A Knight's Vow Part 45

She explored his face now, sliding a fingertip along the crest of his brow, sweeping the bristled hollow of his cheek with her thumb, smoothing the flesh across his jaw, then plunging her hands into the curls at the base of his neck. She sighed against his lips, and her breath was the breath of life, of spring, of sunlight in the dark.

She couldn't know how exalted she made him feel. In the blinding black, she embraced him, accepted him as if he were that man he'd thought lost so long ago. She neither shrank from him in horror nor shook her head in pity, and for once, he reveled in blessed anonymity.

Her fingers coursed along the strained cords of his neck, over the vein pulsing madly in his throat, and he swallowed hard beneath her touch. She nuzzled his ear, her lips nibbling at the lobe, her breath tickling the whiskers along his jaw, and he sucked a tight breath between his teeth.

He wanted her. Urgently. Needed her. He hardened like a molten sword plunged into snow. Surely she felt him stiffen against her, felt the blatant proof of his desire. And yet she didn't retreat. Nay, she pressed even closer, torturing him with her tender woman's shape, letting her hands roam at will over his shoulders, his arms, his chest, so close to his heart.

Hilaire knew not this brazen woman inside her. She was wanton, wild, and unbridled, like a mare quartered with a rutting stallion. She knew no shame, only greed. For what, she was uncertain. But she couldn't keep her hands from roving over the masculine curves and hollows before her. And if lips followed where hands led, it was with an overwhelming thirst that found no quenching.

He swiftly hardened against her belly like a dagger, and though her cheeks burned at the sensation, for she knew well the significance of his swelling, she felt no desire to withdraw. In truth, she longed to press even nearer his man's body, to lose herself in his arms, in his l.u.s.t, in his power.

A vibration sang along her spine like the sounding of a harp string, humming in her ears, reverberating low in her belly, until it emerged on a moan from her throat.

He answered at once, a groan edged with animal heat, and her pa.s.sion flared like dry boughs tossed onto flame, turning her to a burning pillar of longing. She needed... needed...

Him. His arms. His mouth. Closer.

With a stranger's hands, she clawed at his garments, willing them gone, whimpering against his mourn when they'd not obey her.

And then he caught her fists against his heaving chest, halting them, gasping as he grunted a warning. "Nay... you must not."

"But I want... I need..."

His hot breath seared her fingers. "Go now. Get away. Before I forget I am a gentleman."

But she was beyond caring. "Nay. I want... I want..." She knew what she wanted, but mere words could not express her desire. So she pulled her hands from his and rapidly began loosening the laces of her kirtle. It was a wicked thing, displaying her l.u.s.t like a common tart, and yet no pang of regret afflicted her. When she had loosed her garment, she took his hand in both of hers and, kissing his palm, placed it where she wanted it most, upon the tingling curve of her bosom.

He gasped as if burned, but she held his hand there, thrilling to the sensation of the rough pads of his fingers upon her untried flesh.

"Lady, you know not what you do... what you..."

She slipped his hand further inside her bodice, sighing in pleasure at the way his fingers curved perfectly about her breast, as if they were made for such a thing.

"Ah, G.o.d..." he cried, and the hunger in his voice incited her to a fever pitch of longing.

She lunged against him, and his hand moved fully over her, his fingers brus.h.i.+ng the sensitive peak. She drew in a sharp breath, catching her bottom lip between her teeth, so aching sweet was the sensation. Naught could possibly feel more divine, she thought.

Until he lowered his head, tickling the flesh of her bared shoulder with his thick mane, and closed his lips over the crest of her nipple.

Ryance knew better. He knew if he dared to taste her, if he dared slake his thirst, it would be hisundoing. Yet her own reckless abandon, her wantonness, her encouragement, compelled him onward.So, despite dire misgivings, he knelt to take tender suckle from her, savoring her ambrosia on his starvingtongue.

"Aye. Oh, aye," she groaned, firing his blood till he shook with an ecstasy of longing.

Her breast's twin was just as succulent, and she moaned softly as he took his pleasure there as well, laving the supple flesh and teasing the nipple to a stiff peak.

She tangled her fingers in his unruly locks, holding him to her, accepting him, and his heart soared even as

his braies swelled to bursting.

"Oh, G.o.d..." Her sigh ruffled his hair. "Please..."

It was as if she spoke directly to that appendage rising betwixt his legs, for it responded as if it knew for

what she begged. But here he had to intervene. Here he had to curb his animal desires and musterstrength to prevent them both."We mustn't...""Please," she whispered."But my lady, I fear..."

Her fingers found his lips. "Do not fear. Do not speak. Only... please..."

