Sorceress (27 page)

Her fingernails dug into the sheets as the warm honey began to soak through her body, thick and sweet, hotter and hotter as he moved faster and faster. But the dense nectar in her veins slowed her passion and dulled her senses like a dark potion until she felt her spirit floating aloft, separate from this man moving over her.

With a final deep stab, he growled and collapsed over her, their bodies enmeshed in feverish heat and sweat.

“Daughter of Kambria, you are mine,” he said in an animal voice that seemed to come from a distant chamber. “Forever bound.”

The keep had changed since his last visit. Gavyn, who had slipped unnoticed beneath the gates when the foot soldiers had returned, walked through the wet bailey, just as he had years earlier. He’d been a groom then, tending to the horses, learning his skills from Neddym, the stable master.

Unerringly he made his way through the darkness, across the bailey and beneath the pentice near the kitchen. He looked up at the keep and wondered which of the windows would open to her room. Not that he could hope to scale the sheer walls, and yet, being so near her, knowing she was close, he felt a glimmer of life return to him, like a returning hawk. He was still mad as hell that she’d left him, though in truth he couldn’t deny his fascination with her.

He’d told himself that he was chasing her down because of the map and the dagger, to satisfy his curiosity and, mayhap, even to rob her of the jewels, should she locate them. Aye, that would serve her right for leaving him.

But, truth to tell, he suspected it was something more that drove him to be near her, something just as unsettling. He couldn’t get her out of his damned mind. From the moment he’d seen her in the forest railing at the wind, yelling at the mythical Isa, he’d been unable to get her out of his mind. The fact that she was the woman in his dreams and the girl he’d been smitten with as a youth had only added to her allure, her intrigue.

Then there was the keen sense that she was in danger, the darkness that followed her whenever he saw her in his sleep.

Damn the woman to hell,
he thought, scanning the dark windows cut into the walls of the keep. A few had faint light, as if from dying fires. He assumed she was inside one of those rooms, safely asleep.

And yet . . .

He glanced toward the moonless sky and sensed that same malevolence he’d felt in his dreams.

He only hoped the fortress that was Castle Tarth would keep whatever depravity he perceived at bay. Compelled to find her, he slipped inside the kitchen door. He knew how to steal into the castle, how to slip through the corridors like a ghost, for though the rules and the faces of the guards may have changed, the routine would not have been altered. It would be the same as it had been when he was a boy stealing salt pork and tarts from the kitchen or wine from the buttery, right beneath the steward’s nose.

Lord Romney was nothing if not a rigid man, one who did not change his mind or habits easily. And as his son Sir Mabon had not yet returned to take over his duties as the baron, no one would have changed where the guards kept the key rings, nor meddled with security within the castle. Gavyn knew which doors would be locked and which were allowed to remain unlatched, just as he knew every twist of the dimly lit castle corridors.

Like a wraith, he climbed to the third floor and moved silently along the hallway. The lord’s room was in one direction, attached to the solar, and down the other way were empty chambers, rooms for guests or children.

Although the keep was quiet, he knew guards were about, most likely playing dice or drinking mead or dozing at their posts. Stealthily he moved down the corridor past candles that had long burned out. He tested the first door, pushed it open, and found an empty chamber that smelled of must and mildew, a room once occupied by Mabon and his brother. Softly he shut the door, then walked to the next chamber. When he pushed against the door, it didn’t budge, and he knew she was inside. Locked away. Safe.

He felt momentary relief, then walked along the corridor past the latrine to a staircase and window that looked out to the bailey. He paused, staring out at the rain slanting from the sky in a shifting silver curtain, pounding on the roof.

Something moved behind him and he whirled, hand upon the hilt of his knife as he ducked into the window’s alcove. Tense, ready to lunge, he expected to hear a guard’s deep voice accost him.

Instead, he saw nothing.

And yet he felt a disturbance in the corridor. A palpable evil, swirling in a maelstrom of darkness. Cold as death, it swept past him, though he saw nothing, heard no footsteps.

