Bride of the Beast (36 page)

Confident and proud, he sat calmly beside her, conversing with his men, offering her prime morsels of roasted beef from their shared trencher or sipping hippocras with clear appreciation... all the while rubbing slow, lazy circles across her pulsing woman's flesh.

Snatching the wine cup they shared, Caterine took a healthy sip. She let the warmed, spiced wine flow down her throat... and t
hank
ed the heavens his questing fingers couldn't breach the cloth of her skirts.

He glanced at her then, a devilish light in his good eye, and, for just an instant, flicked the tip of his middle finger over the throbbing nub at the very core of her womanhood. Caterine jerked, her thighs tensing in immediate reaction to the blinding jolt of pleasure ripping through her at the single, fleeting touch.

He gave her a slow, knowing smile, then turned back to his men. And, wanton that he was making her, she parted her thighs in a shameful admission she craved his lewd ministrations, and wanted more.

Even here, in her seat of honor at the very high table itself.

Comprehending at once, he nodded imperceptibly and immediately implemented more simple flickings to his slow, sensual rubbing of her beneath the table linens.

And she let him.

For truth, she would have cried out if he ceased, for over the past few nights, she'd learned the meaning of
nub of
pleasure.

Her champion had proven himself well-versed in extracting pleasure from the mysterious spot that seemed to be the very apex of all carnal bliss.

Leaning toward her suddenly, he brushed his lips against her temple, using the kiss to whisper in her ear. "When we've retired to your chamber, I shall kiss you there," he said, just as he pressed one fingertip hard against the throbbing nub.

Very deliberately, he began rotating the finger... only to lift it away before her building pleasure could shatter in the fierce release she now knew came swift on the heels of such concentrated toyings.

Kiss me there?
She almost gasped the words aloud, the very thought almost pushing her over the edge. Surely she'd misunderstood.

"Nay, you did not mis-hear me," he murmured, his breath warming her neck, the flick of his tongue over her heated flesh firing her blood. "I mean to
lick
at you all the night through and do not even think to try and stop me."

Caterine disguised her sharply indrawn breath with a generous gulp of hippocras, swallowing the potent wine so quickly, her eyes teared.

She struggled not to cough as she dabbed at her cheeks with the corner of her linen napkin and scanned the faces of those crowded round the high table. Relief filled her when no reproachful glances stared back at her. No one seemed to have seen or cared.

At this late hour, many of the carousers were already sleeping off the heavy meal, their heads resting on folded arms, their snores blending with the general ruckus.

Others, including the young knight,
Lachlan
, and even James, had taken themselves off to join the hardiest of the celebrants dancing with great vigor at the far end of the hall. And some, her husband's hard-bitten Highlanders mostly, held earnest discourse over the matter of Sir Hugh and what to do about Kinraven.

"—and after he's confessed himself besieged, we return to Kintail?"

Return to Kintail.

The words, spoken by one of the Highlanders, ripped through Caterine's sensual haze with the ease of heavy hands rending silk. She listened as the other caterans echoed the first's concerns ... all wanted to know when they'd be home again.

Her heart hammering, Caterine glanced at her husband. Seemingly unaware of her concerns, he lifted wide shoulders and greeted his men's query with a jovial smile.

"By Yuletide, my good fellows," he assured them, lifting his wine cup to underscore the promise. Not that any such firmly spoken words needed embellishment. The utter conviction behind them slid down Caterine's spine like little chips of ice.

As if sensing her disquiet, he withdrew his hand from between her thighs, and, touching the backs of his fingers to her face, gently smoothed a few strands of hair from her brow.

But for all his tenderness, something in the set of his jaw told her his planned return to Kintail was an issue he would not bend on... despite the breath-stealing intimacies he lavished on her behind her closed chamber door.

The knowledge—that he meant to leave—sluiced through her with a cold certainty as physical as his touch.

She looked away before he could see her own steely resolve, her determination to keep him at her side.

At Dunlaidir.

She peered across the smoke-hazed hall, her gaze reaching the circle of whirling, energetic dancers just in time to see James stumble. Unable to keep up with the dance's strenuous pace, he tripped and fell face-long to the floor.

Barks of laughter accompanied his plight as dancers leapt over or sidestepped his sprawled form. Her heart twisting, Caterine looked on as he pushed to his knees in the thick layer of newly spread rushes, his face dark, the cruel taunts of a few ale-headed revelers reminding her why she must convince her husband to stay.

Across the table, unaware of James's embarrassment, Father Tomas coughed discreetly. "And how will you persuade Sir Hugh to concede himself besieged?" he wanted to know. "His arm is long and his treachery great."

"Sir
John
's was the blackest treachery," James ground out, limping up to the table. He drew back his laird's chair with a painfully loud scrape, and sank heavily into its oaken

embrace.

"I've no doubt it was he who fired an arrow into the back of the miscreant who took aim at Strongbow and Lady Caterine the afternoon of the wedding," he said, nodding stiff t
hank
s to Eoghann as he plunked another steaming platter of roasted meat onto the table. "He no doubt sought to still the blackguard's tongue before Black Dugie could haul him before us."

Murmurs of agreement and hearty nods circled the high table.

James dabbed at his moist brow, his fury at Sir
John
's duplicity clearly vexing him more than losing his footing in the dance. "The man broke every rule of hospitality long held sacred in this land, and all the while he consorted with the devil behind our backs."

"And he now sups at the horned one's own table," Sir

Ross commented, helping himself to a long draught of ale. "His friend Sir Hugh will be joining him there anon lest he is wise enough to ride south on a very swift steed."

