Chapter 4 #2
Worried and afraid, Lily tried to stand, saying in her most censorious voice, “No, Radulf. Is this how a knight cares for a lady under his protection?”
Radulf grinned. He stood up, following her cat-footed as she backed toward the bed. “If the lady is willing, yes.”
“What if the lady is wed?” she burst out.
That stopped him. He frowned at her, tension in every line of him. “Are you wed, Lily?”
Reluctantly, the truth was forced out of her.
“No. Not any longer. He is dead.”
A smile curled his lips once more. A victor’s smile. “Then come to me, mignonne,” he murmured, and drew her to him. Lily gasped as his hands smoothed over her back and hips, closing on her buttocks, pressing her firmly against him.
She felt the hard length of him, and hot visions of her touching him, holding him, opening to him, took hold of her fevered mind.
There was a terrible yearning ache in the pit of her stomach, and the need to satisfy it overshadowed all other considerations.
If there had ever been a time to draw back, it was now gone.
“Radulf,” Lily gasped.
He was peeling off her red gown and then her chemise, his hands unintentionally rough against her bare, smooth skin. She was naked from the waist up. Lily cried out softly when he found her breasts and began to knead the full warm flesh.
He made a low sound in his throat and bent his head, his mouth fastening on a swollen bud.
Lily’s head fell back, her long plait spearing over her arched spine.
Only Radulf’s arm about her shoulders prevented her from falling.
Her body had lost all strength, had turned molten.
She groaned again, her hands creeping blindly beneath his shirt and running over the hard, curving muscles of his chest. There were scars there, too, and she smoothed them with her fingertips, as if her touch would heal all past hurts.
Perhaps, she thought dizzily, they could heal each other.
Radulf finished with one breast and turned his attention to the other. Lily swayed, offering her flesh to his hands and lips. Still it wasn’t enough.
As if he sensed as much, Radulf swung her up into his arms and in one fluid movement laid her upon his bed. Lily opened her mouth to protest, dazed gray eyes turning to him, and stopped in wonder.
Radulf was stripping off his clothing, tearing at the cloth in his haste. Lily’s awestruck gaze wandered over his broad chest, down to his flat stomach and narrow hips and rampant masculinity.
Vorgen had never been so . . . so big, so hard. Lily had not known that a man’s body could become so proudly arrogant, and yet so beautiful.
She reached out as if to touch, and then stopped as Vorgen’s words echoed in her mind.
He had called her cold and unfeeling; he had said her flesh leaked poison and prevented him from being a man when he was with her.
He boasted of his conquests with other women, swearing that his impotence was for Lily alone.
Radulf had seen her movement, and her withdrawal, but thought it only womanly modesty. He bent now and slipped her clothing from her hips, tossing it aside, and turned to gaze avidly upon her nakedness.
“Blond, like your hair,” he murmured, fingers grazing the curls at the juncture of her thighs.
His gaze dropped to the jeweled dagger that was still strapped to her upper thigh.
He ran his fingers over her creamy flesh, over the leather strap and sheath, until they rested on the green and red stones adorning the dagger’s hilt.
“What is this?” he asked her, his voice a husky rumble. “My Lily has a thorn?”
“ ’Tis . . . protection.”
Their eyes met, and for a moment Lily thought he would pull back from her. Instead he gave a reckless laugh, unbuckled the leather strap, and tossed the dagger to the floor, before burying his face in the fair curls between her thighs.
Lily gasped his name, clutching wildly at his hair as his tongue found her moist core. Never had she thought . . . never had she imagined . . . A desperate trembling seized her body; the beginnings of a hot and urgent need rose within her.
Lily arched and pressed closer to that wonderful mouth and closed her eyes, climbing the wave, savoring these new sensations. But just as she was sure she was about to reach some strange and marvelous peak, Radulf moved away.
Lily cried out in dismay, and then her eyes opened wide as she felt Radulf’s big body sink down upon hers, all that hard flesh and sinew, all that power, completely covering her.
His dark eyes were narrowed, gazing deep into hers, and she felt him reach his hand down between her legs, his fingers sliding into the slick heat he had stirred there.
Lily moved against him, and he smiled with a slight, satisfied curve of his mouth.
Gently he parted her thighs and settled between them. Radulf sighed with contentment, as if this was where he had wanted to be all his life.
“Are you ready for me?” His voice seared her.
Lily had a frightening yet comforting sense of great strength held in check, awaiting her answer.
But what did he mean? She had not understood women, like men, could be prepared for the act of mating. She had believed it was a woman’s duty to endure, as she had endured Vorgen. Now, with her body hot and aching, she knew better.
She gasped, involuntarily lifting her hips against him, her body giving him her answer without words.
He entered her with a single deep thrust—he was so big, he had always found swiftness the best way.
Time enough once he was inside to gentle matters.
In a haze of pleasure he heard her soft scream, felt her body convulsing.
There was an exquisitely tight, almost untried resistance.
He checked, wishing he had not been so hasty.
She was young; he had not realized she had been so long a widow.
But Lily was more than ready, her discomfort already fading. She moaned as her body stretched to take all of him, welcoming him. Radulf’s mouth closed on hers, his tongue diverting her while she adjusted to his size. His skin, beneath her palms, was as hot as fever.
“Are you ready for me, lady?” He asked it again, his breath against her ear making her shiver, and this time she understood his meaning.
“I am,” she panted, and then gasped as he began to move.
Long, slow thrusts at first, then quickly increasing in speed and strength, teaching her with his hands and body to match his rhythm. Lily learned quickly, eager to be the mistress of her own pleasure.
