Sharon Schulze (18 page)

“Were you a mercenary, too?” She couldn’t imagine the Norman king permitting a mercenary to inherit a powerful estate, although she’d heard that King John had no qualms about rewarding his hirelings with land and property.

“For a time. My father had some standards. I became the squire of one of his more proper friends.” His gaze held hers. “And later, I did hire out my sword. Honor is a strange concept to me, at least the way most noblemen understand it. I swear I found more honorable men among the mercenaries I lived and fought with than among the nobles I’ve met since I became lord of Ashby. But a hired sword is considered beyond the pale, no matter his reasons for what he does.”

Releasing her hand, he stood. “I should leave so you may rest.”

She held out her hand. “Stay—please. You listened to my dismal grumbling, and it eased my mind. Please allow me to return the favor.” She smiled. “Besides, you cannot pique my curiosity and then leave me unsatisfied.”

At that, he returned her smile, but whereas hers had been meant to soothe, his was teasing, devilish. “Never
let it be said that Nicholas Talbot left you unsatisfied, milady.” He dropped down beside her chair and, lifting her hand to his lips, placed a lingering kiss on her palm.

But as he rested his head against Catrin’s knee, he continued his tale in a flat, impersonal voice, his flirtatious manner dropping away as swiftly as it had arisen. “When I was ten my mother became very ill. We had little money, and it became too difficult for her to follow the troop from skirmish to skirmish. So Father collected me from my foster family and came home to throw himself on my grandfather’s mercy.”

Catrin stroked Nicholas’s hair away from his brow with a soothing touch, waiting.

“Mercy was beyond my grandfather’s ken. At first he wouldn’t even permit us to enter Ashby, but my uncle convinced him to allow us in. Despite how he lived, my father was very proud. That he swallowed his pride long enough to listen to his family’s abuse is a measure of how dear my mother was to him.”

His father wasn’t the only one with pride, Catrin thought, running her fingers through his disordered curls.

“But they refused to let him stay.” He raised his head. She met his eyes steadily, her own filled with tears. “That selfish, unyielding old man wouldn’t even give her a place to die in peace.”

He sat back on his heels. “Since then, every time I think of Ashby I remember how my mother comforted my father as we rode away. She didn’t last a week. She died in a broken-down hovel we found in the woods. I’m not even certain where it is.”

Catrin reached out to him, but he shrugged away from her comforting hands. “I hated them. They took away everything I had—my mother, my father’s pride, my innocence. And now that I’ve finally come here I see that
I’ve feared a phantom all these years. It wasn’t Ashby I hated—it was them.”

Catrin shivered, as much from his words as from the lack of warmth without him pressed close beside her. She held out her hands to him again. “Let it go, Nicholas. ’Tis in the past. It cannot harm you further unless you permit it.”

He stood and bent to lift her out of the chair. Enveloping her in his arms, he carried her to the bed.

Catrin knew a momentary alarm when she noticed their destination, but she soon realized she’d misjudged him yet again. Nicholas desired comfort from her now, not lust. He sat on the mattress and held her cradled in his arms, his face buried against her throat.

At last his muscles relaxed beneath her and they slumped over on the bed, still clasped together.

Peaceful at last, he slept.

I
was the most wonderful dream, Nicholas thought as he nuzzled his lips along Catrin’s collarbone and up over her shoulder. He stopped in the hollow of her throat, savoring the scent of roses blended with Catrin’s own sweet essence rising from her warm, supple skin.

When she moved against him, drawing her hand down his chest and stopping just above his throbbing manhood, his eyes snapped open.

This was no dream.

Catrin lay curled about him, her towel twisted until it revealed more than it covered.

The past night’s surgery appeared to have done her no harm. The skin beneath his lips felt pleasantly warm from sleep. No dew of fever-induced sweat dampened her smooth flesh. And she’d slept peacefully in his arms the entire night, apparently undisturbed by nightmares or troubling memories.

