Warrior's Princess Bride (17 page)

He pushed at the wet fabric covering her shoulders, in a moment exposing one creamy shoulder, gleaming like a pearl in the dappled green light of the forest. Her breath hitched; a slow coil of emotion gathering tightly in the pit of her stomach. His lips dropped to her shoulder, running a line of delicate kisses along the taut line of her collarbone…

‘Sweet Jesu!’ Benois sat up suddenly, pushing a trembling hand through his hair, fighting to temper his own passion, to slow himself. The white make shift bandage at his shoulder strained against the bunched muscle in his shoulder. Tavia’s heart skipped—this was it, this was the moment when he told her he couldn’t carry on, that he’d made a mistake. She felt a fool, lying there, vulnerable and exposed in just her shift, and sat up, abruptly, seeking to control her own breathing, her own disappointment.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said annoyance, her top teeth nibbling doubtfully at her bottom lip. ‘I’ll go if you like. My body’s too lean for most men’s tastes.’

He glared at her, uncomprehending, his eyes embracing hers in a sparkling silver net of desire. ‘Are you completely mad? Who on earth told you such utter rubbish?’

Her lungs filled with a deep quivering breath. ‘I…’

He reached over, gliding his fingertips over the smooth skin of her face, her neck. ‘You are the most beautiful creature I have ever met,’ he said, his voice low and resonant. ‘And you’d better believe that!’ Benois looked so stern that a bubble of laughter rose in her chest, quickly quashed as he folded her into him, pushing her back into the carpet of under growth. Her diaphragm flexed, then tightened with sweet awareness, excitement liquefying within her. Benois twined his fingers into the lustrous strands of her hair, the wide pads of his thumbs gently kneading into her scalp. His hands trailed down the smooth column of her neck, before playing along the wide neckline of her damp chemise.

‘Benois…I…!’ She thought she would explode under his touch, the pulsating maelstrom of need burning, amassing force fully within her.

‘Hush now…trust me,’ he whispered, nibbling a the damp shell-like curve of her ear. He stretched his hard, sinewy length along side her; rivers of shock pulsated through her at the proximity of his naked flesh, the scorching brand of his need hard against her thigh. Before Tavia could recover, his lips roved over hers once more, teasing and tantalising as his hand moved under the flowing hem of her chemise, up, up along the soft, satiny length of her thigh to the very core of her woman hood.

‘Benois…!’ she gasped, as his fingers touched her where no man had ever ventured before. All sense of reason deserted her, as her mind descended into the heady waters of passion, dancing on the intoxicating edge of the whirl pool of desire. Her body went taut, rigid with thrilling shock, as he pushed slowly into her, easing his way through tender folds. Her hands clung to his face, holding the glitter of his knowing eyes, as she relished the savage, boiling frenzy that invaded her heart, her blood. Her hands moved to his shoulders, then to the muscular line of Benois’s spine as his lips seized hers once more.

He surged into her then, his own body over taken by a passion that took him by surprise. The fleeting resistance of her virginity checked him for a moment, before he filled her completely, utterly. Consumed by him, the mild ache Tavia experienced on losing her innocence was quickly replaced by a swelling, eddying fullness as Benois continued to move within her, measured and slow at first, before gathering momentum, faster and faster. She began to move with him, dancing eagerly to his rhythm, matching the increasing speed of his powerful thrusts with a de lighted eagerness of her own. She closed her eyes, the conscious part of her mind receding suddenly as the desire rippling through her body threatened to overtake—nay, to overcome her! She clung to the man above her, her security in this storm of passion, as white-hot needles of light shot through her brain, a magnificent whirl pool of scattering stars.

She cried out then, as Benois drove into her and the flimsy straining skin of the bubble burst with a blistering violence within her and glorious waves of desire flooded again and again through her body. Benois threw his head back, reaching his own peak as he shuddered in tandem with the woman beneath him.

‘Sweet Mother of God!’ he cried out loud, as Tavia’s fingers snagged into his dripping hair and he collapsed on top of her, his body heavy, sated and alive.

F
or a long time Benois and Tavia lay there, under the oak’s swaying branches, the hot slivers of the sun caressing their faces as the afternoon light pierced the verdant canopy above. The rapid beat of their hearts slackened, the tumultuous climax of their love making replaced by a stillness, a delicious languor that stole through their bodies, drifting, soporific.

