Wings of the Storm (25 page)

His lips moved to replace his hand, which moved down her body to rest at the juncture of her upraised legs. Her thighs opened willingly to the slightest of pressure. His finger began to tease and stroke her, while his tongue and lips played over her breasts. When he gently nipped the side of her breast she cried out, but not from pain. Her hand dipped down to the rigid maleness pressing up between them, closed around it, teasing and stroking to match the rhythm of his hand on her. His hips jerked forward in eager

response. He caught a nipple to his mouth

and suckled greedily.

The tight, hot pleasure grew unbearable. She was slippery with desire, aching to have him inside her.

"Now, Daffyd," she urged.

His breath was coming in hard, ragged gasps, his fair skin suffused with heated blood. His eyes burned as they looked up into hers. She arched beneath his touch, begging for more.

"Daffyd!" she pleaded.

He took her mouth once more, a gentle touch, then covered her body with his. She welcomed him with a sharp cry, trembling and shaken with the power of her orgasm as he sheathed himself deep inside her.

White hot pleasure raced upward from the center where they joined. It was a lightning bolt, devastating her, leaving her hot and panting in its wake, yet still hungry for more as his smooth, hard shaft pierced her with deep, demanding strokes. Her hips pushed up to meet him, needing to take in all of him, to soar along with him as the pleasure climbed to greater heights. Climax took them together when it came, their bodies deeply entwined, breathing their cries of completion into each other's mouths.

They lay, melded together, for a few heartbeats while their racing hearts slowed and breathing calmed.

Jane exhaled a soft moan. Daffyd collapsed on top of her

with an exhausted "Umpfh!" Then he rolled to the side of the bed and drew her into his arms. He held her close, found her breast to use as a pillow.

She stroked the long hair away from his shoulder, running the blond silk through her fingers, and gazed up at the darkness outside the narrow window. She wondered at the time. She wondered what tomorrow would bring. She wondered why she was so happy when she'd just thrown all her carefully constructed plans to the winds of desire. She wondered if this feeling of newness and completion was what it felt like to be in love.

She no longer had to wonder if her erotic dreams of Daffyd ap Bleddyn would match the reality. She knew. She guessed her vivid imagination wasn't as vivid as she thought. Nothing in her dreams could compare to what had just passed between them. She told herself it didn't matter if it never happened again. He held her close. She wasn't alone. Tonight she could sleep without dreaming.

"I've wanted you," she whispered very softly into his riotously tangled hair, "since I first saw you." It didn't matter if he was awake to hear her words or not. It was probably better if he wasn't. To speak the truth as Jane Florian, even if she must be Jehane FitzRose in the morning, was enough. Being Jehane made it possible for Jane to meet and love this man. Jane could never have done it on her own.

After a short silence he sighed. He lifted his head from her breast to peer at her in the very dim light.

"I've wanted you," he told her, "since the night the lad died. Or perhaps it was after that, when I saw how good you were for the girl. It wasn't your beauty I wanted, Jehane." He paused long enough to kiss her gently. "Though you are beautiful. It was the kindness that drew me back."

"Kindness?" Why wasn't she surprised to hear the word from the Welsh mercenary? But then, hadn't he

been kind to her as well? He'd saved her life, made sure she was all right afterward, defending her from the king.

"Kindness. And knowing you wanted me." She didn't need to be able to see clearly to know he was looking at her with his usual smirk.

She tugged on his hair. "Insufferable."

"I can't marry you," he said. The words were spo-ken softly, but with bitter finality. "If I could take you from this . . . but I can't."

His words hit her like a blow, hurting her because she recognized the enormity of her mistake. For all her protests, for all the good reasons she had for liv-ing the rest of her life alone, she knew being alone was the last thing she wanted.

She'd fallen in love, and she didn't know how she could live without Daffyd ap Bleddyn after tonight.

Just one night wasn't enough for her. She could never have enough of this man. How could she convince him they belonged together?

"I've been a soldier's wife," she told him, remem-bering Jehane's supposed history.

"I can't marry you," he said again. "Even if I want-ed to. You couldn't live in my world, Jehane."

