Devil's Angel (22 page)

“I’d be after catching her, were I you,” Niall remarked, his wife tucked close under his arm.

Conor glared from his friend to Fionnuala’s all-knowing smile. “Did you coax her to this?”

Niall’s wife gave him an innocent stare. “And would I be doing that to your good self?”

“In a moment.”

Laughter boomed from Niall’s barrel-like chest as he gave Conor a push down the path. “Let your bride lead you on a merry chase, my friend. Have no care for your bedchamber. My lady wife and I shall see that ’tis used proper and get ourselves a Beltaine bairn.”

Still laughing, they turned away. Conor did not conceal his growl of frustration and he headed in the direction his wife had taken. A merry chase indeed. There was nothing merry about trying to run with an erection.

Erika broke through the stand of trees circling the pond, pausing to catch her breath. The crisp night air sobered her enough to make her question her sanity, but not enough to return to the dun and seek Conor out. Besides, she was enjoying herself.

Nervous energy skittered along her veins as she found the supplies Múireann had prepared earlier in the day and set them out. More than once in the course of the day she had overheard speculation concerning the virgin sacrifice to the Devil of Dunlough. She knew now, for instance, that no woman had been in his bed since Aislingh’s death more than a year ago. Many of the dun’s women had wondered if that would serve to make a normally painful event even more unbearable.

A mixture of emotions clogged Erika’s being. She wanted Conor’s touch, craved it with everything within her. At the same time she feared the warnings of women more knowledgeable than she. Would Conor hurt her?

Branches snapped as her new husband burst through the trees, outraged and triumphant together. He certainly looked as if he meant to do her harm, if his expression was any indication.

“So, my Angel—you wish to dance?” His voice hummed with want. “Then dance we shall.”

Before she could react he swooped down on her, clasping his hands about her waist. Lifting her, he spun about in a maddening circle until laughter escaped her and they were both dizzy. Yet he planted his feet firmly, and it was a measure of his strength that he was able to set her down slowly, imprinting the front of her body with his own and leaving her unequivocally aware of his aroused state.

“If you wanted to lead me on a chase, my lady, you should have picked another destination,” he chided her softly. “This is the first place I thought you would go.”

“That was my hope,” she admitted as his gaze took in the cushioned pallet, jug of wine, and candle and tinder. “There was magic here, the night you brought me.”

Her eyes lowered as she confessed, “I thought if we returned, I might feel it again.”

Sword-roughened hands slid up her arms to cup her cheeks. “Beltaine is a night of magic. Perhaps enough remains for us.”

The touch of his lips forced her eyes shut against the flare of passion that swept through her. His kiss was a slow melding of mouths that left her breathless. She pressed against him, reveling in the feel of his masculinity, aching for something she could not name.

She barely noted her silver belt falling to the ground, followed by her over-tunic and gown sliding down her arms. It wasn’t until she stretched out on the cushioned pallet that she realized the moment was at hand. Involuntarily she stiffened, then forced herself to relax and hoped he would not notice.

Conor did indeed notice. “Erika.”

Loath to interject reason at such an unreasonable time, he knew if he didn’t make the effort now, he would not be able to later. Besides, his honor demanded nothing less.

He shifted away from her. “Erika, if you do not wish to do this, we shall cease.”

Pale brows knitted. “Why?”

Now his brows knitted. “I told you before, I will not take a woman against her wish.”

“It is not against my wish.” Yet, her rigid body denied the declaration.

A flash of insight had him leaning over her, caressing her cheek. “You are afraid.”

Scarlet crept up her neck to her cheeks. “I am…uneasy. Several of the women told me the first night is not joyous for the woman, especially if she has never… They said it would be best to lie as still as possible, that you would be done soon enough.”

She took a deep breath, then burst out, “If it is so painful, why do some women take coin for it? Surely the payment is not worth the agony?”

Conor struggled for words to reassure her. His last virgin had been his last wedding night, a fact he did not care to recall at the moment. He had not given a thought to his partner’s pleasure before. Now he found himself wanting to hear Erika’s breath catch with pleasure, feel her body hum around his as she found her fulfillment.

“I will not lie to you,” he said. “There can be some discomfort when the maidenhead is breached, but it eases.”

“Do you think it will be worse than a sword thrust?”

Conor felt his lips twist at the ludicrousness of it all. Only his wife would liken deflowering with a sword thrust and mean it literally.

“There are few things worse than a sword thrust, and a wedding night is not one of them,” he assured her. He cleared his throat. “There is also the fact that you have led a life that most women have not. It is possible that your maidenhead was broken before.”

She stiffened, and even in the dark of the night he could see the flash of her eyes. “I have said that I have known no other man. Do you not believe me?”

Of course he believed her. The trepidation in her eyes, the instinctive stiffening of her body were true. “I believe you. It was but a thought, that the harshness of your existence until now may have done damage. I will endeavor not to hurt you.”

She stared at him for the longest time, then cupped the nape of his neck, drawing him to her. Wordless, he took the offering of her lips. Under his gentle coaxing, her mouth opened for him as a blossom for the sun, and he drank his fill of her nectar.

When her arms went about his neck, drawing him even closer as she matched the depth and intensity of his kiss, Conor couldn’t restrain his groan of pleasure. He had to have her. He would go mad if he didn’t.

Rising to his knees, he ripped away his wedding finery. Erika’s gaze was a physical touch to his burning skin and he felt himself swell even more with his need for her.

Her gaze moved from his throbbing arousal to her own body. “Are you certain you will fit?” she asked, worry leaching the passion from her voice. “It seems impossible.”

