Mathis, Jolie (15 page)

Chapter 14

Kol took the dagger from Isabel's hands. He rubbed the sore places on his wrists, and assessed the lump on his head. "Do not bow your head to me, Princess. 'Tis not in your nature. Look up and meet my eyes."

"I cannot." She shook her head. Yet in the next moment, she did look up. The sight of her eyes, wide and unguarded, stole his breath.

"I have wronged you. I almost killed you."

"And yet, you did not." Kol took up the dagger's leather sheath from the earthen floor. He slid the blade inside, and secured it inside his boot. "Why?"

Her face wavered between despair and relief. "For the same reason I freed you from the pit two winters ago. You did nothing wrong."

Kol's heart thundered in his chest. At last, she realized the truth. Elation filled him. Yet Isabel appeared ill. Chills passed through her body. Cold illuminated her skin.

He reached for the pelt, which lay at his feet. "You tremble."

"I am afraid."

Kol wrapped the fur about her. Through some miracle, Isabel had been returned to him. The girl who had spared his life, and treated him with such compassion. Now, he wanted nothing more than to protect her. "Whatever you fear, do not fear me."

She did not pull away from him. Instead she looked up and touched his cheek. With solemn conviction, she whispered, "I no longer do."

He could not believe she allowed the intimacy of his arms around her. A soul-deep contentment spread through him at the feel of her against his chest, growing warmer with each passing moment.

After a time, she whispered, "I am so weary."

"Then close your eyes, Isabel, and sleep."

She turned her face against his shoulder. Her breath touched his naked skin. Eventually, her breathing slowed and her body went pliant. His head ached, and he longed to lie down. Yet he dared not move, lest she awaken.

Though the fire dwindled, he made no effort to put her aside and tend to it. For now, the fire in his chest burned hot enough to warm them both.

Isabel awakened to the feel of soft fur against her cheek, and the heat of a man beside her. Naturally, 'twould be a necessity for them to share warmth, given the frigidity of the night. The fire burned very close to where they lay, but her breath still formed vapor. She tugged the fur over her nose, and shifted ever so slightly to take greater advantage of his closeness.

He exhaled slightly. Surely he slept. But whatever weariness had claimed Isabel had ceased to exist. She felt awakened to her very bones. Inside, she buzzed with a peculiar sort of excitement; one she could only attribute to the man who lay beside her. An innocent and noble man. A man who had fascinated a young woman not so long ago.

She remained very still, not wanting to awaken him. She savored the sensation of being close to a man whose presence pleased her beyond explanation. Though she remained clothed in gunna and kirtle, she felt the hard press of his legs against the back of her thighs. His muscled stomach against her bottom.

If he were asleep, she would be able to take her fill of his features without embarrassment, and without the suspicion that had tainted her image of him for so long. Slowly, she turned to look.

And discovered his eyes fixed upon her.

"Return to your sleep," he said. " 'Tis not yet morning."

"You... do not sleep?"

"Nei,
Isabel." He did not take his gaze from her. So close were their faces, she felt his breath on her lips. "Doth your head pain you?"

"Nei."

"Art thou cold?" she twisted to face him. Instantly she regretted the move, for their bodies no longer touched. "The opposite, I think."

A flush surged to Isabel's cheeks. She felt the energy that coursed between them. It had always been there, disguised by distrust and fear. Firelight revealed the flex of Kol's neck, the thick sinew of his shoulder. Isabel's shy but curious gaze explored the expanse of his chest. Dark hair dusted his chest, and lower, over the firm grid of his torso. The furs foiled any further curiosity.

Two blunt-tipped fingers lifted her chin. His eyes pierced her through.

"Return to your slumber."

Isabel's insides clenched with an anxious sort of excitement. "Forsooth, I am not sleepy."

Why did she not roll away and close her eyes as he'd asked? She did not know. She only knew she wanted to be close to him. Perhaps closer than they were now.

He exhaled softly, and ran his palm down her linen-clad arm. Her heartbeat tripped into a clumsy rhythm. Breath hovered in her throat, as he eased his hand even lower beneath the pelts to rest upon her hip.

