Samantha James (14 page)

“Yer freedom!” Nessa scoffed. “Ye are hardly the first woman to marry when you did not wish to.
Why, I should think ye would be countin’ yer blessings, for if I had not, ye might well be wed to Simon the Lawless this very moment and not Egan.”

“You cannot know that, Nessa. I might have convinced the earl there was no need for me to wed!”

Nessa snorted. “If that’s what you believe, you fool no one but yerself, lassie. As fer me, I’ve no wish to spend my last days in the midst of a squabble between husband and wife simply because they are each as stubborn as an ass! Perhaps
I
will be the one to leave!” she finished with a sniff. With that she marched off as fast as her aging legs would allow.

Glenda did not go after her, not just yet. She was furious at both Nessa and Egan for keeping from her the fact that Nessa had asked him to stay on. It was not that it truly made any difference either way—it was simply that neither of them had been honest with her.

By the next day her anger had cooled. Glenda was out walking in the orchard when she chanced to see Egan’s huge black stallion. Ah, there was his master! He stood with one booted foot braced upon an outcropping of rock. The clean lines of his profile revealed his lips turned up at the corners ever so slightly. He gazed out upon the fields that dipped and rolled, no longer fallow. Crisp new shoots of oats and barley had pushed through the earth, straining toward the summer sun. Glenda sensed his satisfaction with all that she possessed. It was there in that wretched smile and the swell of his chest.

In that instant, her resentment surfaced. It was then she remembered she’d idly plucked an apple from one of the trees but a few steps before she glimpsed
Egan. Her gaze lowered; it traveled from Egan’s figure to the plump, unripe fruit in her hand, then back to Egan’s figure…

The next thing she knew, the apple was flying through the air. What possessed her to hurl it, she knew not. Indeed, she was not thinking at all…she simply acted without thought or reason.

The apple glanced off his shoulder. He turned abruptly. Glenda had already retreated and ducked beneath a low-hanging branch and hunkered down. All at once she was laughing as she hadn’t since she was a child, her hands covering her mouth and smothering the sound. A moment later, she crept forward and peeped out. Egan had turned back and resumed his pose.

Biting her lip, amazed at her audacity, she plucked another apple from the branch…and let loose her next missile.

This one struck the middle of his back.

He whirled. He strode forward, his mouth a straight, forbidding line.

Glenda didn’t hesitate. She grabbed her gown and ran as fast as her legs would carry her. Her lungs began to burn as she weaved through the orchard, making for the meadow and the path that led back to Blackstone.

Then all at once he loomed before her. In her frenzied state of mind, it was as if he was as tall as the stoutest oak that grew near the river and just as broad.

She stopped short with a gasp.

Egan leisurely crossed his arms over his chest. A smile dallied about his lips. “Well, well,” he said
lightly. “I had no idea I’d married such a skilled warrior. But here is a lesson in tactics, wife. Let not your enemy see you.”

Glenda had already begun to back away. “What!” she rallied breathlessly. “I am not skilled, sir! Indeed I need more practice.” She already clutched one last apple in her hand. Acting sheerly on impulse, she launched it anew.

It hit him squarely in the temple. His eyes reflected his shock. He took one tottering step forward…and dropped limply to the ground.

What had she done! God in heaven, she’d meant him no harm, only to make a little mischief and repay but a measure of the trouble he’d caused her. She flew to his side and sank down beside him.

“Egan!” she cried. She grasped his shoulder and shook him. “Egan, please, wake up!”

There was nothing. His lashes fanned thick and long on his cheekbones. Glenda gave a stricken little moan. “Egan—” Her voice began to wobble. “Egan, do not die! I-I could not live with myself if you did!”

She bent her head to his lips, straining to feel some wisp of air from his lips. Her heart lurched. Did he yet breathe? Saints above, she could not tell! Lifting her head, she thumped her fists on his chest. “Egan!” she screamed. Squeezing her eyes shut, she lifted her face heavenward and began to pray.

