wcEND.rtf (21 page)

Damn her soul but she would have all of him.

At that moment, Hunter entered her a little, jolting her back to him. He pushed in a little further, just enough for her to have a taste of him, to draw a deep breath in anticipation, but not nearly enough to satisfy her blooming craving. Then he pulled back, not quite withdrawing but leaving her bereft and scooting against him. He obliged
her by thrusting deeper, yet again not totally. Her hips moved against him, wanting all of him inside of her. Instead, he pulled back again, wrenching a silent cry of frustration out of her.

"Do you want me?" he asked, slowly entering her again, inch by tantalizing inch. Isabel groaned, her insides burning, her breath stolen, her heart thrumming against her ears. Instead of speaking she pressed against him in answer.

And he pulled back again.

Oh, no, you won't. Enough already!

Holding on to his forearms, Isabel pushed herself against him, fully engaging his penis inside of her. She gasped as the sensations spread over her body.

"Does that answer your question?" she asked.

Seeming to have lost some of his damnable control, Hunter held her hips firmly in place, preventing her from moving as he struggled to control his breathing.

"Remind me to never doubt a lady of few words," he whispered in a husky voice that mollified Isabel somehow.

And then he smiled. And Isabel stared at him as if seeing another man. Handsome when serious, Hunter was utterly charming and adorable when smiling.

As if she needed further encouragement.

With his help Isabel lifted her upper body from the cot and sat fully on him, her arms encircling his neck, her hands burrowing in his hair, her fingers scraping against his scalp.

When his mouth settled over hers and she surrendered to his skillful kisses, she cursed the fabric of her dress that prevented her breasts from feeling the skin of his chest. Hunter's hands that a moment ago had stilled her movements now urged her on. The tension inside of her grew to a crescendo about to explode. All thoughts fled from her mind as she rode him hard, rode him until the
world ceased to exist, until she forgot whose body she inhabited, until she cried out in spent ecstasy.

Hunter pushed her back on the small cot, following her, still inside of her, while she floated back to reality. And yet he gave her no time to settle down. He thrust inside of her with an impatience he couldn't hide, no tentative stroke now, no teasing. Isabel raised her knees to better accommodate him, already feeling the waves of pleasure rising again inside of her. And as his deep, hard, and intense thrusts continued, the waves crested and she cried out with him as he found his release.

******************

AS HUNTER LED HIS W
I
FE OUT OF H
I
S PRIVATE CHAMBER in the garrison's quarter he could not contain the joy in his heart. Neither could he believe how passionate, how giving, how loving she had been with him.

How very much his heart had wished her to be!

Détra stood by his side, waiting for him to lock the door, not seeming to mind at all the few men gathered in the small ha
l
l of the garrison's quarters gawking at them with incredulity, surprise, and dawning understanding. For there was no mistaking what Hunter and his wife had been doing in that chamber. Her glorious hair cascaded over her shoulder in a disarray of curl
s
—
w
hich she minded much less this day, having pulled the strands away from her face only once or twice. There was a glow of contentment on her face, a softness in her gaze when she looked at him, like a bride leaving her nuptial chamber accompanied by her much beloved husband.

Hunter reveled at the thought. Mayhap he had reached her heart after all. Mayhap his chalice had finally made his heart wish come true
.
Mayhap all would be well for them.

"Is there need to lock the door?" she asked. "I am sure
no one would enter it without your permission."

'This is my private chamber, and I wish to keep it as such." Especially while his chalice was still hidden inside.

Détra opened her mouth as if to speak, then, changing her mind, snapped her lips closed.

Nagging doubts assailed him again. Could Détra know more about the chalice than she had let him believe? She had mentioned it but once after that fateful morning when the chalice had worked its magic on her, and then only in a very fleeting manner. Had she known more, had she remembered the morning of her transformation, she would not have made love to him this day.

Hunter wondered. Wondered but was not foolish enough to bring the matter up for discussion.

Hunter led Détra out of the garrison's quarters and together they strolled through the dark bailey in the direction of the great hall. The night had fallen and now covered the earth like a giant mantle. Suddenly Détra halted her steps and looked up at the night sky.

"I have never seen so many stars together in my life," she whispered. "It is an awesome sight."

Hunter looked up, not seeing any more stars than usual, then turned his gaze on her. "None shine as bright as you." He felt a little foolish in his awkward attempt to woo her. He had never been very good with words or courtly manners. His life had been one of deeds, of war, of struggle. And yet, were he able, he would create an ode to his lady wife's beauty.

She turned to him, but in the darkness he could only see the nuances of shadows across her face.

It had taken him long enough, but she was finally his. Hunter pushed away the thought his joy might be temporary. When Détra remembered her true feelings for him would this night hold any special meaning to her at a
l
l? Or would it become a memory of betrayal?

Hunter pulled Détra into his arms. He might be at a loss for words, but there were other ways to express his feelings for her. His mouth covered hers with eager, hopeful passion. And God be praised, Détra responded in kind. The world ceased to exist around them. There were just the two of them alone in the dark bailey, two lonely stars that had finally met in the immensity of the sky and thus together shone brighter.