Tarth Keep is haunted, Gavyn. Remember it always,
his mother had told him, though he’d always suspected it to be a rumor, a way for her to keep him from making his nocturnal forays into the great hall, which he was forbidden to enter.
Do
not cross the threshold where the dead roam.
Her warnings, though dire, had only added allure to an already daring challenge.

Never once had he encountered a ghost or specter or demon.

Until this moment.

He thought again of Bryanna and hurried back to the locked door. Without a second’s hesitation, he pushed upon it again and it opened easily. Noiselessly.

He stepped inside, where a fire barely glowed but gave off enough light to see her tousled curls upon the bed.

He paused, taking in the sweet sound of her soft breathing. She moved, rustling the sheets, then lifted her head for a second, almost as if she were looking straight at him. God’s eyes, she was beautiful. Though it was shadowy in the chamber, he could still make out her features, her straight nose, wide eyes, and full mouth. Her hair was tangled and wild, falling about her shoulders in tumbled disarray.

“Gavyn,” he thought she whispered, though her lips barely moved. Mayhap it was a trick of thin light from the shadow. Their eyes met and his heart thumped wildly. Her eyebrows drew together and her eyes closed sadly. “Why?” she asked, her voice cracking. “Why would you do this?”

“Do what? ’Tis you who left me,” he said, stepping closer.

“I only did what was foretold.”

He stepped closer to her.

“Do not be angry,” she murmured, though he wasn’t certain she was completely awake. “Please.”

His heart melted at the sight of her, uncharacteristically vulnerable. Usually sharp-tongued and headstrong, usually quick to tease and taunt him, she now appeared confused. Mayhap she wasn’t quite awake.

“Sleep,” he said, his anger melting. “I just wanted to see that you were safe.”

“Is that what you call it?” she said and laughed, almost in relief. “I thought . . . why did you not say so? Why did you not kiss me on my lips?”

Was she teasing?

“I did.” He thought of the one kiss they’d shared in the forest, how it had ricocheted through his body.

“Nay . . .” She shook her head drowsily, her eyes half closed.

“Sleep well,” he said.

“You’re not going to kiss me good night?”

He couldn’t believe what she was saying. She’d left him in the middle of the night, snuck away like a thief, as if she were angry with him or trying to run away from him. So now that he’d stolen into her bedchamber, why was she suddenly so warm and inviting?

He should leave.

Now.

If he had even one bit of sanity, he would slip through the door and pretend that he’d never stepped into this shadowed room with its dying fire.

“Good night, Bryanna.” He took a step toward the door.

“Do not leave,” she whispered. “Please, Gavyn, do not leave me like this.”

“Like what?” he asked, turning back to her.

“Alone. Not after what we shared.” Her voice was drowsy and filled with sleep.

Although he felt sure she must be dreaming, he couldn’t deny the lust that ran through his body as he gazed down at her thick red lips and tossed red curls. “We have shared little,” he said.

“Little? By the gods, Gavyn, you’re a cur.” She spat the words and he couldn’t help but smile. This was the woman he knew, the woman he fantasized about, the woman he thought he might, if he allowed himself, fall in love with.

“I wouldn’t think you a coward, Gavyn, to sneak away in the night.”

“Christ Jesus, woman, what do you want of me?”

“A kiss good night,” she said groggily.

He thought of what they’d shared, the days in the forest, riding, hunting, tending to the horses. The nights around the fire with a wolf lurking in the shadows. Her warm hands as she’d tended to his wounds and scolded him for not taking better care of himself. And then there was the kiss. A heart-stopping, blood-firing kiss that he’d wished would never end, a kiss he now wanted desperately to forget.

“After what we shared, is one kiss too much to ask?”

“Mayhap,” he said, fighting the urge to fall into the bed with her, to kiss her on her lips, her eyes, her neck, her breasts. God in heaven, it had been a long time since he’d been with a woman, and never had he wanted one more than Bryanna. Still, something was amiss here. . . . She was not herself. Talking clearly one second, and not making sense the next.