“Dear God, your aim is straight and true. Will you beat me as well? Tell me, wife…did you thus abuse Niall?”

Glenda didn’t recognize the voice as the one shooting through her mind. It was laced with lazy laughter, that deep, masculine drawl. Her eyes opened, then slowly lowered.

Blue eyes glimmered up at her. He was smiling, the rogue…smiling!

Her screech was one of outrage. “Do not speak to me of Niall! You are not half the man he was!”

“But Niall is not here, and I am,” he stated smoothly. He shook his head, as if in regret. “Ah, but how much better I should feel had you said you could not live without me.”

Bristling, Glenda leaped to her feet. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. “You wretch! You vile rodent! How
dare
you frighten me like that!”

A strong brown hand darted beneath the hem of her gown. His fingers skimmed up her calf, smoothing the tender skin behind her knee. He pretended to leer up her skirts.

“A most tempting view, I daresay.”

Glenda heaved a breath of sheer frustration. Faith, but he was the most exasperating man in the world! She would not give him the satisfaction of a reply—nay, she would not venture where he would lead her…she would not play his game!

Her chin came up. Her lips compressed. Her spine went stiff and her muscles tightened as she prepared to tug her leg from his grasp that she might leave.

Somehow he guessed her intention. When she would have turned, that accursed hand descended to her ankle just as she would have stepped away. Her balance compromised, she felt herself wobbling precariously. She flung out her arms…and then felt herself tumbling downward. To her utter mortification, she did not land on the ground…she landed atop Egan!

’Ere she could take even a breath, arms of steel
banded tight about her back. Glenda managed to raise herself slightly on her elbows. In so doing the rounded neckline of her gown gaped, only she was unaware of it until she took a deep, ragged breath.

Egan’s gaze tracked the rise and fall of the mounds of her breasts. “Oh, aye,” he said again, “a most tempting view. Have all those who covet you seen your charms to such advantage?”

Glenda gasped when she realized where his eyes dwelled—and the reason for it. So he was well amused, was he?

“No one covets me!” she retorted. “Of a certainty not you!” She sought to push herself away, but his arms cinched tighter, so tightly she could hardly move.

“Ah, now,
that’s
where you’re wrong, lass.” His smile widened—a wolfish grin now!

“You do not covet me! You mock me!”

In a heartbeat their positions were reversed. Egan lay straddled above her. Her wrists were shackled in one large hand and held over her head. In his eyes gleamed the reflection of victory.

“Oh, aye, dearest wife, but I
do
covet thee. The sweetness of thy lips, though I’ve been given but a miserly taste of all I crave. You smell of roses, and the scent of you lingers so that I can scarcely think. The softness of your skin, the color of cream. I long to touch it, feel its softness for myself, though I already know ’twill be as finely spun silk from the East.”

There was naught of triumph in his voice. It had fled, along with the laughter. Nay, he was solemnly intent, his tone low and mesmerizing. It wrapped
around her like a mantle of softest fleece.

“Egan.” His name broke from her lips, a sound that trembled as she had begun to tremble. “Egan, you should not say such things.”

“Why not? And if not to you, then to whom if not my wife? I should think ’twould be a good thing, that a man should think only of his wife. Am I wrong then?”

Glenda could summon no answer. Indeed, she could summon no resistance, for she was afraid to move, afraid even to breathe for fear of falling still further ’neath his spell.

She gave a tiny shake of her head. Her eyes locked helplessly on his face. It gave her no measure of ease to discover that his were locked on her lips.

He came nearer. She felt the weight of his chest settle over hers; his weight was heavy but not so great a burden that she could not bear it. Desperation filled her chest, for she knew what he would do…what he wanted. Yet still she could not move. It was as if a stranger had taken over her body and she could do naught but accept whatever was to happen…

It began with the most subtle of pressure, his kiss. Her lids fluttered shut as his mouth closed over hers. Warm breath filled her mouth. He was in no hurry, it seemed. His kiss was one of leisurely exploration, as piercingly slow as his last—that raw, possessive stamp of ownership on their wedding day—had been fierce. Oh, aye, it was wickedly seductive, this kiss. Treacherously languorous, leeching from her what little will and strength she possessed.

