Dragonblade Trilogy - 01 - Dragonblade (24 page)

He just stared at her.
Then he burst out laughing. “Do you memorize everything I say?”

“I have an astounding
memory.”

“No doubt,” he
sobered, shaking his head. “I shall have to watch what I say around you if you
do not easily forget.”

She was smiling in
spite of herself, watching the expression on his face. “Nay, I do not forget,”
she said softly, her smile fading. “Would you mind, then, telling me what
changed your mind about me?”

He cocked a dark
eyebrow in mock exasperation. “Must you know everything?”

“I must.”

He was amused.
“Suffice it to say that your trait of beauty negated the trait of bad manners. 
And so did your traits of bravery, intelligence and compassion.”

She watched him as he
rubbed his cheek against the back of her hand. Now that they were communicating
easily, there were many more questions she wanted to ask him.  She was suddenly
wildly curious to know more about him, this man who would be her husband. When
she thought about it, they’d never had a moment to truly sit and come to know
each other. Everything had been in passing or during a crisis. But now, there
was time.

“Will you be truthful
with me?” she asked timidly.

“I will always be
truthful with you. Lying is not in my nature.”

She was sobering,
growing serious. “Will you please tell me if the rumors about you are true?”

“What rumors are those?”
“That you are Longshank’s son?”

His smile faded, an odd look coming to his
eye. “Does it matter?”
“It does not. But I would like to know the truth.”

He sighed faintly,
somehow moving closer to her in the process. There was a lengthy pause, during
which time Toby watched his expression as he pondered her question. She held
her breath, wondering if he was going to answer her. Finally, he opened his
mouth.

“Since we are
betrothed, I suppose it is your right to know,” he said. “Aye, he was my
father. I was his firstborn son, born exactly one month before his heir, Edward
the Second.”

Toby struggled not to
openly react to what she had always been told. Still, to hear it from his lips
was something of a revelation.

“And your mother? Was
she really a Welsh princess?”

He nodded slowly. “From all accounts, she and
my father were very much in love,” he began stroking her shoulder, his hand
trailing down her arm. “Her name was Dera. She was the youngest daughter of
Dafydd ap Gruffydd and she met my father when Dafydd and Edward were briefly
allied against Dafydd’s brother, Llewelyn, Prince of Wales. Their love affair
was brief, resulting in my conception, and when my mother perished in
childbirth, Dafydd turned me over to my father for fear that Llewelyn would
somehow harm me. My father gave me over to the great Marcher Lords of de Lara
to raise when I was still an infant, hence the name I carry is de Lara.”
     “But you are a prince on both sides of your family, not simply a knight.”

He shrugged. “I would
be proud to be a mere knight, but by virtue of my birth, I am slightly more.
The Harbottle Commons lordship is only the beginning.”

She lifted an eyebrow.
“The beginning? I do not understand.”

He drew in a long, thoughtful
breath. “Along with Harbottle, I hold title to the baronetcies of Workington
and Consett as well as the title Viscount Whitehaven, Lord Protector of
Cumbria. I am also the Earl of Carlisle.”

Toby couldn’t help it;
her eyes widened. “You are an earl?”

“That is a recent
title.”

 Her mouth flew open;
she slapped a hand over it so she wouldn’t look like an idiot. Tate acted as if
it was truly nothing to be shocked over and took her hand back, just so he
could kiss it again. The storm cloud colored eyes glittered.

“Now you will tell me
about your linage, Mistress Elizabetha Cartingdon,” he said. “And mind you
leave nothing out.”

She was still stunned,
struggling to gather her wits. “I am certainly none of the peerage you speak
of,” she said. “
The
most I can do is claim relation to the barons of Northumberland. The last
baron, Ives de Vesci, had several daughters. My father was a son of de Vesci’s
third daughter. And my mother’s sire told me that we are descended from a
Viking king named Red Thor.”