How he fascinated her. Had always fascinated her, even amidst the turmoil of her hatred. She inhaled, seeking to steady herself, to force herself to act with reason, but an exotic scent radiated from his skin, scattering her thoughts like dust motes on a sunbeam. She placed her hand over his.

He is a stranger.

No, never a stranger, not from the moment she'd looked upward into his rain-haloed face and believed him to be an angel. Her soul had recognized him then. Her soul recognized him now. She would stand beside him and find a way to bring peace between him and Ranulf.

His long fingers wove between hers. With a lowering of his face his lips brushed hers.

"Ah, Isabel," he murmured. His arm banded her waist and pulled her against his body. Isabel reveled in the sensation of his hard body, pressed so solidly against her. Down, over her lower back, he spread his hand. A warrior's muscles striated his chest, crushed her breasts. His hand delved into her hair, cradled her skull, as if she were something precious to him.

As he dipped his head, a lock of his hair fell to brush her cheek. Darkly, his shadow veiled them, even from the inquisitive leap and sway of the firelight. His mouth and tongue teased her lips until she offered entrance and met his bold foray with her own. Before, she had feared his power. Now his prowess and strength only fueled the rapture welling up within her breast.

With a low groan he bit, sucked her bottom lip. The slightest friction of his hand—the shift and hardness of his thigh against hers—

Each touch kindled flames, low in her belly—a sensation so very kindred to anxiety, but different. Delicious and exquisite. Between her legs she felt tight and heavy, all at once. His mouth descended over the arch of her throat. Sharp teeth grazed her skin. A low sound escaped her to mingle with a growl from deep in his chest. Isabel felt drunk, emboldened. She ran her hands over his skin, molded her body to his. Closer. Ever closer. Pleasure surged with every touch, every taste.

Darkly, paradise beckoned, and she succumbed without remorse, without thought for tomorrow.

Had this hunger always dwelt within her? No. Such ecstasy would not be found with another man. She had always been waiting for Kol. His hand fisted in her kirtle and pushed the cloth upward over her stockings. Her thighs tensed, as across the ties he smoothed his palm, a fleeting dalliance against her naked skin. Isabel clenched her hands in the waist of his braies.

His eyes burned into hers. Several harsh, measured breaths left his lips. "Curse me to Hell. What is this I do?"

Shadow and firelight carved his features, illuminated his high, broad cheekbones and square chin.

"Nothing but what I wish for." The confession brought her no shame. She knew he wanted her with a purity of heart she saw in his eyes. Against her thigh, she held his hand.

His cheeks flushed a darker shade. He shook his head. He withdrew his hand from beneath hers.

"A man ill-used you. And the moment you gift me with one bit of trust, at once I—" He gritted his teeth and sought to draw back. But Isabel caught his face in her hands. Darkly turbulent eyes stared into hers.

"You were not that man."

Fleetingly, Isabel saw him—the lonely child, a boy raised without a mother's love. A boy cast away.

Kol's voice rumbled low in his throat. "I will bring no further harm to you. If you knew—" His face hardened, and the warrior returned. "I have committed many terrible things, and fully intend to commit more."

To Isabel's dismay, he sat up. Furs slid to his hips as he swung his legs over the edge of the cot. How quickly he slipped away.

"Kol—"

Light flickered on his back.

He continued, "Truly, I meant no seduction."

Although she had glimpsed the scars that first night in Ranulf's chamber, she could not silence the gasp. Firelight revealed them to be more deep and abundant than she had believed. Savage proof of one man's anger.

Kol hissed and snatched his tunic from the floor of the cave.

Isabel pushed to her knees. From behind, she embraced him, wrapping her arms around his chest. His body grew hard, like stone. For a moment he did not move, did not even seem to breathe.

Then, he thrust his arms into the tunic, but she grasped his wrists.

"Nay." She molded herself against his back, as if she could fill the jagged gashes with her own body, with the sharing of her soul.

She whispered, "Why would you hide them from me?"

Held in the circle of her arms, he sat altogether still. Unyielding as stone.

"Kol, 'tis not pity I feel."

He made no response.