His groan was somewhere between a laugh and a sob. Lord, Hilaire hadn't even the words to ask for what she desired. She didn't even know her pa.s.sion's name.

But that didn't stop her from demanding satisfaction. Or begging for it. She dropped to her knees before

him and caught his gambeson in her fists. "Please."

He had to drag the words from the depths of his moral soul, from the heart of his chivalry, and they came from him as harshly as an arrow from a wound. "I... cannot."

"Why?" she whispered.

"Because you are an innocent," he murmured. "And I am a knight, under a vow to protect..."

"d.a.m.n your vow."

He desired nothing more. But Hilaire spoke from that innocence. She knew not what she demanded of

him.

"What have we to lose?" she asked. "What more horrible Fate awaits us if we act on our desires rather than denying them?"

He felt her gaze in the dark, and he knew, for all her youth and innocence, she was right. They were

bound to die anyway. And no act could further stain his already scarred soul.

"Please," she entreated, reaching up one hand to stroke his cheek. "I would taste love just once before I die."

His heart melted at that, and he swallowed hard. Then he nodded, and she collapsed gratefully into his arms.

"It may not be as you expect," he murmured against her hair.

"It doesn't matter."

"I don't wish to hurt you."

She toyed with the quilting on his gambeson. "Does not a new-made knight endure the accolade of his lord's fist?" Her fingertip traced the outline of his mouth. "What is a rite of pa.s.sage without pain?"

He nipped at her finger, calmed the beast in his braies, and considered carefully what he was about to do. Hilaire was his betrothed. She was to have been his. Their wedding would not, it appeared, come to pa.s.s. They had no lifetime together then, not years or months or even days. But they had this moment, now. And perhaps in this small sliver of time, he could grant her just one precious gift-the gift of his body, the gift of his love.

Hilaire would have been lying if she said she was not apprehensive, but as soon as Ryance gently began removing her garments, setting each aside with care, a.s.suring her with constant touches that he was there for her, her fears vanished like mist. Soon she stood naked before him in the dark, listening while he disrobed as well.

He lay her tenderly atop the hard earth floor, cus.h.i.+oned by their garments. For a long while he did naught but run his hands over her, like a potter molding clay, and by the quickening of his breath, she could tell he approved of her form. She explored his contours as well, the magnificent breadth of his shoulders, the hard ridges of his stomach, the powerful cut of his arms. He was beautiful, this man who was to be her husband, who was her husband, and she let her hands roam lower, eager to know everything about him.

He grunted as she enclosed the warm, firm length of him in her palm. For all the crisp nest of curls at his base, his skin was amazingly soft, and he stiffened in her hand like a steel sword sheathed in velvet.

"Lady," he rasped, guiding her hand away, "you will undo me. Have patience."

She lay back then, surrendering to his pace, and he brought her a feast of delights. He left little of her untouched, stroking her reverently from the crown of her head to the sensitive soles of her feet. He kissed her belly, and she arched to meet his mouth. He ran his tongue along the back of her knee, and she squirmed in pleasure. He sucked on her fingers, licking the delicate webbing between, and she gasped in unexpected delight.

But all the while an ache grew deep inside her, a carnal hunger between her thighs, and this was the one spot he would not touch, no matter how her body silently begged. She moaned for him, rocking her head to and fro, lost in dreamy languor as he tormented her.

"Shh," he admonished. "Hush. 'Twill come."

At long last he slung one heavy thigh over hers, pinning her, and slipped one stealthy hand down between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, over her belly, and into the thick of her woman's curls. She arched upward, mewling, willing him to touch her... there. And when he finally did, when the moist tips of his fingers parted the petals of her maiden's flower and touched the treasure within, she had to bite her lip to still her cry of relief.

He circled over her flesh then, sliding his hand across her again and again. And he kissed her-on the mouth, on her eyelids, beneath her ear, atop her breast-branding her with his lips till it seemed he possessed every inch of her. For a long while she languished in an agony of ecstasy, and then he murmured in her ear.

"Are you ready for me?"

His rough voice tugged at her pa.s.sions, and she answered him breathlessly. "Aye. Oh aye."

Then she felt him move over her, felt the weight of him above her, and she stiffened, but he did not press down upon her yet. Instead, he moved his fingers with more purpose over and over the aching nubbin at her core. With his other hand, he plucked gently at her nipples, awakening such pleasure that she felt afire with it. And then, when she thought she could feel no higher joy, a curious current began to build within her veins, ama.s.sing emotion and sensation into one swirling cloud of pure rapture. For one glorious moment, she floated high above the ground, free of care, free of fate, free of her body. Then with a brilliant flash like a thousand bolts of lightning, she cried out her pa.s.sion on his name and plummeted earthward on the wings of a comet.

