Chapter Three #2
Liar, her mind chided. If he had kissed you first, you would have enjoyed every moment.
She pressed both hands to her cheeks, wondering what was the matter with her.
Standing with him in the dark was giving her a strange sense of recklessness.
But then again, when you knew your life would likely end before the year was out, there was no reason to be coy or shy.
She couldn’t bear the thought of the High King being the only man to ever kiss her.
The chains of her betrothal were suffocating, and she fought against them with every breath.
Raine’s hand brushed against hers, and he threaded his fingers with hers. His gesture confused her, for it was almost an apology. She squeezed his hand in return, wishing she could go back and ask permission before she’d assaulted his mouth.
His thumb began to stroke the edge of her hand in a silent caress. It confused her, because wasn’t he angry with her right now? She closed her eyes, though his touch echoed within other places in her body. She tried to focus on the freezing cold stone walls or on how weary she was.
Not the man who was quietly undoing her senses.
But then, he took her hand and brought it to his neck. Beneath her fingertips she felt the warmth of his bare skin, and she couldn’t resist the urge to put her other hand up, bringing them back into an embrace.
He leaned in, and against her lips, he whispered, “We are naught but strangers, Lady Carice.”
They were. And perhaps that was why she wanted to kiss him. It would mean nothing, and after they parted ways, she would have a memory of what it was like to kiss a man.
She kept her voice hushed and murmured, “That is why it will not matter to either of us.”
His hand cupped her face, and she felt the forbidden heat that was there. She brought her hand back to his face, feeling the smoothness of his skin. Upon his throat, there was a faint trace of bristle, as if he’d missed shaving there.
And then he did lean in, kissing her softly. It was hardly there at all, and she felt a sense of disappointment. He was holding back, treating her as if she were made of glass. She could almost imagine his silent question: Was that what you wanted?
No, it wasn’t. Several times, she had seen men and women engaged in trysts. On some nights after they celebrated feasts, she would sometimes find couples stealing time together. But there had never been anyone for her. And then she’d grown so ill, she hadn’t been able to leave her chamber.
The kiss had been an idle wish born of longing and loneliness. She found Raine de Garenne quite handsome...and she knew that there would never be anything more between them, beyond a day or two spent in his presence.
His hands moved over her face, framing it.
For whatever unknown reason, his touch was now a silent question.
He was waiting for something, and she knew not what.
In answer, she tightened her arms around his neck.
Both of them were aware that these moments were unwise, and if she were caught in the arms of a Norman, her father would murder Raine where he stood.
She didn’t care.
Carice had no time to react before his mouth descended upon hers.
The kiss was hot, melting away her awareness of the outside world.
Her lips merged into his, and she tasted a hint of mead upon his breath.
His tongue entered her mouth, and her knees gave out at the unrelenting sensations.
He caught her, pressing her back against the frigid wall.
But as his mouth consumed hers, she felt none of the cold—only a desire that was transforming from a kiss into a frenzied need.
“No one will take you against your will,” he murmured against her mouth before he claimed it again. “Not while I’m here.”
He was behaving like a ruthless bastard.
Raine knew it, and yet, he didn’t want to stop kissing this woman.
Despite her frail body, there was a fire within her.
He tasted her yearning for a different life, and she had kissed him first. Though it might seem that she was a woman of loose virtue, somehow he didn’t believe it.
Her gesture spoke of a woman who wanted to claim every last moment of life before she went to her grave.
It was unnerving, and yet, he was entranced by her sweetness. She aroused him with the barest touch, and his wicked mind imagined touching her boldly, marking her innocent skin. But he would not force her into more—not as weak as she was.
Raine broke the kiss and listened intently.
There was no sound of her father’s men, and when he peered through a tiny crevice, he could see no one.
He supposed it was unwise to reveal his face to her, but he’d spoken the truth when he’d said he needed her to trust him.
It was unlikely that they would see one another again, and if he saved her life, she would not believe he was guilty of killing the High King.
“Do you think it’s safe?” Carice whispered. Her voice was breathless, and her hand touched his. “Are my father’s men gone?”
“Stay here while I look.” He pressed her back into the shadows while he pushed the stone door open, climbing into the chamber.
The moment he entered the room, he drew his sword, listening hard. Carice obeyed his orders, remaining hidden within the wall.
When there appeared to be no danger, he moved toward the door, waiting.
Though it was likely that the men had continued their search elsewhere, he knew better than to believe that the threat had vanished.
He rested his hand against the door, keeping his sword poised.
Seconds ticked by, and he threw open the door, only to find an armed soldier standing guard.
Raine shoved the man back against the wall, his sword at his throat. “Why are you here?” He spoke in his native language, not caring if the man understood him or not.
The soldier’s face went white, but he stammered a reply in the Norman tongue. “The—the chief of the Faoilin clan is searching for his daughter.”
“Do I look like the sort of man who would allow a woman to trespass here?” He pressed his blade against the man’s throat, leaving a trace of blood.
The soldier’s hands were shaking, and Raine told him, “Leave your weapons behind and go. And if I see you or any of the other men return, you won’t breathe again.” Never once did he speak in the Irish language, for he wanted the man to believe he was an enemy.
He released the soldier, and the man hurried down the stairs.
Raine followed him, keeping his weapon drawn.
The chapel was empty, and he crossed the space, watching as the man retreated.
It soon became clear that the guard was the only one left behind, for a single horse was tethered.