Don’t do this,
his mind warned him.
Wait. There is no harm in waiting.

She reached upward then, her hand finding his, the sheets slipping downward, one bare breast exposed. He swallowed against a suddenly dry mouth as, even in the shadows, he noticed the rosy tip of her breast, a hard, tempting disk.

“Love me, Gavyn. But this time, kiss me on the lips, let me see your face.”

She ran her free hand up the length of his leg, past his knee and upward, to his thigh.

His manhood, in expectation, thickened and swelled, straining at the laces of his breeches. Sweat broke out along his back as images of making love to her flashed behind his eyes. He saw their sweaty bodies entwined, her breathing hurried, her face flushed, her arms surrounding him as she eased herself lower on the mattress, kissing him, running her tongue over his abdomen and lower. . . .

Groaning, he tried to step away but couldn’t.

“Bryanna,” he said, his voice raw. “This isn’t a good idea.”

“You say that
now
?” she asked, an edge of anger in her voice.

He closed his eyes to her, the muscles of his legs tense where she touched him. “It’s just that—”

“That
what
? You cannot love a woman face-to-face?” Her fingers tightened over the muscles in his thigh and he fought every urge in his body not to fall into the bed with her.

“Is that what you want?”

“Am I not asking?” She seemed awake now and rose to her knees, the sheeting falling away from her naked body, inviting. Though it was dark, he could see her, smell her, sense the wanting. Her head was even with his chest, and as she spoke her breath seemed to permeate his tunic and mantle. “Do you not want me now?” She tilted her head up, causing her hair to spill over one shoulder. Her exposed throat glowed white in the night. “You’re finished with me?”

“Oh, lady,” he groaned, knowing that was the furthest thing from the truth. Her hands slipped upward beneath the hem of his tunic, her warm fingertips skimming his skin. His blood pounded through his veins, his heart pumping crazily as need and desire overtook him.

He stepped out of his breeches and dropped to his own knees on the bed. She peeled off his tunic, her fingers as eager as his own. Pressing his bare chest to her full round breasts, he gathered her small body into his arms and kissed her, his mouth fastening over hers, his breathing ragged and rough.

He pressed his tongue to her teeth and she opened to him, easily, hungrily, her own tongue playing with his. Her chest began to rise and fall rapidly as her breaths came in short bursts. His hungry hands scaled her ribs, and she gasped in expectation as his thumbs found her nipples and toyed with them until they became hard and her breasts swelled in his hands.

She was hot.

He felt the warmth radiating from her.

Knew that deep inside she was melting, readying herself.

He imagined thrusting into that warmth to feel her wetness cling to him.

“Oooh,” she cried, closing her eyes and letting her head loll to one side as he leaned over to kiss her sweet, curved throat. So white. So vulnerable. So damned sensual.

He kissed her throat.

Hard.

His lips sucking.

“Gavyn,” she cried.

His blood was singing in his ears as he rolled onto his back and pulled her atop him, his hands embracing her small nip of a waist, his fingers splaying over her spine and that glorious indentation just above her perfect little rump.

“Oh, oh, God,” she murmured as he filled his mouth with her.

The room melted away as he felt her moving over him, rocking with a primal desire.

His fingers dug into her buttocks and she arched upward, her back bowing as his tongue and teeth scraped over her nipple. Her hands dug into his hair and she held him to her as he suckled, hard and fast, his fingers kneading her, readying her, dipping lower, beyond the cleft to that special spot.

She cried out, bucking as he entered her with a finger, feeling that moist sweet spot.

“Please,” she whispered, her voice hoarse with sweet agony. “Gavyn, please . . .”

“God forgive me,” he whispered and pulled her atop him, his stiffness piercing her hard, sliding deep into her hot, moist womanhood.

She moved above him and he helped her, his hands upon her waist, his hips rising as she came down on him. Over and over again. Hard. Fast. Hot. Oh, God, so hot. He was sweating, holding back, watching her move above him. Her firm, erect breasts trembled with the motion of their lovemaking.