Knight of Her Heart (Conquering the Heart) (26 page)

His mouth claimed her, his tongue lashing along her succulent cleft, savouring the sweetness of her moist essence.

“Nay, Rowan! This is wicked.” Her hand gripped at his hair and urged him away as every muscle tensed in rejection of his loving.

“Those priests who preach against pleasure in the marriage bed are the ones who are wicked,” he told her adamantly. He banished all thoughts of the church from his head lest he lose his ardour and end up in an argument about his beliefs that some of the priest’s interpretations of God’s word must surely be wrong.

His wife was worried and he would need to wield every sensual weapon he had in his arsenal to not only relax her, but also to ensure she knew this pleasure. Employing his hands first, he caressed and stroked her until her body went limp. Next, he lowered his head once more and used his lips and his tongue to suckle and lick until she writhed against him and moaned. A quick look up at her expression assured him she had forgotten her inhibitions and was in a state of mindless sensation.

Concentrating on her reactions so he could gift her with as much physical bliss as possible, his finger slid gently into her. Her quaking internal muscles signalled her delighted response even as she gasped her shock at his intimate invasion. Mimicking the sexual act itself, his finger grew bolder, seeking the sensitive spot of her inner wall that would trigger her explosion. As her tremors grew stronger he moved his mouth and drew hard on the sensitive nub of nerve endings.

With blatant need she surrendered to her body’s cravings. Her hands clutched at his head and instead of pushing him away, this time she held him to her, ensuring he delivered all that she yearned for but possibly did not yet understand. At last there was a swift, irregular clench of her internal muscles and the slight hot liquid of her excitement around his finger. Her impassioned, ecstatic cry rent the air.

In direct response the tightness of his sac and throbbing of his manhood grew unbearable. Just as her climax abated he positioned himself at her entrance and cleaved her flesh with his jutting erection. The pleasure of joining with her and hearing her cry out his name in wonderment was intoxicating. For a few seconds he stilled, savouring the sensation and letting her sheath adjust to the firm length and width of him.

“Oh,” she whispered, before she said his name over and over.

He withdrew some of his length then pushed forward again to establish a driving rhythm. Lisette met him thrust for thrust and tilted her hips for even deeper penetration. Understanding her need, he grasped her legs and bent them over his shoulders, forging in carefully.

“Is that too much?” His chest heaved as he fought to coordinate speech and breathing.

There was raw hunger in her expression. “Nay. I love this,” she panted. “You were right. It could never be too much.”

God, give him strength! The woman was incredible. He was buried up to the hilt. He watched her cautiously as he allowed each of his thrusts to grow stronger and faster. Her expression of stark need revealed that she welcomed every deep, hard lunge of his shaft. Her inner muscles clenched to hold him. Reassured, he gave in to his instinct to drive powerfully into her for his own completion. He was lost in sensation so rich and overwhelming that everything in the world but Lisette’s responses and his own urgent need was forgotten.

Just as he thought he could no longer hold back his climax her body arched and she let out a broken sob. Her inner muscles convulsed tightly around his length and the waves of ecstasy that washed over her, shattered his own control. With a guttural growl, his body stiffened then bucked and quivered as he pumped his essence into her.

During the slow drift back down to earth from his trip to the heavens, Rowan was aware of her languid sigh. The soft candlelight revealed her happy, contented expression and the musky scent which hung in the air was redolent of the passion and sexual fulfilment they had shared. ’Twas only in this lady’s body that he had ever been so utterly, physically replete. Only in their joining that he knew that one instant where he’d handed her his very soul.

Somewhere his defences cried, ‘Danger’, but on this occasion he refused to heed the warning.

Still deeply embedded within the hot, tight glove of her body, he enjoyed the occasional waves of pleasure which still washed through her internal muscles like a receding tide. Mindful of her bruised shoulder, he shifted position carefully so she lay atop him without losing their intimate connection. Her heartbeat still thudded as she snuggled against him. The tenor of her breathing remained rapid and uneven.