He guessed that the man had stayed behind to learn whether or not Carice had hidden herself.
Which she had, but thankfully, the woman had not emerged from her place within the wall.
Raine watched while the man rode away, and he wondered what he should do about the Lady Carice.
He had been commanded to kill the High King—Henry had demanded it as the price of his sisters’ freedom.
It would cause chaos in the midst of éireann, making the provincial kings rise up against one another.
And it would allow Henry to gain full control of this land, creating order where there was none.
Carice Faoilin could allow him to get even closer to the High King, giving him a reason to be at Tara.
Why should he not deliver the missing bride to her betrothed husband?
Especially if Raine intended to kill the man anyway?
Carice would not have to marry Rory ó Connor—not if he carried out the man’s death sentence.
And yet, she had already fled her father in an effort to avoid the marriage.
If he tried to bring her to Tara, she would only run away from him as well.
Or if Trahern MacEgan arrived, she would go willingly with the man she had already asked to save her.
Raine turned over the idea in his mind, wondering if he should use her or let her go.
She kissed you, his conscience reminded him. What sort of man would betray a woman who had willingly touched him? Only a bastard whose soul was already damned. He hardened his heart, knowing that it was better if she hated him. He was a killer, not a man worthy of redemption.
Yet, he didn’t want to let her go. Not only was she the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, but she had awakened a protective instinct within him.
He wanted to guard her innocence, to see those sky blue eyes look upon him with gratefulness.
She was unable to defend herself, and he wanted to slaughter any man who dared to threaten her.
There was no logical reason for his possessive urges, save her touch.
It had conjured a fire inside him, stoking the need to caress her, to make her burn in the same way he did.
The taste of her lips had aroused needs he’d buried for months.
And if he took her with him, he could spend more time in her company.
After he was certain the soldier had gone, Raine returned to the sanctuary.
Shadows clung to the stone walls, and he stared at the simple altar, remembering the men who had died in the fire.
He could almost sense their chastisement for the thoughts he was considering.
For a moment, he rested his palm upon the wall, hoping the men’s souls had found peace.
Slowly, he ascended the winding stairs and pushed open the heavy wooden door. He expected to find Carice seated before the fire or resting upon the bed. But she was not there.
He walked toward the opening in the wall and peered inside. She was seated on the floor with her knees drawn up, and her body was shivering violently.
“It’s safe to come out,” he told her, offering his hand. But she didn’t take it.
His suspicions tightened, and he stepped into the opening. When Carice didn’t move, he reached down and lifted her into his arms, helping her out of the hidden space and back into the chamber. Dieu, she was so light. And despite the gown and cloak she wore, her skin was like ice.
“I was cold,” she said. “And I didn’t have the strength to climb out. I am sorry for it.” She was trembling, and he brought her over to the bed, tucking her beneath the coverlet. “I heard you talking to someone. Who was it?”
“One of your father’s men.” He reached for her hand and began rubbing at it, trying to bring warmth back into her skin. “I sent him away.”
She closed her eyes and murmured, “I am sorry for disturbing you here. I will leave as soon as I can.”
No, he wasn’t going to let her go. Not yet.
“You need to rest first,” he said. “Try to warm yourself.”
She nodded, burrowing tightly beneath the coverlet.
He sat beside her, wondering if she would even survive the journey to Tara.
There was no doubt that she could never wed the High King of Ireland.
Why would Rory uphold the betrothal when she was so ill?
Either the Ard-Righ was unaware of her weakness, or he didn’t care.
It was possible that Carice’s father held a lot of influence among the chiefs.
And yet, there was no denying her beauty, in spite of the illness. Her face was lovely, while her eyes were the color of sapphires. Although her hair hung limply against her shoulders, it held all the mysterious shades of brown and red, like polished wood.
“I can’t seem to get warm,” she admitted, biting her lower lip. “My feet are freezing.”
He knew the fastest way to warm her was to lie beside her, curling his body against hers. But he didn’t want her to see him as a threat. She needed to feel safe with him, to trust him.
Before you take her to a wedding she doesn’t want. Before you betray her.
He silenced the voice of his conscience and reached beneath the coverlet to find her feet. With his hands, he began to massage the skin, bringing warmth to it.
Her eyes locked onto his with gratitude. Raine knew he ought not to touch her in this way, but she held him captive with her gaze. She stared at him as if she remembered every moment of their forbidden kiss. As if she wanted him to stay with her.
This woman was dangerous in a way he’d never anticipated. And the longer he spent at her side, the more she might bind him to her.
Abruptly, he covered her feet and stood. “Rest now. I’ll find more blankets.”
It was an excuse to leave her, for he had not yet decided what to do. An honorable man would bring her to safety at Laochre Castle with the MacEgans. Raine could leave her there with no regrets.
But he wasn’t honorable. He was a soldier, ordered to spill the blood of men, whatever the cost. He would have struck down her father’s guard without a second thought, except that he wanted the soldier to inform the chief that they should not return.
He shouldn’t care that Carice was a fragile beauty whose kiss had tempted him. She was a pawn in a game that he had no choice but to play. Henry held his sisters captive, and their lives depended on Raine’s obedience.
Kill the High King, and they would have their freedom. One life taken and two lives given.
He knew well what it was to be a pawn, used for another man’s ruthless commands. But when it was done, he would have his own freedom.
And so would Carice.