Jennifer August (18 page)

She clutched at his head, fisting his hair and urged him to her nipple. Quinn gently bit the hard bud through the gown and she groaned.

“More my lord.”

He lifted away from her and pulled at the dress with more force. When the blasted material refused to give way, he unsheathed his knife and split the velvet and underlying chemise to her waist. Her eyes widened and he grinned savagely. He could not,
would not
wait any longer for their joining. He had to be one with her, to feel the silken caress of her supple thighs clasped around his waist, the rounded tips of her fingers digging with erotic pain into his back.

He barely spoke, the driving need pushing him too great for words. Instead, he wrenched the fabric from her body, groaning at the sight of her creamy breasts, full and tight with desire.

She sat up, grappling with his tunic, flinging it to the floor when the shirt finally came free. Her golden eyes sparked with hungry desire as she traced the ridges of his chest, down his stomach and into the waistband of his breeches. She cupped him tentatively, holding him with the innocent warmth of her hands and the growing passion in her eyes. He was captivated.

“Stand, lady-wife.”

When she stood bare and proud before him, he cupped a firm breast, squeezing gently, then with more force as she leaned into the caress. Following the curve of her waist to her hip, he turned her, smoothing the globes of her buttocks and dipping his fingers into her dampness until she quivered.

She whirled suddenly, staying his questing hand. “Equal footing, my lord, remove your breeches.”

His lustful, hooded stare further melted her and he doffed the garment with alacrity, until he, too, stood splendidly naked to her lascivious gaze. His hardness jutted arrogantly from its silken nest of black curls, the heavy sac of his seed tight with desire.

“Touch me,” he commanded and she wrapped her fingers around his hot shaft. Amazed at the smoothness of the skin, she lightly fisted him, stroking, learning the texture of every part of him. He groaned and stiffened further, hips swaying gently.

“Does it please you?”

“Aye,” he groaned his answer.

His obvious enjoyment of her touch snaked deliciously within her and she stepped closer, seeking the warmth of his body. He shifted, parting her legs and rubbing her femininity with the hair-roughened skin of one muscular thigh. She inhaled sharply. Tingles of pleasure shot through her at the faint touch, teasing her desire to a higher level. She tightened her grip, pulling harder, thrusting herself closer, seeking the release that must be near.

Eyes half-closed he watched her, fighting his own passion, until he could take no more. Pulling her hand away, he pushed her against a stone wall and plunged into her moist welcoming warmth. They both gasped as he slid in to the hilt.

He gritted his teeth against the rush of pleasure threatening to spill forth and held still. When at last he could move without disgracing himself, he lifted her legs and wrapped them around his waist, withdrew slowly, then sank back into her clutching heat.

Her head dropped to his shoulder, her teeth nipping his sweat-slick skin. Faster and faster he drove into her, until she spasmed around him, milking the life-giving elixir from his unresisting manhood.

He threw back his head and howled his release, pounding her slick flesh until she too cried out. He collapsed against her, holding her to the wall and drew in great lungfuls of air. Never before had such urgent need assaulted him as did this day. Never before had he given in to his own carnal desires with such disregard. Never before had a woman matched his passion stroke for stroke as
Stirling
.

She did not move, but held him close, fearing he would never love her thus when he unearthed her secret. She raised her head, spying the sword on the floor, knowing ‘twas only a matter of time. She tightened her legs, digging her heels into his firm buttocks and rotating her hips.

His chuckle vibrated against the sensitive tips of her breasts traveling to the still-throbbing nubbin between her legs.

“Your belief in me is strong, lady-wife, if misguided. It takes some time for a man to recover.”

She slid down his body, every nerve ending rippling with pleasure at the touch, until her feet reached the floor. Standing on tiptoe,
Stirling
pulled his face to hers and kissed him hard, memorizing the feel of his lips, his body, his heart as it beat against her. She was certain such closeness would not come again.

Quinn released her and she moved away, suddenly shy. “We must discover who among us seeks to ruin you,
Stirling
.”

“Aye.” She stepped over her torn chemise and picked up the dress, fretting over the slash he’d made. Millane would be furious. The blue velvet was her favorite.
Stirling
pulled undergarments and a yellow daydress from the wardrobe, easing them over her head. “The task will not be easy, Lord Quinn, whoever the villain is, he knows this keep well.”

He helped her fasten the gown, but said nothing. She smoothed the skirt with trembling fingers as she faced him. “You believe ‘tis one of my people, don’t you?” She was no fool, it had to be. The
Normans
had not been in residence long enough to discover all the secrets of Falcon Fire.

His face, once more hard and closed, hinted nothing of his thoughts. “We will find the traitor,
Stirling
, this I vow.” Reaching down, he picked up the sword. “But now, I would hear your tale of secrecy, lady-wife. No more lies, no more deception.”

“Naught has changed, sirrah. To speak of it means my death,” she said firmly, refusing to bow to his demand.

Quinn regarded her stonily. “I am not only the king’s justice,
Stirling
, I hold his counsel as well. Whatever tale you hold, you shall not be condemned.”

