The Lion and the Lark (23 page)

     He closed his eyes.  “Don’t say that.”

     “But I do.”

     He turned and seized her by the shoulders, shaking her.  “Be quiet!  There was a time I would have killed to hear you say that, but I don’t want to hear it now.  It’s too late.”

     “How can it be too late, when we are both alive and together?”

     “I’ve made up my mind, Bronwen, I don’t want to try anymore.  I have nothing left to give, don’t you understand that?  Do you think I have no feelings, that I’m a man of Etruscan iron, as half the world says all Romans are?  I’m a man of flesh and blood.  It nearly finished me to be with you all the time and want you so badly and have nothing for it in the end.  No more.  I’ve done with it.”

     “So you feel nothing for me?”

     “I didn’t say that,” he replied in a low tone, deliberately looking away from her.

     “Oh, I understand.  This is my punishment, isn’t it?” Bronwen whispered.  “I rejected you before you were hurt so you are scorning me now?”

     He didn’t answer.

     “Revenge is sweet, isn’t it, Claudius Drusus Leonatus,
tribunus imperius?  
To have the woman who led you around by the nose begging you for a crumb must be very satisfying.”

     “Bronwen, don’t.”

     “Why not?  Let’s tell the truth at last,” Bronwen said, tears starting in her eyes.

     “That would be a nice change,” he said.

     Bronwen glared at him defensively.  She WAS telling the truth; she did love him.  But she loved her people too, and so was torn asunder by divided loyalties.  Her personal desires and her role as Borrus’ daughter; did she have to sacrifice one for the other?  Where did the one leave off and the other begin?  She had become such an accomplished liar that she no longer knew herself.

     “You tell ME the truth, Claudius.  Why are you refusing me?” 

     “I am not seeking to hurt you, Bronwen, but to save myself,” he said quietly.

     “From me?” she asked, as the tears ran down her face.

     “Yes.”

     “From this?” she asked him, standing on tiptoe and kissing him lightly, teasingly.

     He turned his head.

     Bronwen moved and captured his mouth again with hers, kissing him deeply.

     He shoved her away.  “Go back to bed,” he said tersely.

     “Come with me.”

     “No.”

     “Don’t you want to?” she said, kissing his cheek, then the base of his throat.  Claudius closed his eyes and clenched his fists.

     “Make love to me, Claudius.  You almost did so once, do you remember?  Your mouth was so hot I thought it would burn my skin, and your body so hard...”

     He flung her away from him so forcefully that she fell.  She looked up at him from the floor, her face pale with sudden apprehension.

     “Would you strike me, Claudius?” she whispered.

     He fell to his knees beside her and pulled her into his arms.

     “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he muttered, his tone agonized as he covered her face with kisses.  When she responded he found her lips with his and her tears ran into his mouth.

     Bronwen lay back in his arms, holding on to him tightly.  He kissed her the way he had kissed her before: as if he would consume her, as if she were the most desirable woman he had ever touched.  He pulled her across his lap and she gave herself fully to the experience for the first time.  There were no conflicts or questions to hold her back; whatever was happening in the world beyond them could wait.  This was what she wanted.

     Claudius sensed her absolute surrender and he felt the pride of imminent possession.  He knew that she would not stop him.  He kissed her lingeringly, running his hands through her hair, murmuring endearments Bronwen could barely understand.  It didn’t matter.  She knew only the comfort and strength of his body, the mesmerizing sound of his husky voice.  His odor engulfed her, the same scent that clung to his clothes and linens.  It was an aphrodisiac, provoking a response that drove him to his feet with Bronwen in his arms.

     If he didn’t carry her to the bedroom he would take her right there on the floor.

     Bronwen was dimly aware of moving through space; she pressed her face into his wool clad shoulder, her eyes closed, her fingers clutching his tunic.  As he went into the bedroom he kicked the door shut behind him and then eased her onto the bed.  As she lay there waiting, her eyes slitted, her breathing audible, he shoved a wooden clothes chest in front of the door to block it, then added three logs to the fire.

