Always Mine (36 page)

She grumbled and cursed again when she stubbed her toe on the stool, where Mari kept a basin of clean water and cloths for Brianna to wipe her face. Damron grinned and decided today was not the day to take issue with his wife’s unseemly language.

Brianna struggled to come to terms with her greatest fear: being torn from Damron’s arms and thrown forward to her future time. She ate all the choice morsels he piled high on

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their trencher and even planned meals with the cook that in-cluded more vegetables. She drank milk fortified with honey and eggs, and ate more fruits and cheeses, and a variety of meats, fowl and fish. She didn’t resist her body’s needs when she grew sleepy.

Each day, for additional exercise she climbed the stairs, from the ground on up to the rooftop. She took deep breaths of crisp air as she circled the curtain wall several times and drank in the beauty of the changing leaves in the forest. She walked from one bailey to another going about her duties and, instead of asking a servant to fetch someone or something for her, she went herself.

Her muscles were as firm and sleek as if she attended a gym every day. Her breasts and belly rounded softly.

Damron’s new duties kept him occupied all through the day, and he sometimes missed coming to the hall for meals.

Each night when they were abed, he was especially tender with her.

He delighted in pointing out the changes in her body. He would grin and say, “In case ye did not notice . . .” One such evening, he rested his face against her rounding stomach, just as the babe decided to make its first sturdy move.

Damron gasped and clutched her hips. “Did ye feel him, wife? My son greeted me!”

“What you felt, husband, is your daughter,” she teased.

Brianna had felt flutters before, but this was the first time her child had moved so forcefully. She smiled and ran her fingers through Damron’s hair and pulled his face up to hers. He came to her willingly and braced his weight on his arms as he covered her with his body. For several long breaths they stared into each other eyes. Finally, she gripped the braids at his temples and tugged.

Fire swept through the pit of her stomach at the hot passion of his hungry kiss. Parting her lips, she offered the tip of her tongue between his teeth. He groaned and drew it into his

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mouth where his own tongue swirled and danced lightly around it, allowing her to explore him.

Her restless hands roamed over his head and down to explore the broad, smooth muscles of his shoulders and back.

When she could not reach his hips, she returned to the corded muscles of his arms holding his weight from her, and pushed.

He raised himself as she sought to explore his chest’s hardness, then straightened his arms when she kept urging him upward.

She slithered beneath him and teased his nipples the way he had done her own. Her teeth grazed the hard nub, and she suckled it until he gave a sharp intake of air. Still not content, her hands searched over his taut buttocks. Damron panted like a dog left too long in the heat.

Feeling Damron quiver in anticipation thrilled Brianna.

Her fingers trailed over his massive thighs and searched inward to trace the scar leading up to his manhood.

He stiffened, starting to pull away. Willing him to be still, she grasped his hips. Her hands roamed to explore the silky skin of his engorged rod and the sensitive, velvety tip. She held him still, wrapping her fingers around his shaft with one hand, while she hefted and caressed the huge sacs hanging so heavy behind it.

“Ah, little wife. Ye torture me,” Damron said in a hoarse whisper as he fought for control. He could stand no more or he would spill against her and waste their pleasure. He pulled from her grasp and inched toward the foot of the bed. He kissed and stroked and suckled his way until his knees reached open air. He slid to the floor, kneeling at her feet. He drew his tongue up the soles of each foot, then kissed each toe before drawing it lightly between his hot lips to caress it with his tongue.

Little by little, he pulled her toward him as he worked his way back up her legs. She moaned and writhed and, for the

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first time in his life, he was grateful for the skills that had made women seek him out at the royal courts.

He eased Brianna’s legs over his shoulders, then gripped her hips to pull her to the edge of the bed. He nuzzled the silky cleft between her legs, keeping a firm grip on her so she could not scoot away. When his tongue flicked out to find what he sought, she startled and tried to pull his head away.