“Aye, if there’s one thing I’m certain of this night, ’tis that we’ll fit well together.” He lay beside her, claiming her lips as his hand slid from the base of her throat to the rising swell of one milky breast. A soft sigh escaped her as his forefinger teased he delicate pink bud to life, and she pushed her body against his in a wordless entreaty for more.

And more he gave. He forged a trail of kisses from the cleft of her throat to the rise of her breast, branding first one, then the other with his tongue. As she writhed beneath him, his hand commenced a slow glide down her belly to the crisp hair at the juncture of her thighs.

The soft touch at the molten center of her core caused Erika to emit a muted shriek of pleasure. “What do you do to me?” she asked, breathless. “It is beyond anything I have ever felt!”

He kissed her again, his mouth demanding as it slanted over hers. “I am using the magic of Beltaine to claim you as mine,” he whispered, his breath hot against her cheek. “I will bind you to me with chains of pleasure. You cannot escape me.”

“I-I have no desire to escape,” she confessed, “only to feel—more…”

“More you shall have.”

His hands and mouth seemed to be everywhere at once, tasting her, stroking her. Instinct claimed her as her hips strained against his hand. It was as if she were caught in an elemental storm, buffeted by winds of the purest ecstasy she’d ever known as she hurtled towards the edge of the sea. Fervent hunger rose within her, drowning out all but his name as she reached the ends of the earth and catapulted off into the stars.

In the depths of her release, she felt Conor move above her. “Hold onto me, my Angel,” he compelled her, then entered her with one surging thrust.

Everything froze. Her heart, the night, their bodies. He filled her so completely she could scarce draw breath.

“Erika?” His voice was a strangled whisper. “How do you fare?”

“It is not a sword thrust,” she said, her voice thin. “It is more like being impaled by a spear. Are you done?”

A shudder passed through him, echoing in the depths of her core. “Nay, my sweet, I am far from done.”

Concern for him caused her to forget her momentary and now dissipating ache. “But you sound as if you’re in pain.”

A groan broke from him. “A moment… I did not expect you to be so tight.”

He withdrew from her, slow and measured, and Erika drew in a deep breath of relief. Just as slowly, he flowed back into her. Prepared for pain, she was surprised to discover none. Indeed, in its place was a curious rippling sensation that made her want to melt like springtime snow.

She shifted beneath him, causing him to settle even deeper. A mewling sound collected in the back of her throat as a wave of pleasure washed over her. When Conor attempted to withdraw again, she clamped her arms about him, silently urging him to stay.

He groaned again. “My lady bride, just deflowered and already demanding. I could not be dragged away from you now even if my limbs were chained to a thousand galloping horses. Wrap your legs about me, sweet Angel. Burn me with the fire of moonlight.”

Erika complied and cried out at the pleasure that consumed her. Conor moved against her, his thrusts increasing in depth and speed as desire flared even higher. She quickly learned the pleasure of matching his thrusts, her fingernails digging into his back for purchase. Fire coursed through her, burning away all coherent thought, shrinking all of existence down to where she and Conor were joined. The flames became a searing white-hot conflagration that exploded into a thousand sparks, blinding her.

Conor felt the heat of her fulfillment explode outward, consuming him. With a hoarse, triumphant shout, he gave himself to the flames, spilling his seed into her in a violent eruption seemingly without end.

For an eternity Conor lay above her, his face pressed against the curve of her neck. His senses were in shreds. He’d known it would be good between them, but this joining was unlike anything he had experienced before. On a fundamental level he was no longer the same.

One coupling, just one, and the Devil of Dunlough had given his soul to the Angel of Death. He did not particularly enjoy the knowledge.

Disquieted, he withdrew from her, got to his feet and crossed the clearing to the pond. He scarce took the time to hold his breath before plunging his head into the cool water. As an attempt to restore his senses, it was poor indeed.

He tossed his hair back from his eyes and discovered Erika watching him, her cloak clutched about her as a shield for her nudity. “Did I…” Her voice ground to a halt. She took a deep breath and began again. “Did I disappoint you?”

“How can you ask such a thing?”

Unable to look at him, she gestured toward the pond. “You were so quick to cleanse yourself, to rid yourself of my touch.”

Her bluntness would be the death of him. “Erika, look at me. Do I seem disappointed?”

She lifted her head, her mouth rounding as she regarded his awakened arousal. “It was a failed attempt to curb my hunger for you,” he told her, as blunt as she. “I would take you again, if you were ready.”

For answer, she dropped her cloak. “I am ready. I want to touch you as you touched me, kiss you as you kissed me—”

“Take me as I took you?”

He meant it for a jest, but Erika cocked her head, seriously considering his question. “I suppose it is near to being astride a horse. Do you not think?”

Think? Thinking was impossible when all his blood coalesced in his turgid flesh. “There will be time enough for that,” he said as he reached for her again, buried himself within her again. “Our wedded life has just begun.”

Yet time, he knew, was not on his side. The day his seed took root in her womb was the day that time would start to count against him.

He could not afford to become attached to his wife. Enjoy the passion, yes. Secure an heir. But if there was anything he knew about Erika, it was that she would never relinquish her desire for freedom. And when she completed their bargain and walked away, he had to ensure she would not take his soul with her.

Chapter Twenty

Erika froze, her blade at the ready. Her enemy was almost in her grasp. Just a few heartbeats more…

Someone sneezed, shattering the tense silence. The hen squawked and flutter-hopped out of her reach. A decidedly unladylike curse escaped Erika as she chased after her quarry in the kitchen yard. Several of the dun’s children, attracted by the clamor, laughed with delight as their mistress chased the terrified bird about.

Erika blew her bangs from her sweating forehead after the hen eluded her yet again. “Do you think you can do better?” she challenged her young spectators.