He smiled knowingly.
“I can see the beauty of Viking maidens in you,” he said. “You clearly should
bear the title of ‘lady’, not mistress.”

She shook her head.
“My father is only a farmer, a wealthy man through hard work. He is slightly
above a peasant and slightly below the nobility.”

“Nonsense,” Tate said
softly. “If you are relation to the barons of Northumberland, then you are
clearly entitled to be called ‘my lady’. And when you are my wife, you will be
much more.”

Toby just stared at
him, her hazel eyes limpid with a doe-eyed expression. It was clear that she
was still struggling to digest everything. “Will you tell me something more?”
she asked softly.

He was moving closer
to her, inspecting her, devouring her with his gaze. “Anything.”

“Will you tell me about your wife?”
His dark eyes gazed at her with mild surprise. “What do you wish to know?”

She shrugged, averting
her gaze. “I… I suppose I was just wondering who she was and how you met her.”
She looked up at him again, speaking quickly. “You do not have to tell me if
you do not want to. I am only curious and nothing more. I would hold only the
highest respect for her, I assure you.”

He gazed at her a
moment before a smile tugged at his lips. “I would never think otherwise,” he
said quietly. “And I suppose it is natural to be curious; therefore, her name
was Catherine and she was a member of the de Broase family, close allies of the
de Laras.  We were pledged many years ago, in fact, when she was slightly more
than a child. I was fifteen years older than her when we married; she was only
sixteen.”

Toby nodded every so
often, listening to every word. “I take it that she did not have appalling
manners like me,” she quipped softly.

He laughed. “Nay, she
did not,” he replied. “She was a sweet little thing with big green eyes and a
funny laugh. But she had never been in the best of health. When she conceived
our daughter, the pregnancy was terrible. She was in bed for the duration.  And
when it came to deliver the child… well, suffice it to say that her body could
not handle the strain. She passed away shortly after the stillborn birth.”

Toby put her hand on
his. “I am sincerely sorry,” she said quietly. “It must have been devastating
for you.”

“It was,” he agreed
quietly. “Catherine and I were together less than a year, but in that year, she
showed me something of love. It was a surprise.”

Toby smiled faintly.
“That she showed you how to love?”

“That I could feel
love.” He looked at Toby’s face, moving an index finger along her cheek to her
jaw line. There was something smoldering in his gaze that seduced and devoured
her. “I never imagined I could experience the emotion. I thought it was
impossible. Then when she died, I thought all of my ability to feel any emotion
had died with her. And then I met you.”

Toby’s heart was
pounding painfully against her ribs as his storm cloud eyes gazed at her
intensely. His touch was hot, gentle, moving across her chin and down her neck,
scorching her until she could hardly breathe.

“You felt nothing but
frustration with me at first,” she said in a ragged voice. “Of that, you were
clear.”

The corner of his
mouth twitched and he shifted his body, moving closer still. His hands gripping
her upper arms, trapping her. “Frustration then fascination,” he said hoarsely.
“From fascination to awe. And then from awe to….”

He didn’t finish as
his mouth suddenly clamped down over hers, his lips warm and soft and gentle.
But a moment later, his enormous arms were wrapping around her slender body and
he was pulling her fiercely against him. He kissed her as he had never kissed a
woman before, unrestrained and potent. He kissed her as if he couldn’t get
enough of her fast enough. She was sweet and soft and his tongue demanded entry
into her mouth, taking advantage of it when she opened timidly to him. He
swooped in, licking her, tasting her, feeling his heart pound in his ears and
his loins grow harder by the second.

As Tate dominated,
Toby submitted. Normally aggressive by nature, it seemed to be her inherent
reaction to surrender when being passionately dominated. Her arms were around
his neck as he ravaged her, his mouth moving over her cheeks, lips, neck and to
her shoulders. In the warm sleeping shift that Ailsa had packed, there was
nothing between the garment and her naked flesh. Tate held her ferociously
against his torso with his right hand while his left began to wander.

