Claire Delacroix (113 page)

The captain lay on one side of the chamber. Thomas wondered for a heartbeat what had transpired here, then reminded himself that the doings of others were not his trouble.

Though he ensured the captain was alive. The man had a bruise rising on his temple but otherwise appeared to be sleeping.

Thomas’s belly urged him to make haste. He checked the scattered meal and found a large pot with a good bit of gravy unspilled within it. There was naught amiss with the thick bread trenchers, to his thinking, and he stuffed them into the pot. A survey of the table revealed naught else
worth eating, though this would be fine enough fare and plenty for the two of them.

Thomas turned to leave and halted in surprise. Marika had come into the chamber behind him silently. She was staring at the fallen captain, such hatred in her eyes that Thomas’s blood chilled. She spat on his tabard, her expression so furious that Thomas could not bear to look upon her.

In all his twelve years, he had never witnessed such animosity. Thomas turned blindly to the table and feigned ignorance of her presence, even though he was startled by the change in her manner.

It seemed at odds with the sweetness Marika had displayed thus far. Indeed, he wondered what kind of person she was truly; what had happened between herself and this captain; what the entire tale was.

Yet he was not certain he wanted to know what could inspire such passion.

She made a sound of approval and Thomas glanced up with trepidation. The Marika he had glimpsed previously was returned, shyly offering an apple he had missed. She smiled and Thomas nodded with haste, uneasy with how quickly she changed expression.

Truly, she was so charming from that point onward that Thomas began to doubt what he had seen. All the same, he felt uncertain of her smiles, uneasy in her presence as he had never been with a woman before.

The pair found a corner in the kitchen that was warm and snug, and consumed the contents of the pot. Marika giggled and blushed like a young maid, though he knew she was at least ten years his senior.

She was unexpectedly pretty when she smiled at him. There was a dimple beneath one corner of her full lips and a dint high in the other cheek that made her look like a woman who laughed often. The sadness that occasionally stole
through her dark eyes tempered that impression and left Thomas with a thousand questions.

Which he could ask, but she could not understand.

Perhaps it was only the meat, but long after Marika had fallen asleep, Thomas lay awake. Aye, he was not quite certain he wanted to sleep alone in this woman’s presence. In fact, he kept one hand upon the hilt of his knife, though he told himself ’twas just caution having its say.

For if Marika did more than spit upon the captain, they all could pay the price.

Ibernia had never felt anything like Rowan’s kiss. His touch awakened a yearning deep within her that she had never guessed she possessed. ’Twas no fever that claimed her, for this illness showed itself only beneath this knight’s touch. Too late Ibernia realized it was desire that made her knees weaken.

Rowan’s kiss was possessive yet gentle, tender and persuasive, entirely different from the way any other man had touched her.

It made Ibernia long for more. It made her want to savor this fleeting embrace, made her want to understand the full reason why others found lovemaking held such allure. She had no doubt that Rowan could show her all she desired.

But she had to resist him if she was to gain her freedom in Dublin.

To her own surprise, Ibernia realized that she trusted Rowan to keep his word, to take naught more from her than this kiss, to force naught upon her. Ibernia knew that he would suffer her to step away at any moment—yet at the same time, he was not unaffected by her embrace.

Aye, she could feel the heat of his arousal just a handspan
from her own belly. Just as he pledged, he touched her with his lips alone.

He waited. He pleased. He urged her to join him.

And he savored. She peeked and found that Rowan’s eyes were closed, his expression blissful. That made her feel somewhat more desirable than she knew herself to be, and sent a feminine surge of pride rolling through her.

Rowan’s kiss was shared, not inflicted, and he was apparently as concerned with her response as with his own. She had some power in this match, she had some ability to coax his response, she had the right to halt their embrace.

And that alone persuaded her to continue.

Surely it could hurt naught to enjoy a single kiss? Surely she would be a fool not to savor such a moment?

Her decision made in a heartbeat, Ibernia opened her mouth to Rowan. He eased his tongue between her teeth, the way it flicked against hers making her heart pound. Ibernia closed her eyes and surrendered to that kiss; she let her tongue tangle with his.

Rowan caught his breath. He came yet closer, his lips more demanding than they had been before. ’Twas as if they fed from each other’s passion and coaxed the embers of a blaze to burn high. No less, they did it together, and that, for Ibernia, was the telling ingredient.

When Rowan finally lifted his head, she was honest enough to admit—at least to herself—that she was disappointed.

Then Rowan opened his eyes, revealing how they had darkened with desire. He smiled that slow smile that made Ibernia tingle, his gaze falling to her lips like a caress. She noticed that both of them were breathing quickly, that the cabin seemed astonishingly warm.

“Ninety-nine,” Rowan whispered. He arched a russet
brow, clearly challenging her to not try to escape her wager. “ ’Tis your turn, I believe.”

There was a challenge in his voice, a hint that she would not keep her word, or that she would not return his kiss with the same gentle ardor he had shown.

But Ibernia would show Rowan that he was not the only one possessed of allure! She smiled, then eased an increment closer, ensuring that her breasts were a mere finger’s breadth from his chest.

She heard Rowan catch his breath and shook a finger gently at him. “Your hands will not move,” she reminded him.

Rowan swallowed and nodded once, his gaze dancing over her.

Ibernia had a fleeting sense that he did not know what to expect from her, and she savored the change of roles. She stretched to her toes and framed his face in her hands. She echoed his attack, sliding her lips across his several times before she slanted her mouth across his own with gentle demand.

Rowan moaned softly, the minute sound heating Ibernia’s blood yet further. She felt the tension within him, heard him catch his breath, felt the moment he surrendered to her embrace.