Lying on his back, Tavia’s soft limbs entwined against him, her silken legs tangled with his rough-haired thighs, Benois studied the delicate interlacing of branches above his head, a brown net against the cerulean blue of the sky. A glorious feeling of serenity filled his body, his mind. The man that he had been, the man hardened by war and death, beset with haunting memories, had temporarily disappeared. For the first time in a long time, he knew peace, a real contentment, a fledgling joy flowing in his veins. The barbed edges of his character seemed smoothed out, caressed by her gentle touch, the alluring curves of her body. Had Tavia done this? Had this small, slim, beautiful girl filled up the hollow space in his heart with her own kindness, her own generosity of spirit, her passion? The beauty, the whole ness of the experience they had just shared, had been over whelming. He had never known that being with a woman could be so utterly and completely fulfilling, not just physically but emotionally as well.

He sighed deeply, relishing the sweet, exhausted feeling in his muscles, intricate a wren’s bobbing flight weave between the trees. Holding Tavia tight in his arms, he allowed his thoughts to idle, to soar with the graceful movement of the bird, a tight bud of hope flaring cautiously in his chest. The thought of sharing his life with another had never entered his head before; the idea was so foreign to him that he almost dismissed it immediately. But the image of him taking Tavia, pregnant with their child, back to his homeland, back to lay the ghosts of his family to rest once and for all, burned vividly in his mind’s eye. Could it be possible?

Against his flank, Tavia shifted, murmuring in her sleep. Her flushed cheek pushed up against his shoulder, her fingers fanning out lightly across the middle of his chest, over his heart: a butterfly’s touch. Emotion rippled through him, caught him by surprise. When they had been together, he had become utterly, completely lost, sinking into her smooth caress with a raw abandonment. What a hot-headed, arrogant fool he’d been at Dunswick to believe that possessing her would suppress his desire for her; he couldn’t have been further from the truth.

‘What are you thinking about?’ Tavia mumbled against his shoulder, her voice warm and be fuddled with sleep. The folds of her chemise, damp, grass-stained, bunched about her thighs as she snuggled into his muscled flank. The present moment dominated her thoughts; she luxuriated in the feel of the man beside her, in the pleasure they had shared.

‘I was thinking of how badly I treated you at Dunswick.’ He grimaced at the memory. The glistening bubble of his dream, his dream of their future together, began to disintegrate.

‘Nay, don’t speak of it,’ she hushed him, raising a finger to the well-defined curve of his lips. Her sleeve hung down from her delicate wrist; he could see the tracery of blue veins on her pale forearm.

‘I was a brute,’ he admitted, turning his face into the scented pillow of her hair, the perfumed strands tickling his cheek. A tiny voice niggled at him, telling him he was still a brute, that he would never change. How could he ever hope to give Tavia a semblance of normal life with his scarred history? He shifted his head away from her, searching for the gleam of his sword in the long grass, his gaze drawn instinctively to the weapon that had fought in so many battles, had ended so many lives. ‘I am a brute,’ he corrected blandly, the light leaving his eyes.

She laughed, moving her hand to cup the side of her face. ‘If I thought that, then I would never have lain with you.’

‘Then you thought wrong, Tavia.’ The taut muscles in his arm flexed against her back, her shoulder.

They both jumped as a crack of thunder split the air. Storm clouds had begun to billow up from the west, puffy grey mushrooms of rounded air that began to en com pass the blue sky with surprising speed. The forest darkened, the storm clouds moving over the setting sun, blocking out the light.

She twisted around in his hold, the laughter drying up in her throat. Pushing herself up against his chest to see his face, the blank, in different look in his eyes horrified her, the mask of a soldier slipping back into place. Her heart lurched oddly, then filled with anger. She wanted to thump him, pull at his hair, anything to squeeze the emotion back into him. A wave of fury gushed through her. ‘Why are you being like this?’

‘Like what?’ His big hands cupped her shoulders, supporting her, setting her gently away from him as he sat up, leaning over to extract his tunic from the pile of discarded clothes beside them.