Slowly she released his wrists, and withdrew her arms from beneath his. She smoothed her palms up, over his lower back, where the scars began their ascent. He flinched, his muscles cording tightly beneath her touch.

"Do not," he gritted. He dropped his tunic to the floor and reached back, as if to halt her perusal. Somehow she knew the only reason he did not turn to confront her was because he could not bring himself to face her. Agony radiated from him. Her heart pounded heavily, suspended by a deep agony of her own.

She knew his scars ran more deeply than those she saw with her eyes.

"I know he hurt you," she murmured. She shunned Ranulf's name. She did not want him here, not now. "And I know that pain was undeserved." Her voice went husky. "I would give anything for it not to have happened."

Gently she displaced his hand, more determined than before.

She said, "I know you have never seen the scars. Not all of them." No looking glass would reflect them clearly. She also knew from endless nights passed alone, in the darkness of night, how horrific the imaginings of the mind could be.

"Perhaps you have seen only these?" Lightly she touched his shoulders, where smaller scars feathered his skin. Unlike the rest.

He did not answer.

"Let me tell you what I see." Unflinchingly, she smoothed a path upward, over the marred skin of his muscled torso. Softly she spoke. "They sweep upward. Boldly."

Toward his shoulders she moved. "And outward, across your shoulders." Impulsively she pressed her lips there. He exhaled sharply and shuddered, as if he could not bear her touch.

"What you imagine in your mind must be horrific." She stopped, resting her palms against him. "But do you know what I see?"

"Isabel," he warned, his voice ragged.

The fire crackled in the silence.

"Wings," she whispered against his skin, against the center of his back. The center of his being. "Angel's wings."

His ragged breath echoed through the chamber.

From over his shoulder, his hand smoothed over the crown of her head. She clasped his hand there, turned her cheek into it.

"I am no angel," he murmured thickly.

"You are my sort of angel." In a low voice she added, "What man without scars could fathom me, Kol, when I have so many of my own?"

He twisted sideways, and dragged her onto his lap.

She felt his lips, the slight bristle of his beard, against her cheek. "The night grows colder."

A thrill raced down her back at the touch of his breath on her skin. Furs, drawn by his hand, warmed her. His closeness intoxicated her. She pressed her face against his neck, inhaled his scent. In wonder, she smoothed her hands over his stomach and chest, savoring the feel of his taut, yet supple skin. His heart beat heavily, in time with her own.

"Isabel." Searching, his mouth found hers. His kiss began gently, then grew hungrily urgent. He gripped her hips. His lips never left hers as his hand descended the length of her thigh, to her calf. Strong fingers banded her ankle. Turned her, guided her to straddle him. Never had she been so intimately close to a man, but it felt right. He dragged her closer.

"This is no game you and I play," he murmured. His hands slid over the surface of her stockings, over her thighs. "If you knew everything—"

She did not care about his past, the things he had done while trying to make sense of the way his world had treated him. They would confront the rest upon the morrow. Together.

"Shhh." She kissed him. "I know all I need to know."

His fingers tugged at the ties of her tunic. Calloused fingers parted the linen, grazed her skin. She remained utterly still, cherishing each touch. Her breasts swelled against the neckline. There, atop the exposed, delicate skin, he drew three fingertips.

Reality grew distant. Isabel gave one long, quavering sigh.

With one final tug of the ties, her breasts spilled into his hands. Wide, toil-roughened palms cupped and squeezed. Need surged through her veins. With her legs, she drew him closer.

His dark head lowered. Anticipation tightened her nipples. Isabel felt his humid breath, and then, blessedly, his warm, wet mouth. His tongue slid over one sensitive crest. With her hands clenched upon his thighs, she arched back, offering herself fully to him. His wide, long-fingered hands descended her rib cage, to her lower back, held her suspended.

From outside the hazy brilliance of her pleasure she felt him grip her waist, and then her buttocks.

"Kol," she gasped, feeling that part of him, leather-encased, hard and rigid against her. A heavy throbbing began
there,
between her legs where they touched.

Passion robbed the moisture from her mouth. Never before had she imagined such pleasure could come from simply being close to a man. All she could think about was how to satisfy the need surging so rampantly inside her.