She eyed him with surprise. “Not even if that secret is treason?”

Chapter Eleven

Quinn caught her slim shoulders. “Were these so-called acts of treason against William?”

“Nay lord, he was still Duke of Normandy, then. ‘Twas against Harold’s house I--”

He captured her words against his palm, unwilling to hear her admit guilt that no longer mattered. “‘Tis in the past, lady-wife. Our future is what’s at stake here.”

“But, sir, I must--”

“Nay.”

“Do quit interrupting, won’t you.” She eyed him, her irritation plain to see.

“‘Twill do no good to discuss this, obstinate wench,” he muttered.

“Mayhap ‘twas not treason as in that I meant to dethrone my king or plotted against him. ‘Twas more that the secret I hold could cause ruin among my family, especially to my father. And cast Harold in a bad light.”

Quinn gave a disgusted sigh of confusion. “Lady Stirling, give up your secret to me and I shall decide if ‘tis treason, indeed.”

She smiled that soft half-smile he knew meant she again found fault with him in some way. God only knew what notion her agile brain had concocted this instance.

“I am perfectly capable of deciding for myself, sir, but if you insist.”

“I do.”

“Aye, then, do not blame me when you must seek a new wife to breed your heirs.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Or mayhap ‘tis what you desire? Perchance Marcus was mistaken when he said I sought to kill you. I know you find me particularly burdensome. ‘Twould solve many of your conflicts, having me gone.”

Her gall nearly choked him and he pushed back the familiar rising tide of anger. “I’ve had enough of your games to last me the rest of my life madam. Should you persist with this nonsense you needn’t worry about William’s decrees, for I shall strangle you with my own hands. Gladly.”

She inched back a step and he groaned in frustration, raking a hand through his hair. “God’s knees woman, out with it.” He did not restrain his bellow.

She blinked her golden eyes, pursed her full lips and sniffed loudly into the silence. “You must work on your patience, my lord, ‘tis a trifling amount for a man of your position.”

He wanted to ask which position, but feared the debate sure to follow. His wife possessed the lamentable habit of turning a simple explanation into a days worth of talking. He sighed instead. Heavily. Deliberately.

She frowned. “All right, my lord, here ‘tis.” Her face grew serious, the lighthearted banter she’d teased him with gone in the flick of a sword. “‘Tis the sacred and sworn duty of each lady of Falcon Fire to protect its inhabitants, be they lord or villein. To this end we’ve been entrusted with armor, swords, and training befitting a knight to see that all here remain safe.”

He did not believe his ears. The ruse went much deeper than he expected. “Where did the armor come from? And who trained you? ‘Tis impossible to believe a woman of your stature able to fend off any attacker while in armor. You lack the strength and years of experience most knights possess.”

“The village silversmith hammered the silver ringmail, fit to my exact form and John tutored me. I would not doubt his methods, my lord, I’ve defeated more than one arrogant knight.”

He ignored her small dig, still attempting to digest this new side of her. “What did your father have to say about this?”

“He did not know, though he probably suspected.”

“Because of the law.” A cold, icy fear gripped Quinn.
Stirling
was correct. Should William discover she, and apparently all the past ladies of this house, donned the instruments of knighthood, ‘twould be disastrous. The new king must never learn of it.

“Aye,
England
’s law of knight-
agrria
.” A pensive look crossed her face. “No woman shall don the armor and virtue of a knight and nor shall she, thus concealed, raise any weapon against one.”

“On penalty of swift and immediate death,” Quinn finished, mouth dry.

He raised the sword still clutched in his hand, another, more humiliating realization dawning. “‘Twas you in the glade.”

She inhaled sharply, but said nothing.

“Answer me,” he demanded, gratitude grappling with pride. Could this slip of a woman have frightened away hardened warriors and saved his skin? He struggled to clear the murky vision of that day, with little success. “Or,” he questioned aloud. “Was it the power of the legend that drove the mercenaries off?”

She started. “Mercenaries?”

“Do not be coy,” he growled. “That brigand, the one your father sent. What was his name? Ah yes, Tristan.”

“Father did not condone him. Tristan hunted you on his own.”

“Then how did you appear at exactly the right time?”

“I did not say ‘twas me.”

“You did not have to.” He spun and left the room, returning scant moments later with another sword, the same size and heft as the ruby-hilted one, though this one bore a large diamond. He saw the recognition in her face when he presented the small blade to her. “Yours, lady-wife?”

“Aye,” she admitted defiantly, drawing herself up. “If I shall be damned by your king for saving your life, for giving him
England
, then so be it.”

Quinn chuckled at her arrogant declaration. “William would have toppled Harold from his throne even if I had been cut down, but I thank you for your confidence.”

She glowered at him. “What will you do?”

Quinn shrugged. “I am honor-bound to inform my king, but I fear I am much too busy uncovering intrigue and treason in my own home. The news can wait.” He pierced her with a meaningful glare. “But do not push me, madame. You will refrain from donning your disguise again.”