"Hugh de la Hogue has learned we are not a pack of halfling laddies he can whisk aside like a swarm of pesky midges," her husband said, placing his hand over hers on the table, idly kneading the tops of her fingers as he spoke, her heart quickening at his touch.

He glanced sharply at her, a knowing gleam sparking in his good eye, before he turned back to his men.

"Either he has made a retiral to
England
by the time we return to Kinraven to fetch the remaining cattle or he can prepare himself to make peace with his God," he said pouring himself a generous portion of hippocras. "A sad prospect, for I doubt the good Lord will greet him fair." "And Kinraven?" That from James. Her husband took a sip of his wine, exchanged telling glances with his men. "Kinraven will be no more," he said. "Naught shall remain but soot and ash. Allowing it to stand will only invite another of the same ilk to take Sir Hugh's place."

"And how shall you turn as well-watched a stronghold as Kinraven into a burning pyre?" Caterine masked her concern with a note of pique.

What shall I do if—this time
—
you fail to return?
Her heart demanded.

"I mislike seeing worry on your brow," he said, looking right past her lifted chin and straight into her heart. "You've no need to fret yourself for I shall return without the merest scratch. We all shall."

"But..."

"Never you worry, my sweet." He brought her hand to his lips and placed a bold kiss in the center of her palm. "We shall take Kinraven as we've taken other such occupied holdings in the most turbulent times of the past."

Releasing her hand, he chucked her under the chin. "With stealth."

"Stealth, a dark night, and well-sharpened blades," the bearded Sir Gowan tossed out, sitting a bit forward and looking as if he'd relish the moment. "That, and enough good men to scale the walls and turn the whole to a burnt, blackened shell before they ken—"

"Nay, my men," her husband's objection came swift. He gave them each a long and level look. A warning look. "We shall not sully ourselves by adopting their methods of villainy."

He raised a silencing hand at their protestations, the ground-swell of grumblings rising from the nearest long tables.

"The garrison men are no different from ours. They merely fight under de la Hogue's banner," he said, speaking loud enough to be heard by all. A calming, authoritative voice in the chaos.

He looked from one to the other, waiting for them, and those at the other tables, to still their tongues before he continued. "They will be given a choice: return to
England
and their families on their knightly honor never to cross the border again ... or remain and die with Sir Hugh."

Silence greeted that... silence and creased brows.

"And de la Hogue?"
Father Tomas's quavering voice came over-loud in the heavy, listening quiet. "What of him?"

"I shall challenge him," Sir Marmaduke returned. "He can die by the sword, and on his feet, as a man of worth should hope to do ... or within the burning walls of Kin-raven as a coward."

His lips set in a taut line, he stood, drawing Caterine up with him. 'That, good sirs, shall be his choice." He wrapped his arm about Caterine's waist. "The man has made his fate."

"And from the looks of it, you're about to make yours!" an ale-slurred voice rose from a nearby table, the ribald call breaking the thick tension in the dais end of the hall.

Darkness slid from his men's faces as well, as, at once, all manner of well-meant jesting and bawdish hollers rose to the smoke-blackened rafters.

"Ale and wine will flow freely late into the night," Sir Marmaduke called out, his commanding voice lifting above the ribaldry. "Partake and enjoy."

Lacing his fingers with hers, he raised their linked hands for all to see. "My lady and I have ... other plans, and bid you a good night!"

Caterine stood motionless beside him, her heart pounding wildly, gladful when he lowered their hands and swept her high into his arms.

Gladful, and freely giving herself over to the little flickers of heated excitement licking through her now that the long evening was about to come to an end. Or, better said, begin.

I
shall kiss you there,
her champion had said. Her worries momentarily forgotten, a tiny smile curved her lips as he carried her from the hall. Kiss her
there. Lick at her.

A delicious tremor rippled through her at the very thought. And he'd voiced concern she wouldn't let him.

Pulsing with need even now, Caterine sighed and began counting each step of their circuitous climb up the winding turnpike stair. Let him, indeed. She could scarce wait.

“will you truly?”

The three words, whisper-soft but smoldering with the smooth, dark heat of a woman on the verge of passion, ripped into Marmaduke with all the force of a howling winter wind descended upon him in full gale.

Blasting not cold, but pure, molten heat straight into his loins.

Halfway down the dimly lit passage to her bedchamber, he halted at once, angling her in his arms so the flickering light of a nearby wall torch could better illuminate her face.

Not that he didn't already know what she meant.

Nor what a tempting sweetmeat she was—he'd already tasted her once, if fleetingly.

This time he meant to sate himself on her.

Oh, aye, he knew what she wanted with every fiber of his body, every beat of his smitten heart. It was writ all over her.

She met his gaze full on, her keen-edged excitement almost shimmering in the air between them, the lush swell of her breasts rising and falling with a rapidity that didn't lie.

"Will I what?" Marmaduke spoke at last, amazed he could push the words past the tightness in his throat—the
want
coursing through him.

He caressed her face, traced the line of her jaw with his thumb ... and waited, silently willing her to voice her desire.

She blinked, clearly delving for courage. "Will you truly kiss me ...
there?”
she finally blurted.

"Where, my love?" devils made him ask as he set off again, this time great-strided... eager to reach her chamber and the bliss awaiting him there.

She held her tongue, her lower lip caught between her teeth, as he neared her door. Some far-thinking soul had cracked it, and a gentle urging with his boot was all it took to send the door swinging inward.