go no further.
Carenza had likely never played at such sport before. Hew had. It was up to him to stop things.
Curling one of her hands in his own, he withdrew his lips from her mouth to bestow a kiss atop her knuckles. Then he firmly but gently nudged her away.
“Wait,” she whispered, her eyes dulling with disappointment. “Don’t go.”
“I have to.” It pained him to say the words.
“But I want to feel your arms around me,” she gushed. “To keep kissin’ ye for hours and hours. To lie with ye, heart to heart.”
Her words were like ambrosia. But it was a love potion he dared not drink.
“So do I,” he admitted. “But you and I, we’re bound by honor. I cannot stain yours.”
Then he released her hand to restore her leine, returning it to respectable order.
Carenza didn’t want him to be right.
She felt as if she’d glimpsed heaven. Floated above the clouds. Sung among the angels. Never had she felt so loved, so cherished. And she didn’t want that feeling to end.
But it had to.
“Ye’re right, o’ course,” she said softly after her leine was set to rights.
As much as she liked to defy the constraints of nobility behind her father’s back, she knew this was something quite different. Stealing coos and taming crows was not the same as dallying with a man.
Still, the idea of not kissing him again was too awful to contemplate. It was with sadness, shame, and regret that she pinned on her arisaid once more.
Hew slipped into his leine, concealing his magnificent chest and the formidable rutting beast beneath it.
It occurred to her that he must be suffering as well. She’d heard a man’s ballocks could wither away from unrequited lust. She didn’t know if that was true. But it seemed possible.
She straightened to her full height and clasped humble hands before her.
“I’m sorry if I enticed ye into somethin’ ye didn’t want,” she murmured.
“Something I didn’t want?” He let out a low rumble of a laugh. “Och, lass, you have no idea how much I wanted it. How much I still want it. How much I want you.”
Her heart flipped over. “Ye do?”
“I’ve ne’er wanted a woman more.”
She didn’t know how that could be true. Surely a warrior of Rivenloch could have any woman he desired. But he seemed sincere.
Then he stepped near and framed her face with his hands.
“’Tis more than wanting you, my lady,” he said, gazing at her with eyes of liquid steel. “I’ve ne’er loved a woman more.”
Her heart melted.
“And I’ve ne’er loved a man more.” Even as the words left her lips, it seemed a silly thing to say. “Actually,” she admitted, “I’ve ne’er loved a man at all.”
He smiled. “Not even one of the Boyle brothers?”
She shuddered.
He hugged her then. A sweet, chaste, fond hug. A hug that may not have ignited her like the flint of his kiss. But a reassuring, protective, and loving embrace that she could definitely get used to.
“Will we marry, do ye think?” she murmured against his chest.
“Are you proposing?”
She wished it were so simple. It seemed to be so with most clanfolk. They were free to court and kiss and wed who they wished. They were even allowed to have a trial marriage for a year and a day. But she was the only daughter of a laird. And Hew was a border warrior from an illustrious clan. Their destinies would be determined by the king.
“I wish we could run away and be handfasted like the clanfolk,” she said.
“I don’t think the king would approve, ne’er mind your father.”
“My father likes ye. He wants ye for a son.”
“He won’t like me if I run off with his daughter.”
She shrugged. That was probably true.
She sighed against him. “What are we to do?”
“Bide our time,” he said, lifting his hand to caress her hair. “First I have to complete my duty to the monastery and uncover the outlaw. Then we can ask my laird and yours to petition the king for permission to wed.”
Her heart fluttered at the certainty in his voice. If all went to plan, this was going to happen. She and Hew would be married.
Still, it seemed somehow far-off and unattainable, like a rainbow glimpsed and never found.
An iron-gray cloud passed just then between the sun and the window, darkening the solar, and casting a pall over Carenza’s good mood. She bit her lip. It felt like an omen. A warning that not everything was going to fall into place so easily. That what she’d found with Hew might slip through her grasp like sand through her fingers.
If that was so, then time was of the essence.
She pushed back from Hew’s embrace and straightened with purpose.
“I have to go.”
He looked disappointed. “Where are you going?”
“To the monastery.”
His brows lowered in disapproval.
But before he could protest, she reminded him, “I told ye I was goin’.”
“Alone?”
“I’ll take Symon with me.”
He let out a weighted sigh.
She soothed his discontent with a coaxing smile. “The sooner we solve this crime, the sooner we can be married.”
He grumbled something that sounded like “There can’t be a marriage without a bride.”
She knew he was worried about her. But this was the easy part of the investigation. She was going to a monastery to give a sizable tithing to the monks. What could go wrong?