He pressed a finger inside her heated body and began a rapid but gentle thrusting, while his lips, tongue and teeth continued their persistent assault. He did not stop until her body became taut as a strongly pulled bow, and her grasping muscles rippled and tried to draw his finger deeper. Rising to his feet, he teased her by slowly lifting her to let his shaft nudge and enter her as she exploded around him.

Desire for Brianna near swept away the control he fought so hard to maintain. He took a deep, shaky breath and kept up an ever-increasing rhythm. He leaned forward to kiss her, and tweaked and fondled her breast until he felt her passions build again.

His tongue plundered her mouth. She arched against him, straining closer, until he could go no deeper. They reached their release together. Her moans and sharp cries startled him.

His hand cupped her head to his neck, and her arms wrapped around him as he held her against him.

“I am sorry, love. Did I hurt ye? Are ye sure we will not harm the wee bairn?”

The wee bairn took that moment to give her father a sound kick. Brianna laughed. “I think we might have spoiled her nap, and she’s annoyed with us, but what we did won’t harm her. We’ll have to be less, uh, energetic, the last two months of my time.”

The following day, before the sun reached its highest point, Damron and Mereck came from the armory and halted when they heard loud arguing. Damron’s gaze darted toward the

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barbican entrance, where he saw Spencer restraining a woman from entering.

“Satan’s puckered arse! What goes there?” Damron yelled.

“If you did not send for Asceline, it appears your discarded leman is bent on creating more trouble.” Mereck squinted in distaste.

Damron snorted and shook his head. “Do I look dafty, brother?”

Mereck clapped him on the shoulder and grimaced. “’Twould be best if you handle her quickly. I will see that Brianna is not disturbed.” He loped off toward the hall’s entrance.

Damron’s long strides took him over to Asceline. He grasped her arm and forced her to cease her struggle to evade Spencer.

“Keep yer voice down, else I will shut yer mouth for ye,”

he said with a threatening growl. He hurried her along the length of the outer wall to the carpenter’s shed. On seeing a shadow in the entrance, the carpenter and his apprentice looked up in surprise and stilled their hammers.

Damron jerked his head toward the doorway. Though annoyed Asceline had come, he sighed with relief. Mayhap she wished to return to Normandy and meant to take issue with him for not having provided an escort. Averting their gazes, the men scurried out into the dusty bailey.

Asceline lifted her chin high, thrust her breasts forward and threw open her cloak. “I am breeding, Damron.” She smirked, looking triumphant. “I used the precaution you ordered, but the sponge must have been too heavy with your seed. You are well and truly caught, my lusty lover. A bastard you have spawned, and I will not have you deny it.”

He looked down in horror at her distended belly. “Why did you not come to me when ye knew yer moon’s time did not come?

Ye have been absent from my bed for months, and I know ye have taken a lover here at Blackthorn. How do ye know the bairn is mine?” If Spencer had not been posted outside keeping the

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curious away, anyone walking nearby would have heard his furious voice coming from the hut.

Asceline shouted back, “My moon’s time had not come when you arrived here with your Saxon bride. I hid it well. I would not let you force me to take a potion and rid you of your duty. Besides, if your sickly wife dies in birthing, this may be the only heir you will have,” she finished with an ugly sneer.

“Dinna e’er speak such about Brianna! Get ye back to the village. I will prepare for yer departure.” Fighting the urge to throttle her, Damron fisted his hands and kept his arms clamped against his sides. She flounced toward the doorway, a victorious smile on her face. He hauled her back into the shadows, beckoned Spencer over and ordered him to return her to the village.

Mereck had reported having more than once seen Asceline steal into the woods with a light-haired man, but they were too distant for him to recognize the man. He wondered if it was Eric who shared her favors. Damron had not cared who she took to her bed. He would no longer be in it.

After Spencer left with Asceline, Damron strode over to the well and yanked up a bucket of cold water, took a deep breath and plunged his head in it. Could the bairn be his? By the looks of her belly, had he planted his seed that last night in Normandy? Or was the babe the fruit of this blond man?

