CHAPTER THIRTEEN #4
He did not look up, as she had not given him permission to do so. His temper took over at last. Outside of bed, Joan was a tyrant. If he did not take her to bed, how could he recover his power over her? But Ailios, he was certain, would be furious if he bedded his Queen.
Joan said, “Everyone leave Us, now.”
His heart accelerated. He had no wish to think of Ailios now.
They were not lovers, or even sworn to one another.
And in spite of his ambivalence toward Joan and the coming night, hot blood began gathering in his loins as if realizing what must transpire.
But then, anger was so easily confused with lust.
“We arrived here yesterday with no proper greeting,” Joan said. “Your housemaids are fools—but We are certain that is not their real task in this household. Have you fucked them all? You may look up.”
He lifted his head and met her bright, angry gaze. “Aye, I have.”
She flushed. The stain spread from her cheeks to her neck and breasts. “Where have you been, Ruari?” she demanded. “What is more important than Us?”
“I have been at Dunroch. Nothing, Joan, is as important as ye.” He always knew when to strike and calling her by her familiar name was just that.
“I spent the night alone,” she whispered in heat and hurt.
He found that impossible to believe as he stood. “Then I am truly sorry,” he murmured, taking her hands. “Let me show ye, Joan, how sorry I am.” Images flashed of Ailios in his arms, riding him into the eternity of La Puissance. Somehow he shoved them aside.
“You are not sorry—you are never sorry. You do as you will, never mind I am your liege!” She stood, her gaze moving to the fluttering skirt of his leine. She licked her lips and said, “I summoned you to court six months ago and you did not even reply.”
He stepped very close to her, purposefully becoming entangled with her skirts. Her breath caught. Amused, aware that her need for him was reducing her to the beggarly status he desired, he murmured, “Ye must have been enraged, waiting for me to come.”
Slowly she dragged her gaze away from what rose between them. “I was enraged last night—waiting for you to make me come.”
He smiled. “Maybe yer tired o’ giving so many commands. Maybe ye need a man to command ye. An’ maybe waiting is good fer ye, eh?” He clasped her waist, turning her away from him.
She cried out in excitement. “Never,” she whispered hoarsely. “I will give the commands.”
He laughed. “I dinna think ye can command much now, Joan. But that’s why ye have come back to me. I’m the man ye canna control, ever. Ye’ll do as I say, when I say.” He spoke softly, his breath against her ear, but he pulled her firmly against his heavy loins.
She breathed hard, and it was a moment before she succumbed. “Fine, yes. Fine!” Then she said, “Ruari,” and it was a woman’s plea.
Royce tensed. He had no plan except to survive the Queen’s stay. He hesitated, so aware of his ambivalence now—and the cause for it. It was almost as if Ailios were present and filled with hurt over his behavior.
But by damn, this was politics.
He seized her wrists, restraining her with one hand, and rubbed his lips against the side of her neck.
“Ye need patience, Joan,” he whispered, his mouth moving against her ear.
She trembled. He splayed his other hand low on her belly and she gasped.
“I think tonight I’ll teach ye patience. ” And he let her go abruptly.
She gasped in surprise, turning to face him, but he walked away. “What was that?” Joan cried.
Because he was a virile man, his body was more than ready, and he was aware that she knew it.
Worse, his failure to acquiesce was uncharacteristic.
He collected his wits. Joan liked his arrogance and tyranny, and he turned.
“I’ll be the one to decide when we fuck,” he said coldly.
“I said I’d teach ye patience. I meant it. Ye can start the lesson now.”
Her eyes went wide. Her color rose.
“That’s a taste,” he said, “o’ what I may decide to give ye later.”
Her eyes glazed with lust. “Damn you.”
“And, Joan? Ye may summon me to court, but Carrick is for Maclean affairs. I dinna like ye calling on me—ever.”
Her flush became mottled, anger and lust becoming one. “Sometimes, Ruari, I hate you.”
He laughed at that. As if he cared.
“And maybe, this time, you go too far.”
“Ye like it. If I served ye like the others, ye wouldn’t be here.”
“One day you will go too far,” she panted furiously. “And, Ruari? Tonight the lesson continues.”
He smiled tightly. “Tonight, I’ll be the one to decide if ye have learned any lesson at all.”
She flushed all over again.
He was aware that his triumph was momentary, and he wondered how he was going to manage her that night.
Sooner or later he’d have to play the stud.
But she enjoyed other women as well as men—he might orchestrate an orgy for her, making certain she was so preoccupied that he was the one left out of her bed.
And then he saw Ailios.
Not in his mind, but standing in the corridor behind the hall, as pale as a ghost, except for the two bright spots of crimson on her cheeks.
She was furious and in that moment, he knew she had been spying on him.