And then Radulf began to lose his control. His mighty arms shook, and he bent to suck on her breasts, groan her name. It didn’t matter. Lily was more than willing to follow him, wherever he was taking her.
In some far corner of his mind, where his wits were residing, Radulf remembered to see to Lily’s pleasure before he took his own.
He slid his hand down between their slippery bodies, stroking firmly on that swollen nub.
She went rigid with surprise—he almost laughed aloud at the amazement in her gray eyes—and then she was convulsing and crying out as if she had never reached that peak before.
She was still gasping and clinging to him as he thrust deeply into her, once, twice, and with a harsh groan, followed her over the mountain.
Lily felt as if her soul had left her body and drifted away to some brighter place.
She lay snug and warm in Radulf’s arms, her shoulder to his chest, her hip against his belly.
What had passed between them was beyond words.
She only knew that she had made a wondrous discovery, one she had every intention of revisiting with Radulf as soon and as often as possible.
Lily smiled at the pledge and opened her eyes.
Radulf was looking down at her, his warrior’s face alert and watchful. Again the directness of his gaze startled her, but only momentarily, and then she reached up and stroked his cheek, gently tracing the puckered skin of the old scar.
“How came you by this, my lord?” she whispered.
He shuddered, as if her touch were hurting him, but when she, remembering again Vorgen’s cruel taunts, would have withdrawn, he turned his face and gently nibbled at her fingers.
“A fight with a brave man,” he murmured.
“I deserved what he gave me, and much more.” He began to kiss her palm, his mouth hot and hungry.
Lily watched him, holding her breath. This was Radulf, her great enemy, the man she had been fleeing. This was Radulf, the terror of the north.
And he was hers.
A great relief filled her, and with it an incredible tenderness for the man beside her. He was hers, and Lily had learned to fiercely protect what belonged to her, be it flesh and blood or sticks and mortar.
She lifted herself on her elbow, stretching to meet his lips with her own.
Radulf’s tongue delved into her mouth. His hand still clasped hers, and now he drew it down to his groin.
She stiffened, trying to pull back, but he laughed and held her tighter.
His manhood was already hard again, and he seemed proud of the fact.
“My lord,” she gasped, as he rolled her over onto her back, straddling her.
He raised her hands above her head, pinning them there with a satisfied smile, so that she was powerless to stop his kisses even had she wanted to.
She didn’t.
“I feel besieged,” she whispered.
He laughed arrogantly. “The castles I besiege always surrender to me. They open their gates”—he slid his thighs between hers, opening them—“and surrender.” His manhood prodded her entrance. “Do you open to me, lady?” he teased huskily. “Do you surrender yourself into my care?”
And Lily, afire again, could only gasp her assent.
It was not until they had caught their breaths once more that Radulf moved to pull the covers over them both.
Lily felt him tense. The warm tenderness turned chill.
He turned his dark eyes on her, and although they were blank and unreadable, Lily sensed his growing anger.
She was reminded with a sharp, prickling awareness that although Radulf was her lover, he was still Radulf.
“Lady, you have lied to me.” His voice was as quiet as an assassin.
Lily stared back at him, gray eyes huge, wondering what he had discovered, and how.
His soft voice went on. “You told me you were married and that your husband was dead.”
“I was married, and my husband is dead,” she managed, her throat dry.
Radulf held up his fingers, and by the light of the smoking candles Lily could see the dark smears of blood. “You were virgin,” he stated angrily.
Lily refused to look away. “ ’Tis true,” she managed through the lump in her throat. “I was wed, but he was . . . was unable. I was a wife in name only.”
Radulf continued to stare at her, as if trying to see beyond her words, to see inside her head.
“Why did you not take another?” he demanded.
“Why wait until now, until me?”
Lily did not answer him. After a moment, when she could bear his gaze no longer, she leaned forward to rest her cheek against his chest. His heart beat strongly beneath the wall of flesh and muscle.
“I was waiting for you,” she whispered, and acknowledged as she spoke that the words were truth.
Radulf laughed in disbelief.
Lily, her hand trembling, touched his skin, exploring the rough dark hair on his chest, rubbing her fingers over it. He did not move, and she sensed his aloofness, his resistance. He thought she had lied to him, and now he distrusted her even more.
And yet he did not push her away, or move from the bed.
Lily continued to caress him, her fingertips finding his nipple, and remembering what Radulf had done to her, she covered him with her mouth.
Radulf took a ragged breath, his hands capturing her head and holding her still.
“Lady, tell me again how you came to Grimswade church?”
Lily smiled against his chest. “I was seeking sanctuary,” she whispered, “and I have found it.”
He tilted her face so that she had no choice but to meet his eyes. “I sent my men to the wood you spoke of,” he told her harshly. “They searched and found naught of any battle between your soldiers and their attackers.”
Lily said nothing, gazing back into his eyes. In a nervous gesture, she licked her lips.
Radulf moaned deep in his throat. He wound his hands through the long strands of her hair, pressing his face to them, kissing the silken locks.
“Ah, Lily, Lily,” he groaned. “Mignonne, you are foolish if you think your gift will soften me if you lie.”
His yielding emboldened Lily. She pressed her palms to his shoulders, urging him back. When he lay among the blankets and skins, she leaned over him. The tips of her breasts brushed across his chest, and her hair made a cave about their faces.
“I will take that chance,” she told him softly. “I do not think you will hurt me, my lord.”
Radulf hesitated a moment, as if he were tempted to disillusion her, and then he was pulling her down to drink from her mouth, and all conversation was forgotten.