A Lily on the Heath 4 (25 page)

“Good evening, my lady wife,” he said at last, cutting into the silence even Judith wasn’t certain how to break. “I trust you fared well during the king’s visit?”

“Aye,” she replied, unable to take her eyes from his broad shoulders and chiseled lips. “Thank you for…arranging such a warm reception for him.”
 

Malcolm’s lips tightened as he unpinned the heavy brooch at his throat and put aside his cloak. “’Twas Ludingdon who insisted on handling the welcome, as I was forbidden by himself and Mal Verne to be present at all. Mayhap you wish to get into bed?” He sat on Judith’s stool, his movements stiff and slow, and began to work off his knee-high boots.

“Do you not wish me to assist you?” she asked, already sliding off the bed. Her nightgown slid and shimmered lightly against her bare skin, rippling around her as she made to kneel at his feet. “Gambert isn’t here tonight. Of course.” She sounded breathy, even to her ears.
 

“Nay,” he said quickly, almost sharply. “I can manage on my own. Are you not…
chilled
…in…that?” His voice was gruff.

“’Tis a summer’s night! Of course I am not chilled.” She stood in front of him, their faces nearly level, for he was sitting. Suddenly she remembered, and blushed at her lack of manners. “Oh, Malcolm…thank you for the jewels. They are beautiful, and beyond anything I could have imagined. I’ve never had anything so lovely in my life.”

“Nor have I,” he murmured, reaching to touch the end of one of her curls where it rested against her arm. Then he withdrew his hand and said, “They are your colors. The blue of your eyes, the gold and fire of your hair. Now, get in bed, Judith.” His voice was clipped, and as she turned to obey, he bent to untie his cross-garters.

She slid under the coverings and watched him unwind the garters, then pull off his fine tunic. The
sherte
beneath molded to his muscular shoulders and upper arms, falling flat over his belly—unlike that of the king, whose clothing rounded out a small bit at the stomach. Judith felt her heart begin to pound at the thought of seeing…and touching…her husband’s bare torso, which she’d had the opportunity to admire in the training yard. A flush of warmth had her cheeks heating and a little pleasant squiggle in her belly.

Mayhap Maris was right. This would be utterly different than lying with the king. Judith smiled to herself as Malcolm extinguished the candles on the wall, leaving only the small fire as illumination.
 

He stood at the end of the bed near the window and pulled off his
sherte
, leaving him clad only in hose, now sagging without the cross-garters. As he laid the
sherte
neatly over a trunk, the bit of moonlight able to slide through the narrow window cast a silvery glow over his nude chest and sleek arms. She could see the slabs of muscle, the way they shifted and slid as he walked over to look out the window.

Judith realized her heart was thudding—but rather than apprehension, it was anticipation that caused her mouth to dry and her belly to flutter. And yet, he made no move to come to the bed. He stood, staring out the window, into darkness.

“Malcolm?” she asked after what seemed like a long while. “Do you not come to bed?” Her heart was in her throat. What was wrong? What bridegroom would delay entering the marriage bed?

His shoulders moved; she saw the subtle lift and slight drawing together. “Go to sleep, Judith.”

Her heart dropped and she went cold and light-headed with confusion…and fear. Was he regretting their marriage already? Or….

Was it her? Had her
affaire
with the king despoiled her so much that Malcolm was repulsed by the thought of coupling with her? Of taking the king’s leavings? They were wed and he’d never even kissed her, she realized with a sudden, nauseating shock. Even today, at the end of their wedding, he’d barely touched her lips with his.
 

But she’d sworn she’d seen desire in her husband’s eyes…even just now, when she stood in front of him. The fire behind had surely outlined her figure beneath the light fabric of her gown. He’d noticed. She’d felt his attention, slow and heavy, as it caressed her.
Surely
he’d noticed, surely that was why his breathing had changed, his voice had tightened. She was no stranger to a man’s expressions of lust.
 

So why?

It was not in Judith’s nature to remain quiet, to wonder and worry. She had to know, even if the knowledge was painful. For she surely wouldn’t sleep until she did. “You do not mean to consummate our union, then? We are to be wed in name only?”
 