At times during the night he had hovered on the edge of sleep, aware of Catrin nestled in his arms. He had no intention of seeking his own bed, when he could savor the pleasure of holding her.

Too soon, the night had ended. But while Catrin slept on, he had no plans to leave.

Instead, he intended to enjoy his good fortune. The woman curled up beside him was warm, soft, beautiful. He’d be a fool to let her go.

His movements leisurely, Nicholas caught the edge of the towel between his fingers and eased the fabric away.

The faint light of dawn creeping through the shuttered windows lent a rosy glow to her ivory flesh. Nicholas caught his breath at his first complete glimpse of Catrin’s beauty. Her breasts were full and well formed, and her tiny waist flared into gently rounded hips perfect to cradle a man—or a child. Closing his eyes, Nicholas permitted himself to consider the idea instead of shoving it aside as he had in the past.

He’d never wanted a child, never wanted any woman enough to share that intimacy. If he intended to have Catrin—to make love with Catrin, he corrected himself—the possibility that they might create a child was something he should consider. He no longer believed this passion between them could be ignored…nor satisfied with a hurried coupling.

A lifetime with Catrin might not be enough.

The image of Catrin, belly rounded with his child, was frightening—and arousing. A renewed surge of desire swept through his manhood.

It was all well and good for him to make plans, but ’twas unlikely he’d find Catrin as eager as he. Although she hadn’t seemed disgusted or scandalized by his past, it didn’t necessarily follow that she’d be willing to consider a future with him.

He didn’t even know if she truly wanted him as her lover. Granted, each time they touched was more explosive than the last. But given the things he suspected had
happened to her, she might not want a physical relationship with him.

Or any other man.

In the days when he was with the mercenaries, and even when he was part of the king’s army, he’d seen too many women who’d been assaulted.

Rape happened all the time, when men traveled far from home, when the blood lust was upon them, at times simply because some men were no better than rutting beasts when they encountered a defenseless woman. He’d witnessed the blank stares, the trembling, cringing victims flinching from everyone, the bloodied, broken bodies sprawled on the ground, dignity denied them even in death.

Nicholas had never permitted his men to rape. The idea of forcing himself on a woman revolted him, although he’d met plenty of men, of high degree and low, who saw it as their right.

It was a tribute to Catrin’s strength, her will, that she hadn’t become a cringing victim. Although he didn’t know what she’d been like before, Nicholas had no doubt the ordeal had made her tougher, tempered her as a steel blade thrust into fire was made stronger.

Her strength was part of her appeal. He feasted his eyes on her beauty once more, his gaze lingering on all the places his hands ached to touch, before reluctantly tucking the towel around her. When had he become so noble?

Or was he simply being foolish not to grab what he wanted?

His hands lingering on her shoulders, he gently kissed her lips. He had intended to leave her then, but her eyelids fluttered open.

Her sleepy gray eyes focused on his and the corners of
her mouth curved up in a smile. “Nicholas?” she murmured, snuggling closer to him.

“You’d better hope so,” he said, chuckling. “I trust you realize who you’ve cuddled up to.” Brushing aside a cluster of ebony curls, he grazed his lips along her cheek. “Good morrow, milady.”

He drew her closer still and nibbled at her lips, taking advantage of her acquiescence to ease his tongue into her mouth. Her movements languid, Catrin took up his challenge, her tongue mating with his in a seductive thrust and parry.

Groaning deep in his throat, Nicholas gradually shifted more of his weight atop her while continuing to kiss her. He didn’t want to do anything to shock her. Uncertain whether she would accept the intimacy he wanted, he proceeded slowly, allowing her to grow accustomed to him.

Though his body nearly rebelled at the thought, his mind found the notion intriguing.

Surely he could survive such sweet torment!

Catrin burrowed her fingers into his hair, her fingertips kneading his scalp in a surprisingly sensuous caress. He felt the sensation all the way to the soles of his feet.

