Twelve Kisses (2 page)

“
Ah, you think the food too scant to last over Christmas!” He
almost smiled at her, but her steady stare made him as solemn as
she was. “More will be delivered here by our people, Alis. They
shall feast at the main forge, and we here shall lack for
nothing.”

To prove it, he poured her a cup of ale, set it on the table
and patted his knee. “Come.”

She darted for the second stool, but he hefted it away, into
the shadows. Her dark eyes flashing, she stood beside him and
raised her cup. “To winter's defeat.”

She pretends obedience yet defies me.
That realization stirred him like strong wine as he took a
drink himself. “Do you have any Christmas customs?” he asked,
allowing her to stand by his shoulder.

“
I no longer drink to the king's health.”

He stifled any smile, aware that if he indulged her pertness
he might never hear the end of such things. Instead, he answered
her challenge by hooking her around her narrow waist and skimming
her down onto his lap. “What else?”

She shook her head. “You should say now.”

He racked his head for an easy answer, but staring at her
flushed pretty face and red lips, all that came out of his own
mouth was, “Kisses.”

She had stayed on his knee, silent and stiff, but at least had
not turned away.

Taking hope from that, he added, “Christmas kisses. Twelve
kisses for Christmas.”

“
Kisses.” Her face was as still as a painting.

“
As a start,” he said.

He meant to show her, but she sat up on his lap even
straighter and demanded, “What Christmas custom is this? I never
saw it before at your parents' house. Is it a kiss each
day?”

“
Nothing so formal. Rather as I wish.”

“
As
you
—”

“
You also, wife.” He was enjoying goading
her, she teased so well, with her dark eyes gleaming and her color
rising.
A fire sprite.

“
But I never saw this—” Abruptly, as if she had admitted too
much, Alis subsided, turning her head. “I must tend the
fire.”

“
It burns strongly. I should know.” He remembered telling her
story after story when he was a lad, but now, when he needed one,
his mind was filled with her lips and the sweet feel of her and the
soft crackle of the night air in the thatch of the roof. “It is a
challenge,” he muttered. She had always been a distracting little
creature.

Her dark eyes fixed on his. “
I
have a challenge.”

Intrigued, he gave a brief nod. “Say on.”

* * *
*

Alis took a deep breath, fighting her own distracting desire.
She was perched on David’s knee now, smelling his familiar scent of
leather and musk, and it was hard to think of him as an
adversary.

And was he really her enemy? True, she wished she could see
glimpses of the youth he had been, the lad she had known and
admired, but this older David was powerfully attractive. He might
not smile as readily as he did as a boy, but he was a handsome
brute. She felt surprisingly safe—no,
right—
in his arms. Relishing his heat
and strength, she was tempted to tuck her feet against his strong
calves and lean her head against his shoulder, but he might think
her too bold. Nor did she want to be his doll.

I would be more than that to him. I would have us know each
other, learn each other afresh
. She wanted
to respect and admire this new David and to have him respect
her.

“
You want my kisses?”
Please let him say yes, let him admit to some softness for me;
then I will know we have a chance together.

“
You are my wife.”

This was not the answer she required, but Alis was determined
not to be cast down. “If you want my kisses, you must teach me how
to shoe a horse.”

His eyes widened in surprise. In that instant, the years
dropped away, and he was the youth she had always known.

“
Please, Davey?” she added, the plea slipping out before she
could stop it.

“
If you will show me how to cook,” he answered, surprising her
in turn. He shrugged, and she felt the world rock with him. “I
always burn victuals. Anything else, my lady?”

Were his eyes sparkling then? Was he amused, as she'd
intended?

“
I will think on it,” she said promptly.

He smiled, and even as she was, tense and unsure, she was awed
by it.

“
And if I have challenges for you?” he asked.

“
That is not how the courtly game works.”

“
Not in the usual way,” he agreed. “But if I have?”

She nodded agreement but could not resist adding, “Though I
will not worship Henry Tudor.”

She had meant it as a jest, but he caught her wrists tightly
with one huge hand, half-turned her and delivered a stinging slap
to her rump with his other hand. “Such talk is risky,” he growled.
“You do not say such things abroad.”

“
Credit me with sense,” she protested, mortified and feeling
that her face must be as red and hot as her nether region. “And who
made you—”

Her voice stopped, and she forgot the rest as he placed his
hand on her again, cupping her bottom, stroking where he had
smacked. Without meaning to, she sighed.

“
You are mine, now, Alis,” he said, his long fingers circling
and caressing, taking the sting away even if his words were harsh.
“My responsibility. I would be a poor thing if I did not protect
you.”

Dry-mouthed, she somehow found speech. “How is this
protection? I am no child, to be used in such a manner. I am your
wife.”

“
A Yorkist wife. But I shall make those white roses of yours
more red.”

“
You will spank me?”

“
When merited.”

“
And you decide that?” Her indignation was not as forceful as
she would wish. Indeed, the treacherous thought hovered that if he
would soothe the sore spots after, as he did now, such punishment
might be sweet.

* * *
*

“
Indeed.” He released her hands, marking how she did not stir.
“And bring you to bed after, I think.”

A second sigh escaped her slightly parted lips. She was soft
in his arms, and when he murmured, “Put your arms around my neck,
sweeting,” she did so at once.

Here was a surprise! He cradled her close, lightly kissing her
neck, hearing the seductive hiss of her skirts as he continued to
fondle her backside. She had her eyes closed, lost in what he
assumed were new sensations. It was tempting indeed to do more, to
lift up her skirts completely and caress and tickle and pat. She
would go very easily over his knee, and he could lay her down after
on her new furs.