     He would not be interrupted again.

     When he sat on the edge of the bed Bronwen hooked her arms around his neck and pulled him down to her, taking the initiative with a guileless eagerness that drove him wild.  He bent hungrily to seek her mouth with his and Bronwen’s head fell back in abandonment as he clasped her waist on either side, lifting her into position on the bed.  When she was prone he loomed over her, holding himself up on his hands and then enveloping her with his body.  Her hands fluttered down his back as he strained her closer, kissing her searchingly.  Bronwen moved restlessly beneath him, unconsciously seeking fulfillment, and he groaned, tearing his mouth from hers and ducking his head in the same movement.

     Bronwen gasped as his tongue traced the velvety skin at the deep V of her gown.  She held his head against her, sinking her fingers into the wealth of hair at the back of his neck.  When she felt his lips on her breast she arched her back, thrusting forward to meet his caressing mouth.

     Claudius encircled her slim waist with his hands, holding her steady for his tender assault on her body.  Bronwen looked down at him as the single torch left burning for the night threw a narrow shaft of light across the bed.  His face was flushed, his eyes closed; his thick dark lashes lay fanned on his cheeks.  He lifted his head and she whimpered her loss, but then she sighed with satisfaction as he pulled her gown off her shoulders and took a rigid, unprotected nipple into the furnace of his mouth.

     The sensation was luxurious; she had never imagined that a man’s lips could be so soft, so tantalizing.  She moaned as he grazed her with his teeth, cupping her other breast with his fingers.  She brought her small hand up to touch his large one as he stroked her, his skilled fingers evoking a heightened awareness of every movement he made.  Aching for contact with his bare skin, she slipped her free hand inside the neck of his tunic, feeling him exploringly like an expert buyer taking the measure of the finest Persian fabric.

     He sat up abruptly and she watched him, sloe eyed with passion, as he unbuckled his belt and pulled his tunic over his head.  He stepped out of the light shoes he wore in the house, leaving him naked but for his linen breechclout. 

     Bronwen needed no invitation to sit up and embrace him, exploring his torso with light, caressing fingers.  He supported himself with one hand and held her against him with the other arm, her hair like a curtain of gold across it.  His eyes closed again as she traced the line of the new scar on his shoulder with her finger, then with her tongue.  She kissed his flat nipples, miming what he had done to her, then ran her hand down the slight cleft that bisected his chest, her fingers tangling in the soft black hair that narrowed to a thin line at his waist.  He sucked in his breath as she tongued his navel, then sighed with disappointment when she stopped there, moving instead to kiss his other recent scars, puckered pink with new healing.

     “So much pain,” she murmured, kissing also the old, brown ones and then the oldest, faded to white.  “So much hurt and loneliness.  I wish I could take it all away.”

     “You have,” he said huskily.  “You do.”

     She straightened and put her arms around his neck, feeling his bare skin pressed to hers for the first time.  She sighed blissfully, rubbing her cheek on the smooth expanse of his hard bicep, feeling his arms tighten around her possessively.  Here was all the warmth in the world, the warmth of a thousand temple sacrifices and a thousand British bonfires, enclosed and burning between them.  She felt his hands, rough from the rigors of life in an army which built its own roads and camps as it moved, slide down her back caressingly, following the slender curve of her spine.  She nestled closer to him and he slid his palms along her sides, pushing her gown up to her knees as he pulled her legs around him.  She dropped her head to his shoulder in submission.

     Claudius could feel his control going.  He knew she was a virgin and he didn’t wish to frighten her.  But to have her nearly naked and pliant in his arms after wanting it, to the point of madness, for so long was bringing him close to the brink.  He took a deep breath and willed himself to hold back.  Her trust was a delicate thing, hard won, and no matter how much she desired him, he could ruin this occasion in an instant if he pushed for too much, too fast.