“If my people are in danger --” she argued hotly.

“They are my people, now, and I shall defend them. ‘Twill be no need for you to become this Knight of the Mist again.” He tipped her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. “I want your word on this,
Stirling
.”

She chewed her bottom lip, searching his face for duplicity, finding none. “Then you have it, my lord, and my thanks.”

He grunted. “‘Tis no more than a temporary measure until I can think of a solution.”

She cleared her throat and forced a wide smile. “There is one other item I should discuss with you, sir.”

He rolled his eyes. “God’s toes, woman. I can bend William’s leniency only so far.”

“It has to do with the intruder from the bailey, the night you arrived.”

“What of him?” He demanded sharply.

“‘Twas Tristan who scaled the walls, and he whom Snow and I tangled with in the grass.”

“Tangled with? You spied him from your room, did you not?”

“You didn’t believe me then, my lord, there is no need to continue your charade.”

Quinn grinned at her. “‘Tis sarcasm, my lady, something you are well-versed in. Are you certain ‘twas Tristan?”

“Aye. I know him well. He was in Father’s service for many years.”

“He claimed Lord Robert sent him to kill me that day.”

“Absurd! I do not believe his tale.”
Stirling
waved her hands fervently in the air. “Soon after our meeting in the glade, Tristan and Father had a falling out. I did not hear all of it, but I knew Tristan pushed him to charge the throne. Harold was weak and vulnerable, Tristan thought the king would never suspect his friend of planning assassination.”

“Then why did Harold imprison Lord Robert for treason?”

Stirling
shrugged. “The whims of a madman, I suppose. A contingent of soldiers arrived at the keep and dragged him away.” Tears flooded her eyes, but she shook them away. “I never saw Father again. And the next time I saw Tristan, he was in the bailey, threatening to kill me, while his men waited beyond the walls.”

“Fie woman, why did you not speak up sooner?”

“I was no more to you than the daughter of a traitor whose lands you now possessed. Were I in your position, I would have believed me guilty of aiding him. I was, after all, a bit reluctant to wed you.”

“We must call a council. John and Marcus should hear of this.” He cupped the small of her back, his warm hand resting on the curve of her buttocks, and turned her to the door.

She resisted his urging. “The hour is late, my lord, and most of your men will be abed. Can it not wait until the morn?”

“They’re soldiers,
Stirling
, and used to doing without sleep.” He opened the door and ushered her through and down the steps. She allowed him the direction, determined not to be left out of this discussion.

The hall stood silent, with only a few servants still about.

“I’ll rouse John and Marcus,” Quinn murmured and quit the room, leaving her standing alone in the torchlight.
Stirling
skirted past two scullery girls changing the rushes and into the dining area, where small flames crackled in the hearth. Squinting, she made out the shape of a man seated in front of the fire, legs spread and head tipped back. ‘Twas Marcus. She started forward, but paused as movement between his thighs drew her attention.
Stirling
inhaled sharply when she met Millane’s gaze and wide-open mouth. The maid’s eyes widened and she yanked her dress up to cover her bare breasts, scrambling to her feet.

“My lady, do you require aid?”

Marcus stiffened, and adjusted his clothing, but remained seated.
Stirling
gulped and shook her head, backing away. She turned to flee, but found only Quinn’s broad chest.

“What is amiss,
Stirling
?” He gripped her shoulders, staring at her with concern.

“‘Tis nothing, really.” Her body heated even more at her own imaginings that were filled with Quinn. In a chair. And she on her knees. She looked up at him. “We should return to our chambers and not--”

“My regrets, my lady, if we offended you,” Marcus’ dryly spoken apology held a note of amusement she did not care for.

She faced him. “Think nothing of it, Lord Marcus.” She managed a smile, but said no more.

Quinn’s silent chuckle shook against her back and she scowled up at him. “We must speak with you, Marcus, now. Sir John and
Temple
will be joining us shortly.”

Marcus bowed, clicking his heels together. “Of course, my lord.” His glance slid to Millane. “I can always finish later.”

Millane’s sultry laugh echoed in the quiet hall. “Anytime, your lordship, ‘twill be my pleasure.”

Marcus swatted her on the rump. “Off with you wench, and a good evening to you.”

“May I have your leave, my lady?” Millane requested.

She waved her hand weakly, afraid to look at her maid. ‘Twould be unseemly to stare at her mouth with such fascination. “Go, please.”
Stirling
was certain the brassy girl would fill her ears with the tale on the morrow.

As the maid left the room, Sir John stumbled in, hastily tucking his shirt into his breeches.
Temple
ambled along behind him, whistling cheerfully.

“Good eventide, my lady.” The Scotsman took her hand, placing a soft kiss on the back. “‘Tis ravishing you are, even in the dead of night.” He winked and released her, turning to Quinn.

“So what godforsaken mission do you have for us now, my lord?”

“Come,” Quinn ordered and tugged on
Stirling
’s arm, leading them to the war room.