She expelled a feathery sigh into the peaceful silence. “Never has anything felt so good, so fulfilling, as being one with you, Rowan. I love being naked against you. I love having you inside me.”

“Your body is a perfect fit,” he agreed, loving the way he was able to cradle her softness to him.

“Before long it will ripen with child,” she said with soft hesitancy. “Will you mind? Will you still come to me?”

He ran his hand through her hair before kissing her temple. “The change in your body during your confinement will be as God intended.” Lisette was his. She and this ecstasy they shared were all that mattered at this moment in time. Her child would be theirs.

“I am truly blessed, Rowan. I could not want for a more understanding husband.”

“We are doing well together,” he agreed. Physical completion had made his muscles slack and heavy. His mind relaxed.

A serious light entered her eyes as she raised her head and regarded him. “My body is yours, my lord,” she told him earnestly. “Also, this night, I give you my love.”

Every muscle was instantly taut and his breathing became difficult as his mind rejected her words. Defensive barriers that had long guarded his heart dropped as firmly and heavily into place as the portcullis at Romsey Castle. His self-protective instinctive made him roll away from underneath her, vault out of the bed and create as much space as possible between them so that he could breathe again.

I give you my love.

He’d heard the words before—a lifetime ago. They’d been spoken by the woman to whom he’d been betrothed. Words spoken as a vow that had meant everything to him but less than nothing to her. Words he’d believed, but which had proven to be uttered falsely.

Tension spread through his arms and he realised he’d tightened his fists at his sides savagely as he’d sprung from the bed. Breathing out slowly, he forced his fingers to flex.

“Rowan?”

’Twas impossible not to hear the pained hurt in her voice. The organ that moved the blood around his body clenched in response to that tone just as fiercely as his fists had done. It had never been his intention to cause her any distress but he could not accept her love.

Still facing away from her he swallowed past the stricture of regret clogging his throat. “I cannot accept your love.” The bald declaration—the hurtful rejection of her gift—was met with a sharp intake of her breath, then total silence lay awkwardly between them. “I have no wish to hurt you,” he went on, “but you must understand from the outset that I cannot accept from you what I am unable to reciprocate.”

Steeling himself against the pain he expected to see, he turned back to face her.

Like a true warrior, her crumpled expression was masked so swiftly he wondered whether he had imagined it. 

“You accept my body but not my heart?” she demanded, her eyes flashing fire.

“I take from nobody what I cannot give in return,” he emphasised.

Her jaw thrust forward stubbornly. “That may be noble were it true, but I know you have a heart to give, Rowan of Romsey. I’ve felt the strong, steady beat of it beneath my cheek when I have pillowed my head on you. It pumps the blood through your veins and quickens when we lie together.” Her slender hand extended toward him and she pointed an accusing finger at him. “Do not lie to me and do not lie to yourself and pretend you are heartless. ’Tis a nonsense you speak.”

He shook his head, disappointed that he would fail her in this. “The organ that beats in me is incapable of the sort of relationship you require. Its capacity for loving a woman was shattered long ago.”

The fullness of her lips disappeared into a tight, thin line. “Through losing your parents and the betrayal of your half-brother, or by a woman?”

A muscle began to tick in his cheek and he realised his teeth gritted together. Hardly trusting himself to speak, he admitted, “By the woman who was my betrothed.” He collected his clothes quickly and began to dress.

“Then she was foolish and far from worthy of you. However ’tis not she who has shamed you. You shame yourself in allowing your heart to remain shattered and dysfunctional,” Lisette accused. “Would you surrender so easily to an enemy on the battlefield?”

“She betrayed my trust. She betrayed my love,” he returned heatedly, then immediately regretted the outburst. Anger heated his cheeks. Lisette was his wife and he should not speak of another woman to her in this way. But, once more, she showed him a distinct lack of respect, speaking back to him and demonstrating that she did not know her place. ’Twas not a wife’s right to challenge her husband thusly.