Gently,
he warned himself with the
hard-won patience of the forge, while his blood thudded hard in his
ears
. This is a novelty to her, as it is to
you. Even if she writhes in delight and clamors to be spanked, be
careful, or she may loathe you after
. Yet
he would take a kiss.

“
You have the right.” Her prim response made him realize, he
had spoken his wish aloud. “You may take, sir. You may take, though
I will not give.” She clung to him like a honeysuckle on a tree,
pliant as molten copper, and yet, contrary as only a wench could
be, she still fought.

“
We shall see about that.” He kissed her now, not to silence or
punish, but because he could no longer resist her.

She tasted of mints and smelled as fresh as a newly-washed
babe. Conscious for an instant of his own leather-sweat-horses
stink, David almost drew back, wondering if he should speed outside
and dunk himself in the water barrel. Then lusty good sense surged
back—this was his wife, and he would have her.

They had kissed before, he and Alis, but never like this. The
light, tender embraces of his youth were as insubstantial as
dandelion fluff, these searching, deep kisses were something else,
far more.

“
Mother of Christ, you make my head spin,” he growled, when he
could bear to tear his mouth away from hers. “Strip and into bed
with you.”

He had meant to be slower, to part her gown carefully, to
divest her like a queen. But the want within him was as white-hot
as a blazing forge, and whatever came next, he must have
her.

Years of war have kept us apart but no longer. Tonight you are
mine.

He released her with another light smack on her rump to
encourage compliance and stalked to the doorway. “Be ready when I
return,” he ordered, hating the stark commands issuing from his
rigid jaw but unable to stop himself—he had to have her. “Do not
dally.”

Avoiding her stricken face, he flung himself out into the
winter night.

Naked under the soft warm sheets, Alis shivered, though not
from cold. In truth, she did not understand this adult David—at
times harsh, at times tender.

He had smacked her; then stroked the stinging spot until her
very loins felt to be melting with a new, disturbing sweetness.
Never before had she been so aware of the moist space between her
legs. Her breasts, too, had tingled, as if he’d caressed them, and
her mouth...

Alis traced the outline of her lips with a finger, wishing yet
not wishing that David would hurry back and kiss her
again.

But I cannot be this way, yielding and slavish, or he will
think all Yorkists the same. Twelve kisses, he has promised me.
Twelve kisses for Christmas. Find a way for him to make good on
that vow.

Alis pulled the bedcovers up over her ears, planning in her
mind. She counted off on her fingers.
Do I
trust him still? Yes. Is he honorable? Yes. Does he treat his
servants well? Yes. Is he kind?

“
Yes,” Alis said aloud, surprising herself.
His smack had been a warning, more a shock than a hurt. She had
endured far worse, for less, from her parents. And he had wanted
her to be safe, for in these dangerous times to speak too freely of
the new king was treason.
David wants me to
be safe
.

She glanced at the table, where she had carefully laid her
clothes—her dark blue gown, a cut-down from her mother‘s, her
wifely cap, her belt of scarlet. Her new furs were there, bought
for her by David. They were gray and white—mostly white—and very
deep and thick.
These must have been costly
and possibly against the law for a simple woman like me, though we
all ignore such foolish laws.
His own cloak
was tossed over a stool. It was serviceable but patched.
David wants me to be warm
.

Her eyes ranged to the flask and cups, the fine soft bread and
cheese, the bags of raisins, apples, and dried cherries. He had
remembered she loved cherries.
David wants
me to be fed and comfortable.

She smiled and rolled over to say her prayers.

* * *
*

David found her sleeping, her long hair loose and draped over
a pillow. He lifted a dark lock and kissed it, then dropped it,
feeling foolish. She slept on, a half-smile on her lips, her dark
lashes fluttering in a dream.

I have been too long outside, seeking to master
myself
.

Amused at his own misfortune, he dropped off his clothes and
slid carefully in beside her. She sighed in her sleep and still
sleeping, thrust out her bottom for him to curl up against her
narrow back. He gathered her into his arms, aroused and wakeful,
but curiously content.

I will never sleep, but what does it matter? It is
Christmas-time, a holiday, and I am here with Alis.

He kissed the back of her neck and smiled.

* * *
*

Alis dreamed she was shoving a boulder uphill, but as she
reached the summit a man wearing a crown kicked it back again. She
started awake and realized the “rock” was her new husband, snoring
gently against her.

She pinched his arm to encourage him to lift it off her, and
he merely tightened his iron grip about her middle.

“
David, you hurt me,” she whispered, and he relaxed at once.
Inspired, she whispered, “Roll over.”

He did so, turning onto his back, and she was free to stare at
him by the flickering fire. He looked younger in sleep, less grim,
less massive. His mouth wore a faint smile in sleep, and his
eyelashes were as blond as she had wished her hair to be when she
was a girl. Flames burnished his short hair and his fair chest
hairs. Shadows added definition to his tall, sinewy
frame.

She looked a long time, wishing to touch his thick blond
eyebrows, or steal a kiss from his relaxed, generous mouth. Growing
bolder as he slept, she lifted the covers and peered as well as she
could beneath the sheets, blushing at her own curiosity.

She had known he was strong, but not how beautiful his
masculine body was. Each muscle curved where it should. His arms
were sinewy from years in the forge, and his chest was broad, his
belly flat, his legs shapely. His manhood—hastily Alis dropped the
sheet, wondering if her staring was a sin.