Immortal Champion (20 page)

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Authors: Lisa Hendrix

Tags: #General, #Fiction, #Romance, #Paranormal

BOOK: Immortal Champion
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Understanding dawned across her face. “The rooster crow. No wonder you left so quickly the night we . . . the night you had your dream.”
“I did not want to go.”
“I know. I knew then that you didn’t, though I thought you left so quickly because we were about to . . . because you wished to protect my honor. Why do you tell me all this now? Is it because of old Carolus’s tale about Europa?”
“Yes. The bull . . . I . . .” He struggled with the words. “I retain some measure of myself deep within the beast. Most times it is barely enough to bring it back to my clothes and horse each night. But if the need is great, I have learned to force myself forward, to know a little of what the bull knows and gain some power over it. When you said you might not run, I saw good reason to try.”
“I didn’t.” She lifted her chin, a glint of pride in her eyes. Or was that a tear? “Run, I mean.”
“No, you did not run, and for that, I am most grateful, my lady.”
“I don’t know why. I wanted to. A part of me still does.”
Gunnar had nothing to offer her. A part of him wanted to run, too. In all the years of warring and raiding, he had never flinched from battle, but if given the chance, he would flee sunrise and sunset like the most craven dog.
“It frightens me,” she continued softly almost as though to herself. “All this talk of curses and witches and men who become beasts. It is heresy, all of it. To believe such things puts me beyond the pale of the Church, and yet how can I not believe? I have seen you change with my own eyes. I know there are powers at work here, both good and evil, even if I do not understand them.” She looked him fully in the eye. “Did you enchant me? Is that why I let the bull bring me here?”
He thought back to the prayers and to the little fallow doe he’d sacrificed to Freya just before dawn. “Not how you mean. I would never inflict on you what has been laid on me, my lady. But I need for you to know, and to know, you had to see, else you would never believe. It is May Day, a day full of the old magic. I asked for help and it was given.”
Praise be to Freya.
“May Day,” repeated Eleanor softly as though she just recalled it. She looked up at the sky, now faded to gray except for where last light gilded the westernmost clouds. “It will be dark soon. They will come searching for me.”
“The bull carried you into a deep part of the forest. They are not likely to find you here. I’ll fetch my horse and take you back.” Gunnar rose and tried the ties on his doublet again. He did better this time, but it was still a slow process, requiring all his attention. He finished the first tie and glanced up to find Eleanor watching him intently.
“Have you hurt your hands?” she asked. “You had trouble with your chausses, too.”
“No, I’m only a little ham-fisted.” He held his hands up and wiggled his fingers. “I regain my strength quickly most days, but when I struggle against the bull’s spirit, it takes longer to find my way back.”
“ ‘I asked for help and it was given.’ ” She repeated his words back to him, then stood up and brushed his hands aside. “This is a far simpler thing and requires no magic at all.”
Her touch was shaky at first, then steadied as she finished the second tie and moved down to the next. “Do you suffer such pain every day?”
“Dawn and dusk.” He stood there as she worked at his ties, desperate to hold her, to kiss her, to ask her if she could love him now, knowing what he was. But that was for later, after she’d had a chance to take in all she’d seen. There was one thing he must have from her, though, and he needed it now, before he took her back.
He covered her hands with his, pressing them against his chest to hold her there, where she had no choice but to look up at him. “You cannot tell anyone about me or the others.”
Her brows arched up in surprise. “Who would I tell? They would think me mad.”
“And then they would hunt us down anyway, out of fear you might not be. We cannot be killed, my lady, but we can be hurt, and we feel the pain of every wound as much as any man. Some would enjoy learning how much pain we can bear—and that, too, would go on forever.”
“Torture? Dear God, no.” Her hand went to her mouth. “No. Of course, I would never tell anyone. Not even Lucy.”
“Especially not Lucy,” he warned. “You will be tempted, lying there in bed with your cousin, talking in the night, but you cannot risk it. She is too frightened of the world to keep such a secret for long, and this one must be kept forever. Nor can you confess it. I must have your vow, my lady, that you will hold all this to yourself, whatever comes.”
“It is my secret, as well,” she said. “No one must know I was here, with you. We both must promise, and so I will begin. I vow I will never tell anyone what I witnessed here this even, Sir Gunnar of Lesbury. So far as the world will know, I was lost in the forest. Alone.”
“And I vow I will never tell anyone you were here to witness it, Lady Eleanor de Neville. So far as the world will know, I never found you. I was miles from here.”
“And to seal the vow . . .” Hands still pressed to his breast, she rose up on her toes and kissed him.
It was a chaste kiss, meant only as a pledge, nearly as innocent as that first kiss of thanks all those years before, but the touch of her lips to his was like putting key to lock. A door opened, and desire flooded through Gunnar.
He couldn’t help himself. He kissed her back, lowering his head to follow her as she settled back onto her heels, pouring his hope and longing into her so that she might understand what her staying, her promise, meant to him. She sighed, and as their tongues tangled, he hardened, as ready for her as he had been that night in the solar. Readier. Sliding his hands around to cup the fine roundness of her bottom, he pulled her close, trapping his tarse between them. Her answering gasp went to his head like strong wine.
From somewhere came the wherewithal to warn her. He wrenched his mouth off hers. “If I don’t fetch my horse now, you will not leave this place a virgin.”
She arched back, giving herself distance enough to have a good look at him. Her expression was unreadable, and for a long moment he thought she was going to push him away. Instead, she threaded her arms around his neck.
“Then I will not leave a virgin.” She pulled his head down and kissed him again, no sweetness in her at all, just a fierceness that took his breath away.
She must love him. She must. The need to test that, to possess her, became his reason to exist.
