Love Never Lies (36 page)

With this thought in mind, he kept a firm arm around her waist as they set out.

A furlong down the road, Isabeau turned in the saddle, wearing an indignant frown. “My Lord, I beg you lighten your grip? I assure you I’m quite well seated. There’s no danger of me slipping to the ground.”

Alec obeyed, realizing how tight his arm had been after feeling her take two long, deep breathes.

Ten furlongs down the road, a steady pounding in the distance made him rein in.

A party approached on horseback.

‘Twould not be wise to be caught out in the open.

He lifted Isabeau down,
then
yanked her behind him with one hand while leading the horses with the other to the cover of the trees.

“What is it?” she whispered fiercely.

He clamped his hand over her mouth, huddling close against her at the base of the stand of young elms.

The earth vibrated beneath them, rustling the long dry grass.

Alec’s heart beat faster, not from fear, but from the proximity of Isabeau’s velvety cheek. The warmth of her body, the scent of her hair, made his flesh quiver. He wanted to pull her tight against him, and run his hands over every part of her silky skin—bury his face in her sun-kissed hair.

The rattle of spurs and mail mingled with hoof beats, rolling past them like low thunder, and then, slowly it disappeared.

He slid his hand from her mouth.

She turned her head, gazing up at him questioningly.

Before she could speak, before he even realized what he was doing, he bent his head and crushed his lips against hers, something he had wanted to do since he found her at the stable.

He wasn’t disappointed.

She responded to him eagerly.

She tasted so good—so fresh and sweet, he could have went on kissing her forever, forgetting why they were there and who they were.

He would have ripped her clothes off to enjoy more than her lips, if not for Mercury’s tail swishing against the back of his head, reminding him how dangerously close they were to his hooves. Were something to spook him, they would be cut to shreds.

The thought of being kicked senseless made Alec end the kiss.

“Flemish Mercenaries,” he said, coming to his feet, reining in his desire with great effort.
“From the inn.
Now that Stephen and Matilda have called a truce, there are many of them left prowling the countryside looking for trouble.”

“You might have warned me,” she gasped.

 
“If I did, I’d be lying dead with my throat cut right now and you’d be entertaining a score of men.” He reached down a hand to haul her to her feet. “Are you angry that I kissed you or that I saved your life?”

 
“Forgive me.” She flushed, bending to brush the leaves and twigs from her skirt, avoiding his gaze. “I was startled ‘tis all.”

She would be more than startled if she knew what he was thinking, that it would take many kisses to squelch the yearnings she churned up inside of him. He took a step away, gritting his teeth, trying to get a hold of himself. What he needed was a long dip in a cold river, before he succumbed to temptation and proved he was no better than Barak.

 
‘Twas humbling to realize the hold she had over him—the passions she could inspire with a mere glance, rattling his composure and muddling his brain, until there was no one left except her and him.

If he possessed a lick of sense he would turn around, ride north and deliver her to Newbury with all haste.

But apparently he didn’t.

He wasn’t willing to part with her yet.

***

Isabeau gasped with shock and pleasure, as the cold water little by little swallowed her up. ‘Twas Fortin’s suggestion they stop for a bath before arriving at Highburn, an hour south, according to him.

There was no need to ask her twice. After so long in the saddle, she felt stiff and sore, and no doubt stank to high heaven.

The frigid water felt deliciously invigorating. She would gladly linger if there was time for a proper swim, but Fortin had warned her to make haste, before striding off up river in the opposite direction.

She had left her chemise on for modesty sake, but wished now she hadn’t. It clung to her skin like a limp rag, making it troublesome to wash.
‘Twas challenging enough with no sponge or soap, besides a wet chemise slapping between her thighs.

Nevertheless, she managed and by the time she waded out of the water felt blissfully refreshed. Just in time ‘twould seem. No sooner had she reached the mossy bank than Fortin came striding through the trees, bare from the waist up, rubbing his wet hair with his black surcoat.

The sight of him made her heart pound.

Glistening riverlets of water trickled down his sleek chest. His skin glowed golden in the dim light of dusk, accentuated by his black braies. The glittering path of water drew Isabeau’s gaze lower to where dark curls formed a vortex from his bellybutton to his braies.

She hadn’t realized she’d been staring until she heard him suck in a sharp breath and looked up to discover his hand had stilled on his head.

He wore a look of amazement.

Her gaze dropped, bringing into view her transparent chemise, plastered to her skin, outlining every curve of her quivering body, including the rosy peaks of her breasts.

She took a step back, forgetting her shoes were sitting behind her on the edge of the bank and kicked one into the river.

“Rot!” she expelled. Then, seeing no other choice, she charged in after it, wading back in, up to her waist to grab it, just in the nick of time, before it swirled off down river.