Toby was aware of his
lips on her shoulder, his hand moving across her back to her forearm.  She was
muddle-headed, feeling each new sensation as if she was feeling repeated
strikes of lightening. Everything made her quiver and shake. When his big hand
moved to her abdomen, she shuddered, and when it finally moved up her torso to
gently cup her right breast, she nearly bolted.

Tate held her fast,
his mouth coming up from her shoulder. “I am sorry,” he murmured. “I did not
mean to frighten you.”

She shook her head,
her breathing coming in fast little pants. “You did not,” she said, meeting his
half-lidded gaze. “But you… you did startle me.”

“If you do not want me
to touch you there, I will not.”

She blinked as if she
did not understand the question. “As my betrothed, it is your right.”

He smiled faintly. “I
know what my rights are. But I do not want to make you uncomfortable.”

Toby didn’t know what
to say. She looked at him, half in apprehension, half in passion, until he
gently held her face between his two enormous hands and kissed her cheek.

“Here,” he said
softly. “Let me show you what I was about to do. If you decide you do not like
it, then I will never do it again.”

Toby nodded
unsteadily, watching his reassuring wink. The shift was laced between her
breasts; without word, Tate began to carefully unlace the bindings. One by one,
the holes were unlaced until the string was cast aside. The shift was now
nearly open to her navel. As the fire snapped softly and the kitten purred at
the other end of the bed, Tate very gently pulled her shift off her shoulders,
exposing tantalizing flesh inch by inch, not saying a word as the lamb’s wool
garment fell away. He watched her breasts become more and more exposed to his
hungry eyes until the edge of the fabric was just at nipple level.  He could
see her taut nipples straining against the fabric. Then he looked at her.

“May I?”

Toby was breathing so
heavily that she could hardly speak. It was a terrifying experience for a
virgin yet an extremely arousing, intimate one.  He was undressing her inch by
inch and her body was on fire for reasons she did not understand. When he asked
the question, she merely nodded.

He smiled faintly,
lowering his head and tenderly kissing the top of her breasts.   It was a slow,
warm, provocative gesture.  When he finally gave a little tug, the right side
of the shift pulled way and her entire right breast was exposed. The nipple
hardened with the sudden movement. Tate was still kissing the top of her
breasts but he moved to the right one, gently suckling on the flesh surrounding
the nipple.  He made no move to actually touch the puckered pellet.  Toby let
out a harsh exhale that was something between a gasp and a groan, feeling
lightheaded with the flames he was stirring within her. For a moment, he
stopped kissing altogether. Then, she felt something warm, wet and firm against
her nipple.

Toby couldn’t help the
moan that escaped her lips. That primal noise was all Tate needed to unleash the
lust that had been building in his veins for the past several minutes; he
pulled her against him once more, tightly, and his mouth began to suckle her
nipple furiously. Toby cried out as at the pleasure of it, her arms going
around his head as if holding a starving child to her breast. The tighter she
held his head, the harder he suckled and the more firmly he held her against
him. They were engulfing each other.

For as gentle as he
had been, Tate was very quickly deteriorating into mad oblivion.  He’d never
had anything so sweet and strong and delicious. The shift came off completely
as he laid her back on the bed, his hands and mouth doing things to her that
made Toby oblivious to all else.  She was gasping for every breath as his mouth
moved between her breasts, licking and suckling with a vengeance. His hands
were on her thighs, moving up to cup her heart-shaped bottom with both hands as
his passion overwhelmed him. She was soft and warm, and he was raging out of
control.

Tate forgot himself as
his mouth moved down her torso to her navel; he ran his tongue around it,
listening to her gasp with pleasure. He was in a fog and vaguely remembered
peeling off his own tunic and removing his breeches. He couldn’t stop himself,
not if God himself had appeared and demanded he cease. Everything about Toby
was perfect and delectable and he was consumed with the feel and taste of
her.   He wouldn’t stop; more than that, he couldn’t.