He explored every inch of her body he could reach without breaking the kiss, ending with the rich weight of her breasts in his palms. He dragged his thumbs over their peaks and then did it again because of how she shuddered against him. He’d make her do that while he was in her, he promised himself.
In her. Ah, how he wanted to be in her.
Flattening one hand over her belly, he slid it down between them to find his way between her legs, where he could stroke her through the cloth. A fevered moan rose from her throat, and he almost laughed at such an immodest sound coming from a maid.
Not maid for long.
Even through the cloth, he could feel her warming and he knew how slick she’d be. Sensation mixed with memory, making him swell more, so hard now that it pained him. But what sweet pain. Eleanor pressed toward him, and through the thickening fog of arousal he knew she sought the same thing he wanted: release.
But not like this. No, this time, it was going to be the right way, and when he was done, she would be his.
“I’ll be in you this time when your pleasure comes,” he told her, savoring the rough intake of her breath and her incoherent whine of protest as he set her away for a moment. “Patience, sweeting.”
He found the blanket his clothes had been wrapped in and made a rough nest in the grass. Eleanor watched, swaying and trembling like an aspen tree as she waited for him.
For
him
. Even knowing what she knew, she waited for him. The wonder of it made Gunnar dizzy with need.
It was nearly dark. He wanted to see her naked before he lost the light, and though the dress she wore was a simple one, little more than a kirtle with a half gown buttoned over it, there wasn’t time for him and his still-thick fingers.
“Undress,” he growled, “else I will tear that gown off you and then have to send you home like Godiva afterward, bare as a babe.”
Her fingers flew over the buttons. He helped where he could, but mostly watched as she removed the overgown, slippers, and gartered hose, laying them all on the log. But when she began to gather her kirtle at her waist and exposed her legs, he lost the last bit of patience he had. With a growl, he stripped the yards of cloth over her head, tossed the kirtle atop her other things, and scooped her up to lower her onto her back.
He stood over her a moment, just looking at all that creamy flesh, radiant as the moon in the last glimmer of light, fair as a goddess. The harsh sound of her breath was like a slow drumbeat, urging him toward her. He peeled off the hose he’d just worked so hard to put on and slipped one toe between her knees, nudging them apart. “Spread your legs to me, Eleanor.”
She hesitated, then obeyed, showing herself to him.
He nodded. “Wider.”
He dropped to his knees between her thighs, put his hands to either side of her, and bowed to worship her with his mouth, kissing his way up over belly and breast to her lips, and then back down and lower, bypassing her quaint to nibble his way up the insides of her thighs.
By now it was too dark to make out much more than the faintest outlines, the light of the stars being far too thin and the moon not yet risen above the trees, but he could smell her musk and hear her moans, deeper and more urgent the nearer he got.
Finally he was there. He tasted her, gently, then plunged in to devour her.
With a cry, she arched up off the blanket, surging against his tongue, seeking. Not wanting her to finish too soon, Gunnar stopped and let her cool before he dove down again. She didn’t thrust at him this time, but as he lapped at her, he could tell how close she was, and once more he stopped before she could go there.
She whimpered and grabbed for his head, twining her fingers into his hair to pull him back to her.
He loved how willing she was, how quickly she learned. The heat in her fed his own, driving him to take her, take her now. Instead, he shook her loose and shifted around to lie beside her. Working by little more than feel, he kissed his way from mouth to breasts, enjoyed both, then settled in on the peak of one to circle it with his tongue, over and over. As she began to pant, he slid his hand down to cup her.
She moved restlessly against his hand. “I want . . . Like before.”
“Not this time. I told you how it will be. Say it.”
“
Nnh.
You in me.”
“Aye.” He found the tight ring of her maidenhead and paused there, the tip of his finger barely in her. “In you here.” He went back to her breast, working the peak with his tongue until she relaxed and let him in.
He fit a second finger beside the first, but his fingers were large and she was small and oh so tight. There was a stretch and a sudden give. She sucked at the air and clamped her legs together, trying to stop him.
“Stay open to me, Eleanor. You’ll find more pleasure later if I do it this way.”
Again, she obeyed. He took his time, and a little later felt her moisture flood over his hand.
“There you go, sweeting. Now, sit up and help me with my laces.” He shifted back to kneel between her legs, continuing to move his fingers gently within her as he helped her upright. “I want my skin against yours when I take you.”
She found his ties in the dark, and as she pulled at them, he worked a third finger in beside the other two, felt her maidenhead give again. She shuddered but didn’t stop, and soon his doublet was loose. He had to abandon her for a moment to pull it off and rid himself of his shirt, but he went right back. She moaned aloud this time and wriggled more firmly onto his fingers, helping him now. Ready.
“Braies,” he said, but she was ready for that, too, her hands already at his waist. She gave a tug, loosed the waist, and peeled them down.
His cock sprang free, and for one brief moment he thought of urging her to take him into her mouth, to enjoy that tongue she’d teased him with so often in the last weeks. She would surely do it, just as she’d done everything else he’d asked of her, and it would be sweet, so sweet. But not this time. This time, it was about possession, about binding her to him. Whatever pleasure he took from her tonight was only a boon—but a boon he intended to savor.
Releasing her, he kicked away his braies, pressed her back, and slid his chest up the length of her body in one long, slow motion, relishing the feel of every inch of her, from woman’s hair and hard mound to silken belly to pebbled breasts. She beckoned him up, drawing him into her arms.
When he lay full on her, breast to breast, he kissed her deeply and began to move, not in her yet but against her. As before, she moved against him in search of what she wanted. Her hands slipped over his back and shoulders, her heels hooked behind his knees to pull at him.

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