Once again, she saw him still, his silhouette freezing in the moonlit window. He raised one hand and settled it on the wall next to the opening, leaning even more into the night air. He tipped his face up and she caught her breath at the beauty of his profile, glazed in silver. His torso expanded as he drew in a deep breath. “I bethought you would wish for…a time of reprieve. I would not follow in the steps of the king and…force you into my bed.”

“Force me?” Judith’s voice cracked with surprise. “But you are my husband. You have the right—”

“Aye. I have the
right
.” His voice was hard, as if he spoke from between an unmoving jaw. “As did the king so believe. But I would not exercise that right merely because I can, Judith. Now, I tell you, woman…go to sleep.”

The tension that had flooded her drained away as if a cork had been removed. She was out of the bed in a swirl of hair and gown, moving toward him even before he turned at the sound.

“Judith,” he snapped, looking back out the window. “Do not try me. Get back in bed.”

Of course she ignored him, continuing to approach until she was close enough that the edge of her night rail brushed his legs. “’Tis true the king forced me to lay with him,” she said, resting her hand on his bare arm as she stood just behind him. His bicep was hard with muscle, and warm, and she slid her palm along it in a soft caress. “But you are my husband, and I would welcome you in my bed—right or no right.”

He’d stopped breathing and she felt the faintest quiver from beneath his skin.
 
His muscles were taut and still. Encouraged and emboldened, she settled both hands on the tops of his shoulders—higher than her own eyes—and slid her palms along the broad, warm width, then lightly down over his shoulder blades. Tiny little bumps erupted in the wake of her touch, and she felt another deep tremble from inside him.

“If you are willing….”

“Aye,” she said, curving her arms around his waist, pressing herself into him from behind. His hard, flat belly leapt and shifted beneath her touch, and she splayed her hands wide over its muscular ridges, tickling the patch of hair that grew there. Her breasts pressed into his back, her cheek rested on his spine, just between the shoulder blades. His heart slammed beneath her ear.

Then Malcolm released a great gust of breath and gently but firmly removed her hands from his waist. With a smooth movement, he drew her around in front of him, and before she could speak or even think, he had her angled up into the edge of the window, eased against the wall, kissing her.

His large hands cupped her chin and curved around her neck as he settled in, covering her mouth with his. He was hot and hard, his lips mobile and tender, easing hers open to kiss her with deep, slick movements. He ate at the corner of her mouth, delved deep with a strong, thrusting tongue, smoothed the pads of his thumbs over her cheeks.
 

Judith lost sense of time and place, vaguely aware of a cool breeze over her bare shoulder and the harsh stone edge along her back as heat enveloped her, rushing through her like hot liquid. She had her hands up in his silky hair, bracketing his strong neck as she took what he gave her—their mouths sliding and nibbling and molding together. She could hardly find a breath, hardly cared to draw it in as he moved to nuzzle her throat and the side of her neck.

She sagged against the wall, her head lolling to the side as he drew the long, heavy swath of her hair away. A fresh breeze from the window caressed her warm, sensitive skin before he pressed his lips to her again, his mouth hot and sensual, sliding along the length of her neck. Judith was aware of her ragged breathing, of the soft, panting moans she made as she settled her hands on the solid planes of his chest. He was warm and smooth, hair- and scar-roughened, and yet sleek with muscle. Such muscle…so hard and firm and powerful.

Malcolm had settled the side of a hip against her belly, holding her firmly in place as he devoured her mouth, tasted her throat and nuzzled beneath her ears. But now, with a soft, deep groan, he shifted, sliding himself and his hose-covered erection fully against her. Judith shivered, a bolt of desire stabbing her deep in the belly when she felt the hard, immense bulge pressing against her abdomen. She was flushed, damp and hot everywhere, her body awake and alive.