Would that this moment of harmony last forever.

Détra was the one who first stepped back. "I wil
l
never forget this night, Hunter."

"Neither shall I."

She shivered in his arms.

'The night grows cold, we had better go inside."

They ambled in the direction of the great hall.

As they entered the busy hall they were received with glances of curiosity much like two days ago when Hunter had escorted D
é
tra from the orchard, but like moments ago in the garrison's quarters, their curiosity turned into acceptance.

Hunter was aware of Windermere's people's reluctance in accepting him, mayhap even justified if he considered the unsettling gossip he had heard about their previous lord. Not that anyone told him any tale directly, but Hunter had grasped enough from scraps of conversation here and there to realize Détra's former husband had not been a kind lord.

Could Détra's anger and rejection of him be a result of the way her former husband treated her? In that case, her loss of memory was indeed a blessing far more reaching than for his own benefit. Hunter would have to ask Maude about that. It would help him to know more about his lady wife, even if she could not remember herself.

They approached the main table and Hunter helped Détra to a chair beside his own. As he sat down he noticed
a stranger standing below the lord's dais. The man's face was vaguely familiar.

"A messenger from Hawkhaven has just arrived," Ger-vase said. "I was about to send word to you."

Hawkhaven! That was where Hunter must have seen the man. He nodded to the messenger to approach him.

"Welcome to Windermere Castle," Hunter said. "What tidings bring you?"

"My lord." The messenger bowed before Hunter, then lifted. "Lord Reginald summons your presence at Hawkhaven with the utmost urgency."

What would his fostering lord wish with him? Could it have anything to do with the Scottish raiders?

"Is Hawkhaven under attack?" Hunter asked.

"Nay, my lord. It is a personal matter."

Personal?
A chill skittered down Hunter's spine.

"Lord Reginald is ill and we fear he shall not be among the living for long," the messenger continued. "He wishes to speak with you without delay."

Hunter's conflicting emotions about his fostering lord warred inside of him. He owed much to Lord Reginald. Without the man's generosity Hunter would have never become a knight, therefore, never have gained his own lands and castle, and above all, never have wedded the Lady Détra.

However, such unexplained generosity had garnered Hunter the envy and hatred of most people at Hawkhaven, especially Lor
d
Reginald's only son, Rupert. Mayhap, like Hunter, Rupert had also wondered about his father's reasons for giving such unheard-of opportunity to a bastard of unknown sire who lived as a villein on the outskirts of his castle.

The only possibility was that Lord Reginald was Hunter's true father.

A possibility that m
ost probably had occurred to Ru
pert as wel
l
, for the young man had resented Hunter's presence in his castle from the beginning, ever working to undermine Hunter's training to knighthood.

And now Lord Reginald was dying. Could he be summoning Hunter to finally tell him the truth, guilt ridden for not recognizing Hunter as his son before? Hunter had wished for so long to learn his father's identity. Had begged his mother for it, but she had died, taking her secret with her. Being a bastard had been a heavy cross to bear, but not knowing his father's name had been a much heavier burden
.

How would Rupert welcome such tidings? Would he accept Hunter as his half brother? Would Hunter?

"Rupert knows of his fa
th
er's summons?" Hunter asked.

The messenger shook his head. "Lord Rupert was away when Lord Reginald sent me here, though he might be back by t
h
e time you reach Hawkhaven. You must not da
l
ly, my lord. Lord Reginald was adamant to see you immediately."

Whatever it was that Lord Reginald wanted to tell him he seemed to not want his son to be present. There was no point in speculating until he saw his foster lord and heard of his tidings in person, but his heart swelled with the knowledge that soon he would meet his father.

"I thank you for your prompt delivery of Lord Reginald's message. Avail yourself of a hearty meal and you may spread your that in my ha
l
l this night. I will accompany you back to Hawkhaven at dawn."

The man bowed, then found a place to sit at a table below the dais.

"Gervase," Hunter called. "Select two knights and three men-at-arms for the journey on the morrow. I bid you to remain at Windermere to protect the castle in my absence."

"Would you allow me to serve you in this journey, my lord?" Jeremy, Hunter's squire, asked as he filled Hunter's tankard with ale.

"I might be in need of your services as long as you keep your sword away from my body."

The young man nodded with such vehemence Hunter was afraid his head would rip from his neck and roll down the dais.

"Who is Lord Reginald?" Détra asked.

"I fostered at his castle."

"Fostered? I thought Windermere was your home."

Hunter had to constantly remind himself Détra remembered naught of her
l
ife. "It is now," he said, taking a swallow of ale.

"Oh!" She seemed to take a moment to digest his words. "Is Lord Reginald your foster father?"

Hunter's attention snapped quickly back at her. He was never sure what D
é
tra meant with the words she chose to use. At times he could not understand her at all; at other times, even the words he understood seemed to have a different meaning for which they were intended.

A result of her lack of memory, for certain. Stil
l
...

"My foster lord," he answered. "I have no father." He watched her closely at his disclosure of such truth.

"I am sorry," she said, looking truthful and contrite. "Lord Reginald seems anxious to see you; he must care for you."