Dark Immortal (5 page)

Chapter Six

Reluctance
to yield her lazy, cozy comfort for the harshness of reality rose in Bronwyn’s
mind, but she felt a stirring of the warmth that had invaded her senses before.
It beckoned to her, chipping the unwillingness away.  Doubts arose as her mind
drifted toward more awareness.

She
should not yield to the madness again, she knew, dimly aware that there was
danger to her in giving into her body’s cravings, mostly because she had not
yielded so much as she had welcomed the loss of control, gloried in the
gratification of her senses. 

She’d
bartered for once only.

He
had demanded the night.

Where
would be the harm, she lied to herself as he shifted downward until he could
place his mouth over her breast once more, teasing the sensitive nub at the tip
until blood flooded it and delightful sensations began to drift through her,
stirring the heat of before?  Sighing, already glorying in the rise of hunger
he built inside of her, she stroked his hair caressingly, slid her palms over
the taut muscles of his shoulders and arms in fond acceptance.

When
he ceased to fondle her breasts and shifted upward, studying her face in the
shadowy firelight that filtered to the bed, she touched his hard cheeks with
her hands, lifted her lips to him in offering.  He uttered a sound that was
threaded with both hunger and relief and took her lips beneath his heated
mouth, breaching the fragile barrier of her lips in the same moment with the
thrust of his tongue.  His mouth and tongue were possessive, aggressive with
his rising needs.  His passion fed her own, making her belly clench for his
flesh, weep for him. 

She
encouraged his exploration of her mouth and body, rising to meet his every
touch, surrendering so completely to the allure of pleasure his body could give
her that she felt swept away by it, anxious, fretful to have him claim her
fully.  “Nightshade,” she whispered shakily when he freed her lips at last.  “I
want … I need to feel you inside of me.”

A
shudder went through him and he lifted away to study her face, his own twisted
and harsh with the needs he was struggling to contain.  Apparently he saw what
he was searching for and he surged upward, guiding his member into the passage
that longed to sheathe his turgid flesh.  She gasped, arching her head back as
he delved her, thrust deeply inside of her, squeezing her eyes closed to hold
the wondrous sensation tightly to her.  “Stay,” she gasped when he would have
withdrawn, lifting her legs and wrapping them tightly around his hips, pulling
him deeper still.

He
stilled, lifting slightly away again to study her face, rotating his hips and
pressing deeper.  A sound of bliss sighed from her lips.  Her passage clenched
around him.  Uttering a strangled groan, he lowered his mouth to hers.  For
several moments, he did no more than kiss her, stirring tremors of delight
inside her with the slight rotation of his hips.  Abruptly, he broke from her
lips with a hoarse grunt, burrowed his face along the side of her neck, and
began to move more forcefully, pulling almost completely out of her, thrusting
deeply and grinding against her, and then repeating the deep stroke. 

A
whimper escaped her as she felt her body burgeon, tauten, and then begin to
convulse with ecstasy.  His cock bucked against the stranglehold of her body. 
Shaking, his great body jerking uncontrollably, he began to thrust frenziedly,
pumping his hot seed into her until his body would yield no more.

Weak
as she was in the aftermath, she clung to him, holding him tightly, wanting
their bodies locked together.  He was still inside of her when exhaustion
snatched consciousness away from her.

She
woke when he stirred, when she felt his warmth leave her and coolness rushed in
to leave her feeling bereft and lonely.  Sleepily, she felt for him, wanting to
drag his warmth back to cuddle against her, and found only a pillow.  A frown
creased her brow, but his scent and warmth lingered on the pillow and she drew
it to her, clutching it tightly as she drifted away again.

Utter
contentment filled her as she floated toward consciousness again.  She smiled,
luxuriating in the unaccustomed joy that filled her. 

“Ye
slept well then,” said a familiar voice.

Bronwyn’s
eyes popped open and she stared in blank surprise and dawning horror at Zella
for several moments before she shoved herself upright and glanced fearfully
around.  Relief filled her when she found she was alone in the bed, and then
disappointment and an odd sense of hurt.  He’d left without even saying
goodbye.

Gathering
her wits, she turned to watch as Zella set the bucket of water down that she’d
brought for bathing.  “I can manage by myself,” she muttered in sudden
apprehension as the events of the night crashed down around her and it hit her
forcefully that Zella was bound to notice the telltale signs of her love
making.  “Go and break your fast,” she added at the look of puzzlement that
settled over Zella’s face.

Shrugging,
Zella left again, closing the door carefully behind her.

Bronwyn
lay back again when she had gone, closing her eyes and allowing the memories to
flood her mind.  Warmth suffused her at the memories.  Her body burgeoned as if
she could feel the caresses she remembered.

Shivering,
she touched her breasts and then skated a hand downward to soothe the ache between
her thighs.  His man’s flesh, she thought wryly, was like the rest of him,
mammoth.  The ache wasn’t altogether pleasurable though it stirred pleasant
memories. 

Pushing
the thoughts away, she sat up and moved from the bed to the water to bathe herself. 
Her inner thighs shook and groaned with effort and she bit her lip, stripping
her nightrail off as quickly as her complaining body would allow.  His seed had
dried upon her thighs and the musky reminder of their night together tickled at
her nostrils as she quickly bathed herself.