She arched a little, pushing her hips against him, rolling her belly against his erection, shifting so one of his thighs fit between hers. He stilled, his hands tightening over her shoulders, then slid down to cover her breasts, crinkling the gossamer fabric against her hot skin. Her nipples were hard and ready, and he molded the material in a rough, textured caress over them. Then she felt something loosen, a soft, tearing sound…and her night rail slipped away, falling to the floor with the soft clink of metal and gemstone.

Once again Malcolm paused, his hands, rough with calluses and scars, settling on her arms as if to hold her in place. He looked down and dragged in a rough breath as he traced the tip of one nipple with a fingertip. Judith tilted her head and saw the silvery moonlight outlining her high, ivory breasts and the dark valley between them, then filtering onto the darker, hair-dusted skin of his bare torso. She trembled at his light touch, pleasure and anticipation wending its way south.
 

“Judith,” he whispered, his expression intent—almost reverent—as he gathered her naked breasts into two large, dark hands. “I would take you to bed.”

“I would go,” she said, then arced closer to him as he raked his thumbs gently over her straining nipples, sliding over the very tips of them in tiny, delicate swirls. She shivered, sighed, smiled as pleasure rolled through her, down to the full, swollen place she rode against his thigh. He bent to kiss one of her breasts, his tongue sliding over and around its sensitive, engorged nipple. Hot curls of desire undulated through her, throbbing and pounding and wanting some sort of release.
 

Then she was airborne, hoisted and gathered up into strong, warm arms. The bed appeared beneath her nearly at once, and she looked up as he stood over her. A dark figure, outlined by the moonlight from behind, shoulders wide and square, hair mussed from her own hands.
 

Judith realized belatedly that she was completely naked in front of him, and for a moment, modesty and nervousness rushed through her as she lay splayed on the blankets. Malcolm’s gaze was riveted on her as he shoved down his hose then eased onto the bed with sharp, impatient movements.

The bed shifted under his weight, tipping Judith into his long, solid body even as he pulled her close. Now she felt the insistent nudge of his cock, hard and warm against her thigh. His hands seemed to be everywhere, his fingers sliding between her legs, parting them gently…then finding her hot, damp center. Judith gasped in surprise at the sensations—bold, sharp, luscious—as he touched her in the intimate place, his fingers slipping and exploring urgently.
 

She quivered and shook, her eyes closed, her skin slick and hot as her breathing turned to desperate panting. “
Mal
,” she whispered once, in a low, desperate sigh. He made some guttural sound of response, then pulled his hand away and shifted into position over her. He settled between her legs, which had fallen open, ready—oh, very ready—for him. His hips were sleek and strong, his thighs like tree trunks…and his erection incredible.
 

“Oh,” she whispered, her eyes closing again as he pressed into her. She arched a little to help, then her eyes flew open wide when he slid all the way home. “
Oh
,” she said again…but this time it was more of a moan. A satisfied moan.
 

Malcolm muttered something she couldn’t hear through the roar of lust sweeping her as he moved, thrusting long and deep in an urgent rhythm. Judith was unaware of anything but the sensations building, flowing through her like a fiery liquid…centered at her core and rolling through her limbs.
 

It was like nothing she’d ever felt before. Nothing like the twinges of pleasure, the little pangs, the quiet insistence. This sensation was deep and lush and intense, and it grew, billowed…hot and liquid and seemed to charge through her body…then shatter.

He gave a sharp groan just as her body exploded. Judith cried out as pleasure and satiation undulated through her, her heart racing, her breath wild, tears trickling from her eyes.

Malcolm arched over her, shuddering his own release, propped on an arm so he wouldn’t crush her. She glanced up to see his eyes closed, his face taut with effort, then Judith collapsed into a puddle of skin and bones, still trembling and shaking, hot and breathless…satisfied.
Never
,
was her only coherent thought. Never before.
 

It was as if she’d saved this ecstatic moment forever…as if she’d been waiting for it, teased and titillated, but never seized it, never knew how to grasp it, until now. She lay there for a moment, basking…waiting for her body to come back to itself. Then, as Mal rolled over and off, separating from her, she brushed away the tears with the palms of her hands and lay there, drawing in deep, shuddering breaths.