’Twas she who set the stakes this time, she who was in control. This was a new experience for Ibernia and one she intended to enjoy. She kissed Rowan with increasing intensity, nibbling on his lip, tangling her tongue with his, savoring the smell and the taste and the feel of him.

He kissed her back, matching her passion though he did not move his hands. The heat rose faster between them this time. Ibernia fairly tasted the heat of Rowan’s desire, his erection brushed against her belly, his every muscle drawn
taut Yet he stood and let her take her pleasure, let her kiss him however she wanted.

That he would let her do this, that he would not seize what he so obviously desired, drove Ibernia on. She felt filled with a power that she had never sampled before. She was desirable, she was desired, yet she alone would say what came of it.

But when she finally broke their kiss, Ibernia knew her cheeks were flushed. Her breathing came quickly, even as Rowan’s did.

Their gazes locked and held. The air seemed to sizzle between them, naught but the creaking of the ship carrying to their ears.

Ibernia leaned back against the wall, feeling the heat of him, smelling his skin, seeing the way his hands had knotted into fists where they still were braced against the wall.

“One hundred,” Rowan whispered, his voice more uneven than Ibernia had expected. He exhaled shakily, then made to run a hand through his hair. He could not seem to tear his gaze away from her, though, and he did not step away.

That made Ibernia smile. She had shaken his composure, this knight who had more confidence than any she had ever known. She felt suddenly bold and impulsive—’twas the same impulsiveness at the root of her current troubles, but Ibernia did not care.

The sense of being in charge of her own destiny, however fleeting that influence might prove to be, was impossible to deny.

She eased closer, her gaze locked on his. She saw Rowan’s eyes widen, noted how his jaw tightened. She reached up and slid a fingertip down the side of his face, much as he had touched her earlier. She traced the strong line of his jaw, let her finger meander across his firm lips.
She lifted her gaze to Rowan’s as she decided to succumb to temptation.

She stretched to her toes, fanned her fingers across his cheek, and let her breasts touch his chest. Rowan shivered. Ibernia smiled.

“Ninety-nine and a half,” she whispered with a wanton’s boldness, then touched her lips to his once more.

Rowan slanted his mouth across hers with purpose, and Ibernia surged against him. The hardness of his chest made her feel soft and feminine; the way his hands remained on the wall emboldened her. She ran her hands down his neck, across the breadth of his shoulders, then back to tangle in the luxuriant thickness of his hair. She arched against him as he kissed her deeply, knowing only that she wanted yet more and more.

Rowan groaned and he caught her against him. The strength of his hands bracketed her waist and lifted her against him. He backed her against the wall, one hand rising to cup her jaw as he kissed her thoroughly. Ibernia could only hold on and enjoy this unexpected pleasure. She matched him touch for touch, too lost in sensation to care at this path’s destination.

Until Rowan reached into her chemise and cupped her breast in his hand.

Ibernia caught her breath at the intimacy of his warm palm against her bare flesh, shuddered as his thumb slid across her nipple. She gasped and tore her lips from his, but Rowan, his expression intent, only bent to capture that tightened nipple in his lips. He suckled her gently and Ibernia closed her eyes. She clung to his shoulders, feeling faint with pleasure, until she suddenly realized what he did.

He was merely winning another wager. Rowan meant to seduce her with his touch, just as he had pledged, but the prize that hung in the balance was Ibernia’s freedom.

“Nay!” she cried, and pushed him away.

To her relief, Rowan immediately released her, though his eyes smoldered with desire. He surveyed her, his gaze lingering on the breast that now grew chilly without the luxury of his touch. He looked tousled and displeased, and Ibernia knew an inkling of dread that she was not truly in command of this situation.

“You pledged not to touch me,” she declared, hating how tremulous her word sounded. “You swore to keep your hands upon the wall.”

Rowan snorted, he shoved a hand through his hair. “Ye gods, Ibernia, a man can only bear so much,” he muttered, then paced the narrow expanse of the cabin. It took only two of his steps, but when he turned, Ibernia was glad of even that minute distance between them.

“I knew that you meant only to win our first wager with the second,” she charged.

Rowan arched a brow. “I beg you make your accusations more clearly. My thinking is addled at this moment.”

Ibernia wondered whether that was true. He looked so composed so quickly that she doubted as much. She pulled her stained chemise closed and folded her arms across her chest, wishing she could hide the fullness of her breasts from his gaze.

“We wagered that if I did not succumb to your charm before arriving at Ballyroyal, then you would release me there, rather than in a year and a day. And when you demanded a shower of kisses in exchange for Marika’s release, I knew you would make the most of that to win the first wager.”

Rowan looked unconvinced. “ ’Twas you, Ibernia, who made that last kiss what it was.” His gaze bored into hers, as if he would read her very thoughts, as if he guessed that she had truly desired him.

Against all good sense. Ibernia abruptly turned away.

Silence reigned in the small cabin, though there was a tension in the air. Ibernia hated that she was too well bred to leave the matter there.

“I thank you for winning Marika’s release,” she said grudgingly.

“The prize was well worth the price.”

Ibernia glanced up to find Rowan’s gaze warm upon her. She felt herself flush and hoped the poor light would hide her response. “You must say that to all the women you persuade to abandon good sense.”

He chuckled then, clearly not insulted by her cross tone. He sauntered across the cabin, but Ibernia defiantly held her ground. Her pulse quickened but she fought to hide any sign of her awareness of him.

Rowan halted before her, eyes twinkling merrily and tapped one fingertip playfully on the tip of her nose. “Ah,
ma demoiselle
, ’tis difficult to say who was most persuasive just moments past.” He surveyed her, his eyes gleaming gold. “ ’Tis not everyday that I abandon my pledge to a woman, no less that I forget it completely beneath her beguiling kiss.”