“Those who betray our trust are cowardly traitors.” She ploughed on, oblivious to the storm that gathered within him. “You are the king’s first knight. I cannot believe you would allow a traitor to best you,” she scoffed. “You—”

“Enough, woman!” Much as he regretted raising his voice to her, he had to cut off her speech. This was not something he would examine or discuss. He had already revealed too much about Lady Eleanor’s betrayal. “Know your place and do not think to challenge me again.”

She was anything but abashed. Her jaw locked and her cheeks were hollow, as though she was so enraged she sucked them in. The heat from her eyes threatened to incinerate him. In truth she was magnificent and he did not want to alienate her, but she must understand the way they would go on together and not cherish false hopes.

“When you behave befitting your position as my wife you have my admiration, respect and thanks. Have I not included you today in my parley with my brother, Sir Richard?”

“I—”

He did not allow her interjection. “I expect respect in return. I have no need of your love and warn you again that I have no love to give.” He pulled on the last of his clothing and began walking toward the door. “’Tis the last we will speak of this.”

The growl of pure frustration she let out was demonstration that she did not heed his words. “You are ridiculously pig-headed and stubborn! Find the courage, Sir Knight, to set aside your past pain. Search within yourself and find your heart, for not only have you the capacity to love, but like all mortals you
need
love. All you have to do is admit it.”             

“What I
need
is a woman to be my chatelaine, to share my bed and to bear my children,” he declared harshly. “Nothing more.”

“You deceive yourself. You need a woman by your side to be your companion as well as to manage your castle and warm your bed!”

“You know me not well if that is what you believe.”

“Then why did you invite me to be at your side to meet Sir Richard?” she challenged.

Why had he?
’Twas a question he could not answer immediately. One he did not want to examine.

“Hell’s fire! You try my patience, woman. Do you wish to be horse-whipped for your lack of respect?”

“A man capable of loving a lady as generously as you do would no sooner horse-whip that woman than boil himself in oil!”

His patience snapped. Striding to the bed, he hauled her out—so livid, he forgot about her bruised shoulder until she let out a yelp of pain. Instantly he knew remorse. He cursed aloud at his thoughtlessness, even though the blood that rushed through his veins was hotter than boiling oil.             

“Lise—”

His word was cut off as she went up high on her tip-toes, threw her arms around his neck and pulled his head forward to claim his mouth in a hot, open-mouthed kiss that was so urgent and passionate he was powerless to resist. Never had he known a woman so brazen. Her assertive kiss caught him completely off-guard and inflamed his blood further.

The Countess of Romsey was a problem. Exceedingly beautiful, capable and heroic but wilfully stubborn, outspoken and brazen. In her strength of purpose she was like her father. In a man, her traits would be admirable—in a woman they were...a problem.

Yet, despite needing to have her understand that she would never win his love, there was naught else he could do at that moment but return her kisses. Not only were her kisses making him crazy once more with desire, but kisses were an effective way of silencing the nagging challenges she’d issued to him.

She had initiated this kiss but in a matter of seconds she was back on the mattress with Rowan having taken complete control. Naked in bed, at least, she yielded to him. Mayhap the only solution to taming his wife was to keep his wife confined to their bed and sated by his lovemaking.

He would not take her bodily, however, unless she knew the absolute truth between them. The vows he’d made before God...the words which had crossed his mind after he’d rescued her from the fire...
She is mine to have and to hold, to love and to cherish
...replayed through his head. Nay. He did not love her. He would not love her. The second before he plunged into her he said, “I have grown to like and respect you, Lisette, but do not ask me to feel more.”

Chapter 15

Wielding Stormbringer around, Rowan pointed his mount once again in the direction of the quintain. The destrier snorted and pawed at the ground before Rowan applied slight pressure with his heels to signal to the horse to proceed forward at a gallop. Raising the fourteen-foot long ash lance, Rowan judged the exact tilt required for the steel tipped point of the weapon to strike the practice shield on the quintain.