At some point he’d released her hands. Glenda
scarcely noticed, not until her hands crept round his neck to tangle in the dark hair that grew low on his nape. It was as if she were tumbling down a well, tumbling into some vast unknown place. Something fluttered inside her, only to disappear as his mouth grew hungrier, the contact deeper, intimate and fervent now. She shivered as his tongue touched the seam of her lips; her lips parted for the gliding probe of his tongue. She felt it rake across the edge of her teeth; her fingers curled into the muscled flesh of his shoulders. If only he would not kiss her! But it felt so good…
he
felt so good, so strong and lean and male…and impossibly hard to resist…

Taunting fingertips circled her nipples; they hardened and fairly leaped into his palms, tingling and aching. Scalding heat flashed in waves through her body. When his thumbs raked the budding crests, she moaned, a sound of yearning. Once before she’d felt the touch of that lean, dark hand upon that part of her without benefit of clothing; she ached to feel it anew. Ached for that and more…the feel of his mouth, hot and wet and tugging at the tip…

Her thighs weakened. Her knees drifted apart. With a growl deep in his throat, he caught her to him, his hips wedged between her legs. Even through the barrier of their clothing, she could feel the bold urgency of his arousal, the rigid brand of his maleness swollen and taut against her secret font…

She reeled. Mother of Christ, what had she done? What was happening? She was lying with Egan…
lying
with him…and nary a thought of Niall had intruded.

Sanity returned with a vengeance. Scorching
shame shot all through her. Her guilt knew no bounds.

She tore her mouth away from his with a strangled moan. A painful ache constricted her throat. “Egan”—his name was low and choked—“Egan, I beg you, please stop!”

The hard male body above hers went very still. Slowly he raised his head. Twin embers of fire rained down on her.

She pleaded mutely with her eyes. Still clamped against his form from breast to belly, she took a jagged breath, anxious to free herself. “Egan,” she said waveringly.

“Cease!” he hissed. “Surely you know me well enough to know I will do nothing you do not want! But you must give me a moment.”

His tone was as quelling as his regard.

Closing his eyes, he raised his face to the sky. Glenda couldn’t tear her gaze away from his face. His features were lined and strained. The tendons in his neck stood out tautly. Time dragged by, until at last she felt the tension drain from his body.

He rose, his posture stiff. Glenda knew then what the effort cost him. Regret poured through her, as well as shame. More guilt.

He did not look at her as she scrambled to her feet, brushing at her skirts. “I’m sorry, Egan. I’m sorry!” Helplessly she floundered. “I know not how to explain, only that I cannot give…what you deserve…what a husband deserves.”

He looked at her then. A harsh smile twisted his lips. “Oh, you can, Glenda. ’Tis simply that you won’t.”

With that he turned and whistled for his mount. When the stallion appeared with a toss of his head, he snatched the reins and leaped into the saddle.

Never did he look back.

Egan did not appear at supper that night. Glenda couldn’t help but be relieved at not having to face him again so soon. Nonetheless, he allowed her no peace. Always he trespassed. In her mind. In her thoughts. Even in the dark of night when she crawled alone into bed, there was no escaping him, for her dreams that night were wild and wanton.

She dreamed they were back in the apple orchard, lying on the grass beneath the trees. The breeze carried the scent of wildflowers from the neighboring meadow, fragrant and sweet. The noonday sun blazed down from the sky, sending spears of golden light shooting through the branches.

They were naked, both of them, for in this dream, there were no cares, no inhibitions, no shame. His mouth was everywhere…even there at the secret place between her thighs. And then…it was not he who straddled her, but she who straddled him. Glenda saw herself as if through the eyes of another. She was laughing, sitting on him…
sitting
!…her loins nesting with his. Gathering her streaming hair in both hands, she arched her back. Her breasts jutted forth, pink-tipped and full. Boldly she displayed her nakedness for him…for
him
.