     “Are you happy?” he said huskily into her ear, and she nodded.  She kissed his collarbone.

     “Do you want me, Bronwen?”

     She made a sound of agreement, half sigh, half whimper and kissed him again.  “So much,” she breathed.

     He eased her gently toward him until she was straddling him; he could feel the warmth pouring from her and wanted to rip their remaining clothes away and pull her onto him.  With a more experienced woman he would have done just that, but instead he lifted the hem of her gown and tugged it past her hips.  Bronwen moved back from him and raised her arms so she could pull it over her head.

     He dropped the slip of silk onto the floor and embraced her again, letting her hide her face against his shoulder.  He caressed her everywhere he could reach; her skin was like satin all over and he could not get enough of it.  He felt her respond; her respiration increased and she began writhing against him, making little sounds of helpless pleasure.  When he knew he could stand it no longer he turned, lifting her in his arms and setting her back against the bed.

     “I want to look at you,” he whispered, drinking in the golden red hair which tumbled over her shoulders, the slim ivory limbs, the rose tipped breasts and narrow hips.  He reached out and touched a rounded knee and she sighed, closing her eyes. 

     “You are so lovely,” he said, stroking her lower body until she turned her head, moaning, and her legs fell apart.  He slipped his hand between her thighs and touched her; she gasped and pressed back against him invitingly.  His heart pounding, Claudius pulled her into his arms once more, caressing her until she was more than ready and reaching for him blindly.  He bit his lower lip, holding back a throaty sound of gratification as she removed his loincloth and encircled him with her fingers.

     Claudius lay with her on the bed, his muscles knotted, bathed in perspiration, afraid to move as she touched him exploringly.  She watched his face and learned from his expression what pleased him; he finally had to push her hand away, flinging his other arm over his eyes.

     “What?” she whispered. “Did I do something wrong?”

     He didn’t answer, merely sat up and enfolded her tenderly. 

     “You couldn’t do anything wrong,” he murmured, pulling her down to the bed and rolling her under him.  She felt him hard and thrusting against her thighs and shifted her weight unconsciously to accommodate him.  She ran her hands over his sweat slicked shoulders, his taut upper arms, closing her eyes and gripping him tightly when he slipped his hands under her and lifted her to meet him.

     He thrust into her and she stiffened, crying out in pain.  He gritted his teeth and withdrew, fighting the overpowering, primitive urge to plunge into her again.

     “Shh, shh,” he said, holding her close and stroking her hair with trembling hands.  “It often hurts the first time, Bronwen, I thought you knew that.”

     “I didn’t think it would hurt with you,” she said in a small voice, and when he heard the last phrase,
tecum
, he smiled.

     “With me or with anyone, you’ve never done this before,” he said soothingly.

     “But I want you so much,” she whispered miserably.  “I have been lying awake for so many endless nights, just dreaming of this, and now...I can’t do it.”

     “You will do it, and you will enjoy it,” he murmured, setting her back on the bed and kissing the silken tip of one breast, then the other.  “I promise you that.” 

     She fell silent as he stroked and caressed her, nipping and teasing until she was clutching him and turning restlessly, aroused again and silently begging for more.  His mouth moved from her breasts to her navel to the tops of her thighs, leaving a trail of fire in its wake, and when he bent his head to move lower she was too stimulated to resist.

     Bronwen went rigid at the first touch of his lips, then gradually relaxed as a wave of pleasure washed over her body, leaving her weak and yearning helplessly.  She sank one hand into his hair and the other gripped the sheet as he drove her into a mounting frenzy.

     “Please,” she finally gasped, barely able to speak.  She dug her nails into his scalp, her eyes squeezed shut.

     “What?” he muttered thickly, raising his head.  He kissed her hip, her belly, trailing his tongue along her superheated flesh, his eyes still closed, as lost as she was.  He moved up next to her, taking her hand and placing it on him again.