‘Like you don’t care any more,’ she ground out, her blue eyes spit ting fire as she sprang to her feet, arms folded tightly across her chest. Her hair, loosened at some point during their love making, fell forward over her shoulders in glorious, glossy loops, the curling ends reaching past her hips.

‘I’ve never “cared”, Tavia. That’s just who I am.’ He wrenched the tunic over his head.

Her fury made her bold, stoking her courage. ‘Nay! You’re not like that!’ She poked him smartly in the chest. ‘That’s where you are wrong. You do care. You cared enough to follow me into the city of Dunswick, you cared enough to take me away from Ferchar when I was about to make a fool of myself, you cared when my mother was dying. Don’t try to pretend you don’t!’

He glared at her, stunned by her outburst.

‘You like to make out how little you care for people, but it’s all a lie. I’ve seen you, Benois. I know you.’

A muscle jumped in the hollow of his cheek. He began to pull on his braies with short decisive movements, sitting down to lace up his boots. ‘If you knew the real me, Tavia, you wouldn’t be standing there now.’ One lock of chestnut hair fell forwards over his tense, strained expression.

‘I know you,’ she repeated, laying one soft hand on his arm. Her fingers burned through the fabric of his tunic.

He knocked her hand away, his face dark, intimidating. ‘You don’t know what I’m capable of.’ It’s better this way, he thought. The maid was too good for him, too tender in her nature, too generous with her love. In contrast, he was flawed, hard and bitter with memories—he would only succeed in making her miserable. Now she was wealthy, with royal relations, she would be well looked after. A more suitable husband would be found, one who was as kind and generous as she was.

‘Fine.’ Tavia turned away, tears threatening, crest fallen after her out burst. Her shoulders slumped forwards in defeat as she picked her crumpled dress up from the under growth and yanked it over her head. She wanted to push her fists against his chest, to cry, to scream against him. But what purpose would it serve? She had tried, tried to reach him, but to no avail. Why did she even bother to fight? But in her heart she knew, she knew in that brief, wretched moment that she fought for his love, for a return of the love she held for him. She loved this man, this infuriating, impossible man who had terrified and teased her, who had stolen kisses and…had bedded her. Aye, she loved him, but he would surely break her heart.

‘Take me back to Dunswick.’ Tavia stalked off, back rigid and unyielding, wretched humiliation swimming chaotically through her body, in the direction of Benois’s horse, which waited patiently beneath a stand of trees. At the same moment, the brooding mass of cloud re leased the first rain drops, fat and heavy, spattering on to the ground. Thunder clashed above them, echoing around the forest, followed swiftly by lightning, a stark white flash of ghostly illumination.

‘Too late!’ Benois charged over to her, his hand landing heavily on her shoulder to stop her agitated steps. She ducked, wriggled, attempting to wrench herself away, but his fingers tightened, holding her fast.

‘Let go of me!’ she snarled back to him through the stinging rain drops, trying to hook her fingers into the reins of his horse. Rain sluiced over her face, making her blink to clear her vision.

He pulled the leather straps from her hands. ‘Tavia, stop, we can’t travel in this! It’s not safe!’

She peered up at him through the slashing rain. ‘Is this your idea of a joke?’

‘I’m deadly serious…we need to find shelter.’

She bridled beneath his words, knowing he was right, resenting the cir cum stances that meant she had to spend more time alone with him. Right now, she needed time on her own, time to lick her wounds, to recover her equilibrium, to tuck away the memory of their joining close to her heart. But the change in the weather made that impossible.

‘Follow me,’ she said quietly.

Benois watched Tavia as she leaned one shoulder against the craggy outline of the entrance to the cave, staring out bleakly at the torrential rain. Against the cracked grey stone, he traced the fine curves of her profile, her damp pale face imbued with a luminous quality, her slim frame strong and capable, despite her diminutive proportions. Astonishment had crossed his features as Tavia squeezed through the narrow fissure into the cave, shaking his head in disbelief as she had turned, beckoning him in. He had settled himself comfortably, leaning back against the rock and stretching his legs out over the rug he had snatched from his horse, while she, Tavia, had ignored him, standing by the exit to the cave as if she couldn’t wait to leave. He didn’t blame her; he had hurt her with his in difference, his coldness. But he had to be like this; it seemed the only way to make her under stand that he was not the man she believed him to be. She had to realise what kind of man he was, for her own sake, otherwise his black-hearted soul would destroy her.

