Chapter Twelve #3
Suddenly, he could stand no more, and never breaking contact, he threw her to her back on the carpets and finished with a few deep, desperate strokes, finishing with deep shudders that seemed to come from within his soul. He held Jura so tightly she cried aloud.
“You are breaking me,” she said, struggling to make him loosen his grip.
He chuckled. “I will bend you to fit into my pocket and I will take you out only when you are the Jura-by-the-water.”
“I am always that Jura,” she said, fitting her body close to his.
He gave a jaw-popping yawn. “Perhaps you are used to sleeping on the floor but I am for the bed.” He picked Jura up as if she were a child, ignoring the protest she began, but soon stopped, and took her to bed. He pulled her into his arms, drew a cover over them, and was instantly asleep.
Not so Jura. Her mind and body were too full of new sensations to sleep. When Rowan’s breath was deep and his body relaxed in sleep, Jura eased from the bed, picked up his tunic from the floor, drew it over her head, and left the tent.
The night air was cool on her face and bare legs, and she turned her face to the moon.
Smiling, she hugged her arms about her body.
At last, she was truly no longer a maiden.
This is what she had felt the day she had first met Rowan after she had been swimming.
And this was what she had never felt with Daire, she thought.
If only she could feel with Rowan the safety and serenity that Daire made her feel.
A cool wind blew across her, making her shiver, and she went back into the tent.
In the candlelight she looked at Rowan sleeping as bonelessly as a baby, one palm upward trustingly.
She must have made a noise, for he stirred, his hands reaching out for something.
Me, she thought with a smile, then blew out the candles and climbed into bed with him.
She woke with something tickling her nose. She jumped when she opened her eyes to see Rowan bending over her brushing a piece of her own hair against her nose. For a moment she was startled at the sight of this man in her bed, and when she remembered, she blushed.
Rowan smiled knowingly. “Good morning, wife,” he said, and kissed her softly.
“And what entertainment do you have planned for me today? I’ll wager you’ll not outdo yesterday with your velvet dress and leading me to this den of earthly pleasures.
Had I known you’d react so to Brita, I would have seen that she attended our wedding. ”
Jura was not used to being teased. “I did not plan this,” she said indignantly. “Your sister said I should try to look like an Englishwoman in order to…to…” She gave him a weak smile.
“To what?” he asked innocently.
“Brita had nothing to do with this. If you want to follow that old woman about like her pet dog, that is your choice.” She started to roll away from him to get out of bed, but he held her fast.
“Brita is not old. She is a beautiful, powerful woman, and power like hers appeals to a man, especially a king like me.”
“She is not so beautiful as I!” Jura half yelled, then saw by Rowan’s face that he was laughing at her.
Her voice lowered. “Brita is the better off, for I saved her last night from a boring evening.” She gave a yawn.
“Perhaps she found herself a lusty Lanconian lover, someone as handsome and virile as Daire.”
“Daire!” Rowan gasped. “Why, I could break that scrawny, ugly, little—” He broke off when he realized she was giving him some of his own back.
“I know how to punish you for that,” he said, looking fierce.
The next moment he was on her, tickling her until she was squealing with laughter and writhing between his legs.
The writhing made him forget that he was “punishing” her, and in a moment they were kissing as hungrily as if they had not seen one another for a year. The kissing led to a long lovemaking, then both fell into a short but deep sleep.
The rumbling of Rowan’s stomach woke them both.
“I do not want to leave here,” Rowan said, holding her close to him. “Out there rages the world. No doubt Brita has already declared war on the Irials, and it is my fault for not seeing to her.”
His tone was so gloomy that she kissed his nose then her head came up. “Someone comes.”
Instantly, Rowan was out of the bed, pulled a cover over his shoulder to cover his nakedness, and grabbed his sword. “Stay here,” he ordered Jura. “And I mean that.”
He left the tent to await the arrival of the lone horseman, who, when he saw Rowan, increased his pace.
It was Xante and he looked at Rowan—nude but for the wool blanket over one shoulder and trailing behind him, his sword drawn—with amusement. “It is good I am not an enemy,” Xante said. “You took long enough to hear me.”
“What is wrong?” Rowan asked, his voice heavy and sharing none of Xante’s humor. “How am I needed?”