Damron exhaled in a flurry of bubbles, raised his head and shook it like a hound coming from a swim. How would he know until the babe was born? He sighed, squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose, thinking.

’Twas unfortunate his plans to return Asceline to Normandy had to be set aside, for wet, stormy weather prevented him from sending a breeding woman traveling over mountain roads. Though instinct told him she had lied, guilt ate at him.

He had always been careful not to sire a child he couldna

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rightly claim as his heir, but what if the bairn
was
his? He could not abandon it.

Brianna sensed his unease, for she no longer slept soundly but awoke with a start and reached for him. Once her hands touched him, she would sigh and relax into sleep again.

One night, after servants cleared the tables in the hall, Bleddyn brought out his bodhran and Malcolm, looking shy, produced a psalterion. He brought the zitherlike instrument close to his chest and stroked his fingers over the strings.

They played bright melodies while Brianna nibbled on apple slices. Meghan picked up her pipes and joined them. Damron glanced from them to Brianna and back again, then made up his mind to do what his heart had longed to do since he first heard Brianna’s voice.

Damron strode over to Meghan and asked her to play a certain melody. She looked up in surprise and grinned.

“’Tis about time, cousin. Why have ye waited so long?”

Meghan lured sweetness from the strange instrument, and the sounds floated through the room. Malcolm’s fingertips flew over the psalterion’s strings, and Bleddyn feathered the beaters over the bodhran.

At the first sound of Damron’s rich baritone, Brianna’s gaze flew to him. His was the voice her heart remembered.

From the way his body moved and his eyes stroked her, though the words were German, she knew it was a love song.

His was a tone like chocolate velvet, reminding her of a great Argentine singer, José Cura, in Lydia’s time. Her heartbeat quickened, and her body responded to him, filled with the emotion he drew from her. His marvelous voice flowed over her like silk-clad fingers that searched her mind and found her soul.

Damron did not miss the signs of passion building on her

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flushed face. It was not the same look he had seen when she sang with Galan.

This was different. Intense. Yearning. Straining.

His gaze strayed to her breasts. Her nipples thrust against her tunic’s bodice. He longed to grasp her in his arms and take her breasts in his mouth to suckle.

It took but two long strides for Damron to reach her. She gasped in surprise when he went down on his knees and held out his hands in supplication.

“Please, my love. Sing for me,” he whispered.

Talking ceased. Men playing games of chance stilled, and women stopped their soft chatter to lean forward, waiting. All knew of her vow not to sing for him.

Brianna’s gaze flew to Bleddyn’s, and he nodded and smiled. When they spoke of it later, those nearest to her swore they heard the mystic say, “’Tis time to set aside a vow made in anger. Do not deny yourselves the healing pleasure of your greatest gifts.”

Mereck’s face bore the satisfied look of a barn cat certain of a juicy mouse for his next meal.

Brianna took Damron’s hand, and they stood pressed close together. He listened intently as she sang of love and longing, and when she came to the final verse and would have stopped, the players resumed at the beginning, prompting her to sing again.

Damron’s full tones echoed her words. The effect was startling.

His shaft, which had stirred at the first sight of her, was near bursting with need. His gaze never left hers. His hands and arms moved in gestures fitted to the song of wanting to know how to love her, to show her his heart was hers for the taking.

Heartache sounded in her words. Damron wanted to cry out that he did not mean to bring her such pain. He held her arm so she could not leave him, and started singing the happy, lilting tune that Meghan urged from her pipes.

Damron launched into his next song. ’Twas a tale of love a

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woman had for a man but refused to show him in any way.

The man pined for his wife to love him. One day, they carried her husband home from battle. He had no will to live without her love. She lamented that she had kept her love from him, and vowed to return his love for the rest of her days.

We started wrong, my fault, not thine,
My soul, my heart I kept as mine.

Begin again with me, my love,

And meet anon by heaven’s gate.

In sorrow now I know ’tis true,