In the meantime, her other hand had been busy untying the neckline of his shirt. Reaching down to the hem, she began tugging and pushing at the material, trying to shove the shirt up over his head.

“Wait,” he whispered, stilling her hand. His gaze met hers, searching. He wasn’t sure what he expected to find—excitement, or perhaps a measure of fear?

But ’twas passion shining in her eyes, and something else he couldn’t put a name to. While he’d never seen such an expression turned his way, Nicholas knew that whatever that soft, delicate thing was, it was good.

And he wanted it just as much as he wanted the delectable woman sprawled so trustingly beneath him.

He brushed his lips gently over her eyelids, sealing her expression forever in his heart. “Are you certain ’tis what you want?”

Catrin nodded and found her voice with difficulty. “Yes,” she murmured, overcoming the urge to turn her eyes away from his, to hide from Nicholas and what he made her feel.

But cowardice had never been her way. “Yes,” she repeated with more determination. “I want to touch you, Nicholas. And more.” Her bravado faltering beneath the questions in his eyes, she slipped her hands under his shirt and smoothed them over his back and shoulders.

He closed his eyes and arched into her stroking hands like a cat, a low moan rising from his throat. “Be very sure, Catrin.” Grasping the neckline of his shirt, he hesitated before drawing the fabric over his head. “’Tis not my intention to frighten you. But I want you very much.”

He pulled the shirt off and tossed it aside. Leaning his weight on his elbows, he framed her face in his hands, his fingers stroking lightly along her temples. “If I do anything you don’t like, or that disturbs you, tell me. I’ll stop.”

A flush of embarrassment crept up her neck. “I want you, Nicholas. Truly.” She ruthlessly curbed the urge to cry. “But I don’t know if I’ll be able to do this.”

He brushed kisses over her forehead, her eyes, her lips. “Whatever you can give me, I’ll take gladly. But my pleasure comes from giving pleasure to you. I just don’t want to do anything to remind you of—” He broke off, his eyes intense.

“Nothing you do will be what he did.” She stroked his shoulders. He looked unconvinced; she wanted to erase
the worry from his smoky violet eyes. “I know you would never harm me, Nicholas. I trust you.”

Wrapping her arms around his muscular chest, she whispered, “Show me how it should be.”

He shifted his weight and drew her over to lie beside him. “We’ll learn together. This sharing is new to me, as well.”

His eyes asking her permission, he outlined the edge of the towel with one questing fingertip, pausing in the shadowed cleft between her breasts. Raising her hand, she guided his, and together they separated the fabric.

The linen fell away, exposing her to his gaze. He lay there so long, simply looking, that Catrin began to wonder if he’d changed his mind. “Is something wrong?” she asked, her confidence, fragile to begin with, starting to ebb.

Placing his hands on her stomach, he slowly inched them up her ribs, not stopping until the backs of his fingers were nestled against her breasts. “Nay, not a thing.” His mouth curved into a sweet, devilish smile. “I only wish to savor my good fortune. I’ve never beheld a woman so lovely as you.” He began to gently massage her ribs with his fingers, every stroke pressing his knuckles nearer to her aching nipples.

Catrin drew in a slow breath, battling the urge to grab his hands and raise them the slight distance. But she could see the enjoyment in his face, a glow of anticipation she understood. After all, she’d found herself staring at Nicholas’s magnificent body more than once while they were in the cave.

She knew of no reason why she shouldn’t make him ache, as well. The mere thought stoked the fire in her blood. Her eyes teasing, Catrin raised her hand and wove
her fingers in the mat of dark blond curls spread across his chest.

Scraping her fingernails lightly against his skin, she toyed with the wiry hair, drawing ever closer to a coppery nipple nestled in the curls. She was vaguely aware that the motion of Nicholas’s hands on her flesh had intensified, the fire caused by his touch spreading to a place deep within her. Her legs moved restlessly until he wedged his thigh between hers. It seemed he knew what she needed, even if she didn’t.