He didn't want to. He couldn't. He wouldn't. He didn't want to.

Why should he?

It hurt. Hurt enough to bring her back to her senses. She couldn't, either. Not really. Her brief vision of building a life together was just another foolish

dream. Just another soap-bubble illusion burst by the cold reality of this awful place. She wanted to go home. She was as helpless as ever.

She still answered him angrily.

"Even if you
wanted
to? You claimed me as your betrothed," she reminded him.

"To save your honor."

"To save me for yourself?" she spat back. Tears scalded her cheeks.

"No! I..." He rolled out of the bed. "All right," he said coldly, looming above her. "Yes. It was just an excuse to bed you myself. It didn't mean anything."

"That's not true!" She leapt out of bed to confront him. "Don't lie to me. It meant something. I know it did!"

What was the matter with her? Why shouldn't she believe all he'd wanted from her was the sex? It would be easier to believe he was cold and uncaring. But she heard the pain in his voice. She remembered how protective he'd been. It was too late for her to hate him now.

His hands found her shoulders. "No," he agreed. "It's not true. It's more than lust. But. . . Why won't you let me leave you with only your pride hurt?"

"Because that would be too easy for both of us," she heard herself answer. "It's more than my pride that's hurting, Daffyd. If you must break my heart, give me a reason."
Please,
she begged silently,
don't let
it be because he doesn't love me.

"You don't know me," he told her. "I'm not the man you think I am."

She almost laughed. "You don't know anything about me, either. We could leam."

"Everything I would tell you would be a lie."

Without realizing it, he'd echoed her own thought. She didn't tell him so. "You're a landless knight who serves a hated king. I don't mind."

"You should. You deserve better. I will not marry you, Jehane." He took her in his arms. "But I want you more than any woman I've ever known. And 1 want

you now."

In his embrace she didn't feel like talking anymore. She felt the peaks of her breasts hardening against the softly pelted muscles of his chest, felt the warm long-ing for his hardness begin inside her.

"You can't marry me and I can't marry you," she said, beginning to grow breathless with renewed hunger. "We can't be together after tonight."

She knew it was the truth, though the heady desire told her it was a lie.

She let him urge her back to the bed. She took his kisses and caresses, returning them with equal pas-sion. She moved beneath him. They climaxed togeth-er, calling each other's names as they soared into a burst of light.

Jane came slowly back to herself to find Daffyd collapsed limply across her satisfied body once more.

He gave a gusty sigh, muttered, "You bit me," and was instantly asleep.

He was heavy, but she didn't try to move him off her. She was close to sleep herself. She held him tight, and thought.
Forget this "we can't be together" nonsense. I'm not giving you up. Not after what we
just shared.

I will have you, Daffyd ap Bleddyn. We can't. We shouldn't. This feeling is impossible. I don't care what you say,she vowed.
Iwill make you want me too much to ever let me go.

24

Daffyd left her with a kiss before dawn.She clung to him for a moment, until she woke fully and remembered. Then she let him go. As she heard him dressing in the storeroom she reminded herself that she had to let him go. The night was gone. Just one night. She curled on her side and cried a little after the door closed behind him. She didn't feel like mak-ing puns. Then she remembered her vow before falling asleep: to make him love her. Not for just a night, but forever, somehow.

After a while she wiped her tears, got up, and bathed herself in a basin of cold water left from the day before. She dressed slowly, carefully, savoring the sensual memories of love play. Play? she ques-tioned herself with an ironic little smile. It seemed pretty serious to her. She sighed.

She rubbed a sore muscle in her upper thigh. "Out of practice." Her step was light when she walked into the corridor. She told herself her insane decision was the right one. She felt confident and relaxed. It helped her dodge the boy who came careening reck-lessly up the stairs just as she reached them. She turned to watch Michael skid to a halt, then pelt back to stand in front of her.

"Lady Jehane! I... I was sent..." Pant, pant. "For you."

His face was bruised and his eyes red-rimmed from crying, but he seemed healthy enough. She grabbed him to her in a fierce hug, and the memories of the events leading up to her night with Daffyd came rush-ing back to horrify her. The boy. Melisande. The king. Oh, God! The man she'd worked so hard to avoid had seen her and touched her and spoken to her. He knew of her existence. He—

No. She mustn't panic. She got tight control on her fear. Nothing would come of it, she told herself.