By the time she waded back out again, she was shivering from head to toe. Wearing a wet shoe did not sit well with her, which accounted for the scathing glance she bestowed on Fortin when he reached down a hand to help her up the bank.

Coming within inches of his bare chest unbalanced her further.

The jibe on her tongue melted from her lips, faced with the proximity of his warm skin.

“Don’t look at me.” Laughter danced in his blue eyes. “You kicked it in, not me.”

“I’m not looking at you.” At least she was trying not to. But, ‘twas difficult not to drink in every hard part of him when he stood so close and her whole body screamed to reach out and touch him—to lick every last drop of water from his tanned skin.

She took an abrupt step away, averting her gaze, startled by her own thoughts, afraid he might see the desire reflected in her eyes.

He captured her hand to draw her back, a knowing smile curving his lips. “Yea, you are.”

She pressed her lips tight, and shook her head.

“Admit it,” he said with a chuckle, drawing her closer to wrap his arms around her waist. “You’re bursting with curiosity to finish what we started.”

A shiver ran through her, the delicious toe curling kind. A denial sprang to her lips, but she dared not voice it, lest he call her a liar. And he would be right. She yearned to know what Hilda meant. And not just from anyone—from him. “Yea,” she said on a shuddering breath. “You’re right. I am…I mean… I do. I want to.”

“You do? Thank God!” He bent his head, his lips claiming hers in a hungry kiss that would have knocked her shoes off, had she been wearing any.

A moment later he was stripping the wet chemise off over her head, while she fumbled with the ties on his braies.

They couldn’t get each others clothes off fast enough.

After, when they were both completely naked, he stood back, holding her by the hands to gaze at her from head to toe. “I could look at you forever, Isabeau. Do you know that?”

His husky voice went straight to her core, sending little shivers down her limbs. When he lowered her to the velvety moss on the riverbank she quivered even more, though she could feel her body growing just as hot as his.

She felt no fear as she had the first time their bodies joined, only an over- powering urgency to feel his hardness within her. Anticipation left her so tightly strung, the touch of his hand sliding over the curve of hip, sent delicious vibrations rattling through her like earth tremors.

When he bent his head to place tiny kisses over her breasts, she reached down to grasp his fullness in her hand, positioning herself to receive him. He continued to pay homage to her breasts, sucking and kissing each nipple until she thought she might scream. She had waited so long, imagining this moment so
often,
the anticipation had ignited her to a feared pitch.

Every inch of her flesh yearned for his touch.

Unable to wait any longer, she clasped his buttocks urging him to her, to give her what she wanted. Though exactly what that was, she wasn’t quite sure of yet. She only knew that she wanted to feel him closer. She yearned to experience the same pleasure they’d shared the first time.

His first thrust sent her catapulting to such
heights,
she wrapped her legs around his hips to push him deeper until she was lifted higher and higher with each smooth thrust. Her thoughts flew until she could not think—until there was only him—his smell, his taste, his hot sleek skin.

The world receded.

She wanted to stay this close to him forever. She wanted it to go on and on and never end, to never leave the warmth of his golden skin, to forever hear the beat of his heart and the rasp of his breath in her ear, and know that he was always near.

But one more thrust sent her flying over the top in a sweet piercing climax, shuddering through her over and over until she lay shattered in a delirium of ecstasy so intense, so lacking in description she shook from her eyelids to her toes.

“You are a wizard of the flesh,” she breathed between little gasps, attempting to catch her breath while delicious spasms clutched her inside and out.

“What?” He breathed against her ear, giving one last thrust before collapsing against her.

“That’s what Hilda called you,” Isabeau panted, her body humming from the pulse of him deep inside of her, causing further quivers and quakes. She ran her hands over his back, drawing him closer, loving the feel of his smooth skin.

He pressed his lips once more to hers in a long, tender kiss, then rolled onto his side and gathered her into his arms. “I’ve bedded many a maid. ‘Tis fortunate you don’t know them as well, or you might waste much of your life gossiping.”

 
She tilted her chin to gaze into his blue eyes, darkened with the shadows of passion from their love making.
“How many?”

“I don’t know.” He dropped a soft kiss on her lips, sounding amused if not surprised by the question. “Why do you ask?”

“Curiosity.”

He pulled away,
then
came to his feet, making her wish she hadn’t asked.
“Many dozens.
I’ve not kept count.”

“How many at Highburn?”
She lifted her head to regard him as he stood to pull on his braies.

“Does it matter?” He cast
her an
incomprehensible look as he snatched up his surcoat from the ground.

 
It mattered more than she wished to admit, but she wasn’t about to tell him that. She should never have asked. Now he would think her jealous, which of course she was not.
‘Twas naught but curiosity.
Why should she be jealous? He was not her husband.