Ryance pressed into her as swiftly and mercifully as he could, but his focus had been irrevocably shattered by her victorious cry.

Ryance. She'd called him Ryance. She knew.

She couldn't possibly understand what redemption she offered him when she spoke his name, but he felt suddenly as if he could burst through walls of solid rock for her.

He filled her completely now, and he sighed at the utter bliss of womanflesh surrounding him. She made not a murmur of protest while he waited for her burning to ease and her muscles to relax.

"Oh, Hilaire." He wanted to say a hundred things to her, to apologize, to thank her, to vow his undying devotion. But she moved against him, and all his thoughts were lost as desire surged in his veins like a swollen river.

A score of thrusts, and his long-idle member nigh exploded with relief, spilling its bounty into her hot womb. He shuddered, torn apart mentally and physically by the wondrous woman beneath him. Moved past speech, grateful beyond expression, he simply groaned her name over and over, kissing her face, her hair, her mouth until she giggled with delight.

Hilaire had never felt anything so wondrous. His breaching of her maidenhead had been like the splitting of a chrysalis, birthing a new and brilliant b.u.t.terfly. She felt beautiful and precious and alive.

This was the magic of lovemaking, she realized. Not only the heady desire and the fierce explosion of pa.s.sion, but this enveloping glow afterward. He still filled her, and it seemed he belonged there, deep inside, as if she'd always been waiting for him, as if he were a part of her.

She nuzzled his neck, where his pulse yet throbbed warm against her cheek, and for one miraculous moment, forgot about everything but the two of them.

"I love you," she whispered recklessly, blus.h.i.+ng at her own confession, but knowing she'd follow him anywhere now, whether he journeyed to heaven or h.e.l.l.

He squeezed her tighter, and his chuckle sounded almost like a sob. "G.o.d curse me for a fool, but I love you as well."

And then, laughing together in the somber face of despair, they slowly drifted to sleep, their limbs entwined, their hearts entangled, The Black Gryphon and Lady Hilaire.

A trickle of dust awakened Ryance, and he opened his eyes. How much time had pa.s.sed? An hour? A day? Two? The air was so stale he could scarcely breathe, his mind so confused he couldn't comprehend the bright white line that appeared to cut the world in half.

He heard voices. Faint, growing stronger. Campbell. A woman. Somebody else. And he realized the line was a beam of sunlight. The captain had found them at long last! His men and hers, from the sound of it, were breaking through!

His heart leaped in his breast, and he turned to jostle Hilaire awake, to tell her the good news.

"Hilaire!" he croaked, his throat as dry as dust. He shook her by the shoulder. "Hilaire!"

The light was dim, yet bright enough now to make out her features. Her hair was dark and lush, and her

face, though smudged with dirt, as lovely as an angel's. Her lashes fell thick upon her pale cheek, and her mouth possessed a natural upward curve, even in sleep, as if she dreamt only of happy things. Lord-his betrothed was beautiful.

"Hilaire! Wake up!" He shook her more roughly. "Hilaire!" But she would not budge. "Hil-"Mother of G.o.d.Nay.It couldn't be.His face crumpled, and his heart knifed painfully in his chest. It couldn't be. G.o.d could not be so cruel, could He? She couldn't be... dead. Not now. Not after all they'd been through.

And yet how else had it ever been for The Black Gryphon?

Had he really believed he could break the curse? Had he truly expected salvation?

Anguish seeped into his .veins like bitter poison. He smoothed the tresses back from his angel's forehead

and clasped her limp hand. Her image blurred in his tearing eyes, and he cursed the Fates that had let her die without taking him as well.

A warm, wet drop fell upon Hilaire's cheek, and her eyes fluttered open. Where was she? The light was gray, and a man was bent over her, his face concealed by a fall of dark, unruly hair. She frowned. The poor man was weeping; Horrible sobs racked his chest. Her heart went out to him instantly.

Though her throat felt thick with sleep, she managed a whisper. "Don't cry."

His gaze flew to her with such intensity that for an instant she was petrified. But in the next heartbeat, she remembered everything-the siege, The Gryphon, the pa.s.sion they'd shared.

It was Ryance. It was her betrothed, the man she'd vowed to marry, this-dear G.o.d-devastatingly handsome man with sad eyes and a tousled mane, an expressive mouth and a bristled jaw. She could see him. Every bit of his watery gaze and battered face and dazzling smile. Which meant there was light in the tunnel.