He flexed his leg, pressing the rippling muscles against her womanhood at the same time he bent his head and took her nipple into his mouth. ’Twas a miracle she didn’t fly straight off the bed from the sensations simmering through her.

Her hand stilled against his chest, all her attention centered on her response to him. He dragged his mouth from her breast, tracing his tongue lingeringly up the column of her throat to her mouth. “Don’t stop now,” he said. He lifted her hand from his chest and nuzzled her palm.

She tried to speak twice before her voice would work, and even then it was faint and husky. “What should I do?” She’d never had—nor desired—the opportunity to give her imagination full rein. As she ran her gaze over Nicholas, garbed only in clinging chausses, the possibilities seemed endless. “I don’t know where to begin.”

“Whatever pleases you,” he murmured, “will certainly please me. Do whatever you wish.” He sucked her finger into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it before nipping lightly at the fleshy tip. All the while he stared into her eyes, his gaze holding her captive and heating her blood. His eyes darkened until they appeared nearly black.

He made promises with that look, promises of pleasure and more.

Catrin tore her own gaze away, not certain what he meant. She’d give him what she could, and take the delight he offered.

Beyond that she refused to think.

Smiling, she leaned toward him, glad to hide her face against his chest so he couldn’t see how flushed she’d become at her boldness. She rubbed her cheek against the soft curls spread across his chest, then nuzzled her way to his nipple.

His body tensed beneath her hand when she closed her teeth delicately over the tiny nub. Pulling her with him, he fell back on the mattress, his fingers threaded through her hair as he urged her to repeat the caress.

She sat back on her heels and rubbed her palms over his torso, moving lower across his stomach with each sweep. She watched his face as she traced the thin line of darker hair bisecting his stomach, savoring the pleasure tautening his features. His eyes were closed and a flush rode high along his cheekbones.

Dear God, but he was handsome!

Growing daring, she leaned over Nicholas and trailed her fingers just inside the waistband of his chausses. His eyes flew open suddenly and, grabbing her about the waist, he lifted her over to straddle him. “You are so beautiful,” he growled, pulling her head toward him and taking her mouth in a consuming kiss.

Their naked flesh pressed together from neck to waist. The soft curls covering his chest rubbed against her already sensitized nipples, sending a rush of heat to pool between her legs.

Nicholas reached down and clasped her tight against his loins. ’Twas enough to make her melt into a puddle of sensation.

All the while he continued to kiss her, his body taking
up the same thrusting rhythm as his tongue. He beset her senses on all fronts—her mouth, her breasts, her entire body felt enveloped in Nicholas’s touch, seared by the heat of his passion.

She was vaguely aware of him moving them across the bed. His lips still clinging to hers, he sat up, bringing her with him.

He eased his mouth from hers, nibbling at her lips, then soothing them with his tongue. Finally he sighed and abandoned her mouth. “You’re so sweet,” he said, devouring her with his eyes. He gathered her tousled hair together and nudged it over her shoulder. “So very lovely.” His lingering gaze made her breasts feel heavy, aching for his touch.

He must have seen the yearning in her eyes, for he brought his hand up and caressed her cheek. “Show me what you want. I’m yours to command, but you must tell me.”

Emboldened by his words and the desire etched across his face, Catrin asked, “And what do you want, Nicholas?”

A wry smile on his lips, he shook his head and laughed, the sound more like a groan. “You’ll not elude me so easily. If I told you everything I want of you, I’d frighten you away. I want to bring you more pleasure than you’ve ever imagined.”

He drew up his knees, causing her to slide forward until she straddled him. Her cheeks flushed. “How can you be shy?” he teased. “Look at you—you’re sitting naked on a hungry man.” He thrust his hips gently beneath her. “And you’ve got him completely in your power.” Leaning forward until his lips were near her ear, he whispered, “I’ll do whatever you like. Tell me.”

He was right. Considering her position, ’twas foolish to be timid.