Thunder ruptured the air above: swift, violent, guttural. Tavia jumped back as the interior of the cave lit with the stark white of a lightning strike.

‘I’d sit down if I were you,’ Benois advised mildly, starting to unpack the contents of his leather satchel. ‘The storm will not pass any quicker with you watching it, much as you wish it to.’

Tavia prised her gaze away from the opening, sought his shadowed form in the recessed confines of the cave. ‘Do you really think I want to sit with the likes of you, Benois? After the way you spoke to me after…after…’

‘I bedded you?’ He supplied the words for her, raising the dark slash of his eyebrows. ‘Try not to attach too much importance to the whole affair, Tavia. I realise it isn’t every day you lose your virginity, but—’

‘Stop!’ She held up her hand, incensed. ‘Mother of God, Benois, you talk about my…me…as if I were a commodity, or something ugly to be dealt with. How can you be so coarse…so crude?’

His eyes glittered in the darkness, spiked chips of ice. ‘Because that is what I am, Tavia, a rough, crude soldier. You seem to have trouble accepting that idea.’

She thumped her hand against the rock, grazing it, ducking her head so he wouldn’t see the frustrated tears flood her eyes. Shame washed over her, blinding, hot. ‘So you just wanted me for my body, then?’ Her voice, when it eventually emerged, was thin, jerky with hostility.

‘You’re an extremely desirable woman, Tavia. What were you expecting? An offer of marriage?’ The neutrality of his tone infuriated her.

‘Nay,’ she blasted back, ‘but maybe something a little kinder than outright rejection!’

He winced at her words, covering the movement with a shrug. It was better this way, he kept telling himself. It was better she knew what kind of man he was before it was too late.

Tavia balled her fists by her sides, flouncing across the cave to stand over him. ‘My God, Benois, you really had me fooled, didn’t you? There I was, thinking we were sharing one of the most in credible experiences of my life and you squash it with your foul words, take all the beauty from it, and distort it into something ugly and disgusting. Thank you very much.’ There! She’d said it. She’d told him the truth. It wouldn’t matter anyway, as he seemed so keen on shoving her away, he may as well know how she felt.

Mouth slack with astonishment at her words, Benois jumped to his feet, towering over her once more. He had never heard a woman speak like this, ever, with such energy, such naked truth, such passion. Her face, flushed with agitation, lifted up to his, searching for answers.

‘Stop trying to change me into someone that I’m not,’ he whispered. ‘I’m not some court dandy who’ll shower you with flowery verse and tender phrases.’

‘I’m not asking you for that,’ she replied simply.

A peculiar sensation gripped his innards. He seized the top of her arms, almost lifting her bodily from the ground, hauling her slight frame up against him. ‘Then what is it that you want from me?’ His voice boomed about the cave, probing, questioning. ‘What is it you want from me?’

Her eyes, fringed with long wet lashes, widened, locked with his. In the ringing silence, her clear, bell-like tones sang through the high recesses of the cave. ‘You know, Benois. You know.’
I want your love.
The words echoed, bounced in her mind, but remained unspoken.

But he knew what she asked of him, knew what she wanted. ‘You ask what I cannot give, Tavia,’ he replied bitterly. ‘You ask too much of me.’ His eyes slid beyond her to the cave entrance. ‘The storm has passed,’ he announced coldly. ‘We must return to Dunswick.’

Her heart closed up with sadness.

Tavia sunk deep into the wooden bath tub, allowing the hot, steaming water to engulf her shoulders, her neck. The tightness of her muscles began to slacken and stretch, languishing in the delicious sensation. She curled her toes, feeling the soft linen at the end of the bath, linen that had been placed over the rough wood of the tub before the water had been poured in. Rose petals floated on the water’s surface, the heat allowing the flowers to release their heady scent. exhaustion dragged at her eyes, her limbs, a bleak wretch ed ness that she couldn’t wholly attribute to physical activity. A raft of sadness welled up, unexpectedly, and she sank deeper, willing the water to wash away the pain, the heart ache, just for a moment.