She
had not expected to find such joy in their coupling.  Embarrassment colored her
cheeks as she recalled how verbally she had displayed her pleasure, how
wantonly she had encouraged him, demanded of him.  What must he think of her,
she wondered in sudden anxiety?  She had meant only to yield, but then she had
not expected to gain anything for herself.  She had thought she would only give
him ease.

She
shook that thought off.  In his single-minded pursuit of his own pleasure, it
seemed doubtful that he would have noticed how gloriously she’d reveled in her
disgrace.  Doubt speared her when she recalled that he had looked down at her
as he had thrust into her body, watched her face, but she pushed that away, as
well.

It
did not matter.  He was not likely to carry tales.  Perhaps he had even used
some of his dark powers against her and that explained why she had enjoyed what
she had never before been able even to tolerate?

It
had felt like magic, but not of the unearthly sort.

When
she had dressed, she resolutely pushed all thoughts of the night she had spent
with Nightshade from her mind and went down to break her fast.  She could not
seem to contain the joy that kept trying to burst forth, however, the sense of
hopefulness and cheerfulness that made the day seem brighter.

Zella
and Marta could not refrain from remarking upon it either.

Embarrassed
when she caught herself humming under her breath as she went about her chores
and the curious gazes of the servants upon her, she tamped the urge, but it
only returned and she would find herself smiling idiotically, or humming a
tune.

“There’s
none that would like ta see ye happy, my lady, more’n me,” Marta said finally. 
“But the servants are beginnin’ to talk.”

They
were in her solar once more, where they usually gathered in the afternoon and
Bronwyn had her head bent over her needlework.  At Marta’s chiding tone, she
felt a blush rising in her cheeks.  “And what are they saying?” she asked,
feeling a mixture of anger and anxiety welling in her.

“That
ye’re behavin’ far more like a woman in love than a widow.”

Bronwyn
lifted her head to gape at the woman who had tended her from her earliest
memories, struggling against the guilt that flamed her cheeks.

“Yer
husband’s scarce cold in his grave.  ‘Tisn’t at all seemly ta be goin’ about
hummin’ an’ smilin’ to yerself.”

The
blood that had rushed to her cheeks abandoned them with a vengeance, leaving
her feeling lightheaded.  “Have I?” she asked self-consciously. 

“It’s
nae my business, I know, but ye’ll nae want them gossipin’ when the king’s man
arrives, else he’s liable to inform the king yer nae behavin’ like a woman in
mournin’.”

Bronwyn
took a deep breath to steady her nerves and tamp the rush of temper that
swelled inside of her.  As angry as she was with Marta for telling her such
things, she knew Marta was right.  It didn’t matter that she had no reason to
mourn her husband, that she’d felt nothing but fear and contempt for him.  “I
was ill--nearly died.  And now I feel well.  Is that not reason enough for me
to feel cheerful?”

“Aye--and
I make no doubt it’s even more cheerin’ to discover yer rid of that brute of a
husband.  I’m only sayin’ ye should be careful to behave the way yer expected
to behave.”

Subdued,
Bronwyn studied her needlework for some moments.  “They think that I had
something to do with his death?” she finally asked in a low voice.

Marta
sent her a sharp look.  “If they do I’ve nae heard it, but ye can nae trust
that that won’t enter their minds … specially since ye sent yer maids away the
other night and have been chirpin’ like a song bird ever since.”

Bronwyn
couldn’t help it.  She turned so fiery red her cheeks felt as if they’d caught
flame.  “That’s … absurd!  They are speculating that I … that I … only because
I wished to be alone?”

Marta
shook her head.  “It’s nae fer me ta say if ye choose a lover.  But ye’ve nae
the temperament ta be any good at pullin’ the wool over everyone’s eyes.  An’
if they start thinkin’ ye’ve takin’ a lover, next they’ll be speculatin’ about
when … and whether he had anythin’ to do with Lord Smytheson takin’ the notion
he could fly.”

Marta
had come so close to the truth, Bronwyn felt downright faint. 

Focusing
her mind on her needlework again, she allowed the subject to drop, hoping that
Marta would take the hint and leave it, as well.

To
her partial relief Marta appeared to be satisfied only to have warned her, but
she could not find any real relief knowing what the servants had been
speculating about already.

She
need not fear for Nightshade, she knew, for he was no weak mortal and none
could touch him … she didn’t think.  It was another matter entirely where she
was concerned.  If the king’s man did get wind of the gossip, she was liable to
find herself questioned about her husband’s death at the very least and … the
worst didn’t bear thinking on. 

She
was angry with herself for being so careless and stupid, for allowing herself
to become so wrapped up in her pleasure that she had failed to realize that it
was far more than an inner joy.  It showed, and people noticed.

She
should not have indulged her private musings at all, should have put the
incident completely from her mind when it was over … for it
was
over. 
The danger aside, Nightshade was not her lover.  What had happened between them
had been a pleasant interlude--more than pleasant, truth be told, but no more
than that.  She could not take him as her lover.  She could not even wish for
it.  It should have been enough that she had found pleasure in giving him ease
when she had not expected to.  

She
did not regret it.  She had given her word and she had honored it.  Moreover,
the fact that it had been such a wondrous experience had completely changed her
outlook over the marriage the king had decreed.  She had been so revolted over
the marriage bed she had thought it must always be that way and she had dreaded
having to take another man to husband.  Now that she knew it could different,
she at least had some hope that she would be able to endure another husband.