His hands ran over her. Everywhere. He cupped her breasts in his hands like plump fruit and leaned forward, suckling first one quivering peak, and then the other. Finally his hands caught at her hips. Her
buttocks filled his palm as he lifted her, guiding her down over his shaft…

She awoke with a gasp. Her eyes snapped open and she stared at the beams that stretched over her head, panting as if she’d run a very great distance. Her body felt as if it were on fire. Indeed, the coverlet was twisted about her ankles. Reaching down to pull it up, she was horrified to discover that dampness gathered there between her thighs. Glenda was wholly shocked. Never had such a thing happened before, even with Niall.

There was no sleep for her the rest of the night. Her temperament was not the best the next morning. She took one of the maids to task for not starting to remove the rushes in the hall earlier in the morn. Almost instantly she regretted her sharpness, but the girl had already fled.

With a sigh she turned. Nessa stood before her. The old woman raised an iron-gray brow. “Does yer temper this morn have aught to do with your husband?”

“No, it does not.” Glenda was not yet ready for another dressing-down by her nursemaid. “Where is he, by the way?”

“He has not yet come down.”

Glenda’s heart lurched. She couldn’t help the panic that flared. Egan had been so angry when he left the orchard yesterday. And then he hadn’t been at supper…Dear God! Had she finally succeeded in doing what she truly did not want—only she didn’t even know it until now! Had she driven him away from Blackstone?

Lines of worry knit her brow as she spun around
and left the hall. Her step was quick as she climbed the stairs that led to the east wing. As she breached the last step, a distinctly feminine voice drifted to her ears, followed by a low male baritone. Her body went stiff. She paused on the landing, then gazed down the passageway.

Her heartbeat stumbled. There was a pinch in the region of her heart. Nay, her husband had not yet come down, Glenda noted furiously. Why should he when he had so much to occupy him here?

Even as she watched, Egan slipped an arm around Belinda’s shoulders and slid his knuckles beneath her chin. Tilting her face up to his, he gazed down at her and said something. Belinda nodded in response. Then all at once, the girl lifted herself on tiptoe and pressed her lips against Egan’s.

Glenda moved without conscious volition. Her heels rapped out sharply as she approached the pair.

It was Belinda who stepped away first. Her eyes flew wide and she bobbed a curtsy. “Good morning to you, my lady.”

Glenda didn’t even look at her. “Belinda, you are needed in the hall.”

“Aye, mistress.”

Belinda fled, leaving her alone with her husband. He was utterly calm; his expression betrayed no hint of either guilt or regret. Glenda fumed. Had he no conscience? No morals that he would flaunt his relationship with his mistress openly before his wife?

“Did you wish to see me?”

The polite inquiry but further kindled her ire. “I did. ’Tis late and Nessa said you had not yet come down.”

“I fear I did not sleep well.”

“Do not complain to me if you found no sleep. Mayhap ’tis the company you keep! You did not appear at supper last night. Why, no doubt you left me and went straight to her.”

His eyes flickered. “So the lady is angry. Come now, out with it, Glenda. ’Tis not like you to bandy words.”

“Then I will not! I came after you, yet what do I find? The fair Belinda kissing my husband!” She let loose the storm in her heart. “Could the two of you at least exercise some discretion? Must you carry on your activities outside your chamber?”

He had the audacity to smile, the wretch! “The kiss you saw was not as it seem—”

“Not as it seemed? I’m glad you find this so amusing! But tell me, then. The press of one’s lips upon another’s…is that not a kiss?”

“Aye, but it was to thank me. I but gave the girl comfort.”

“Comfort! Is that what it’s called?” Baldly she confronted him. “How dare you? How dare you rut with the servants!”

“I was not rutting with the servants!”

“Let me say it again then. If the term ‘rut’ offends you, here is another: I believe it’s called adultery.”