Nothing happened to change anything last night. Except her. And Michael. And perhaps Daffyd.

Michael wriggled out of her grasp. With his breathing back to normal, he said, "Lady Sibelle wants you in the chapel. She sent me to fetch you." He danced nervously from foot to foot. "Please hurry. It's important." He took off like a shot back down the worn treads of the stairs. Jane watched him go, terri-fied the clumsy boy was in for another fall. Instead he moved as if his feet had wings. She shook her head, hoped no one of interest was in the hall at this hour, and followed quickly after.

Sunlight pouring in the cross-shaped chapel window gave the old stone walls a mellow glow. She found Sibelle and Michael kneeling in a half circle near the altar. They were looking down on something, not pray-ing. Curious, she came toward them. Stretched out on the floor was the bloodstained body of Melisande.

Michael shot to his feet and grabbed Jane's hand. "She'll be all right." It was more of a plea than a statement as he looked back at the hound's still form.

Sibelle looked up at Jane and nodded. "I think the wound will heal—"

Jane stared at Melisande. The dog raised her head slightly, looking at her with soft brown eyes. Her tongue lolled out ridiculously, but she let out a faint whimper of pain.

Jane sank gratefully to her knees by the dog's head, rubbing the gold-furred floppy ears. "You're alive, you silly bitch. You're alive." She kissed the warm black nose. She looked at Sibelle. "I saw the knife go in. I saw her fall. It seemed—"

"Michael and Bertram dragged her in here," Sibelle told her. "Bertram went looking for Switha but couldn't find her. So before first light, Michael came to me." She gave the boy a fond look. "I'm doing what I can. She's a healthy animal."

"What can I do to help?" Jane wanted to know. Melisande's head was lying in her lap, and she was drooling on Jane's dress. It was wonderful.

"I know Switha took some of the girls into the woods," Sibelle said. "She must still be with them. She

said the Lady Spring, but she hasn't taken me there yet. Do you know the way?"

"Vaguely. She took me there in early spring. Cerdic could show me, I suppose." She wanted to find Daffyd, but this was more important at the moment.

"No! Cerdic cannot show you. No man can show you the way," Sibelle insisted in exasperation. "It's a
Lady
Spring."

Right. Of course. Sibelle's great-great-great-what-ever-granny was a witch, too. Sibelle knew about such things. Jane got to her feet. "Then I'll have to remember."

"Hurry," Michael pleaded.

She looked straight at him. "Of course," she affirmed. "What else?"

And a nice long walk in the deep woods would keep her out of the king's sight. Not that he was going to remember her. Or that anything would happen anyway. Why was she so worried, just because this time travel business had got to be the stupidest thing that ever happened to anybody!

She took a deep breath. "I'll go now."

The men were out hunting outlaws again. When Jane checked with the guards at the gate, she was told the royal party was chasing their two-legged quarry in the opposite direction of where she needed to go.

She breathed a thankful sigh of relief and set off as quick-ly as her feet would carry her through the village and onto the forest path.

She remembered the way as far as the ruined tower where she'd arrived. Once there, she stood in the .

clearing full of tumbledown structures and bluebells and turned slowly, taking in the massed ranks of trees. She didn't recognize the way Switha'd taken her. Everything looked different with leaves and flow-ers and butterflies cluttering up the scenery. She sup-posed she'd have to make a guess. Which way? They'd gone past lots of trees. It was a forest. Of course they'd gone past lots of trees.

She didn't know much about trees, and she didn't know much about British folklore. She knew one sur-vey course on mythology in college didn't prepare her for dealing with real folk religion. "Trees," she said,

racking her brain, trying to remember what the dotty old lady teaching the class had said about trees.

"Oak. Everybody knows about oak." Oak . . .

"Oak, ash, and thorn," she said as the memory seemed to hit her in the back of the head. That was an oak there. Was that an ash? That's definitely a thorn. All in a row one right after another. All right! She could only hope it would work.