Eglantine returned to chaos that even she doubted could be made aright.
She could not believe that her camp could be cast in such disarray, but her eyes did not deceive. The entire household scurried like frenzied ants, tents lay collapsed and wagons were spilled. Palfreys and goats wandered untethered through the mêlée, even the hens had been loosed from their temporary pen. She strode through the disarray, quickly determined that none were injured, and noted the tent pegs pulled from the ground.
Then she was shown not one, not two, but a dozen guylines cleanly cut almost through. The last cord in each had snapped, no doubt by the weight of the tents in question shifting, but would never have broken without the initial cut.
And Eglantine knew instinctively who was responsible. Her gaze lifted to one Duncan MacLaren, who loitered with his men and grinned.
Shameless rogue! If he thought she would demurely let this insult pass, he was mistaken indeed. Eglantine stalked out to meet him, knowing her anger showed.
“I would have thought that such petty vandalism would be beneath you,” she said by way of greeting.
“Me?” Duncan’s eyes widened in mock alarm. “You think me responsible for this?”
“Who else might it be?”
“No doubt, my lady, you are unaware of the caprice of the winds in these places. They gust, most unpredictably. But then, you would not be accustomed to such vigorous winds in France.” His eyes narrowed, his gaze flicking over her as though he would wring secrets from her very soul. “You are on foreign shores, after all, and much must be unfathomable.”
“And most unwelcome upon them, clearly.” Eglantine arched a brow. “Do the winds in this land come equipped with knives, as well? There are guylines cut almost through and though I have no doubt that the wind finished the task, it most certainly did not begin it.”
She thought the corner of his mouth quirked mischievously before Duncan whistled through his teeth. “Oh, my lady, I fear this could be dire indeed.” He frowned with evident concern and laid claim to her elbow.” You must let me see one.”
He had that unpredictable look again, and Eglantine feared she stepped directly into the trap he had set for her. But surely there could be no harm in this?
She wished she knew for certain. But she did not, and his thumb moved across the inside of her elbow with such persuasive ease that she could not think as clearly as she would have liked. She found herself accompanying him back to the site of the damage, only realizing his intent when her entire household gathered around.
“Oh, this is most serious,” Duncan proclaimed, his tone prompting Eglantine’s vassals to eye each other in consternation.
“Aye, ’tis willful destruction.”
“Nay, worse.” Duncan frowned and shook his head. “I warned you well, my lady, that this was a sacred place to our forebears. I warned you that there might be ancient souls displeased with your presence here. But you did not heed my counsel and now a toll must be paid.”
Eglantine felt the shiver run through her company. She pulled her arm from his gentle grip, not wanting them to look like they stood together, and glared at him.
“Ridiculous,” she said crisply. “All souls go to heaven, hell or purgatory, as their circumstance dictates. There are no souls lingering hereabout, ancient or otherwise.” Her priest nodded agreement with this recounting of doctrine, but Duncan shook his head.
“Perhaps not in France, my lady, but we have older traditions here.” Duncan raised his gaze to scan the horizon, his eyes narrowing as though he saw the shadows of events long past. “Perhaps ’tis because of our heathen roots, the history of our faith in these parts, the bloody course of our past.”
The assembly leaned closer, eyes rounded, and Duncan warmed to his theme. Oh, he told a fine tale, she would give him that!
His voice dropped low and he looked the villeins in the eye, each in succession, as though he would persuade them of the truth of this claim. Eglantine tapped her toe, impatient with his nonsense, but the assembly was rapt.
“Once there stood an entire circle of stones upon this land where you now build your abode. That one remaining was but the largest, the one on the eastern side of the circle. ’Tis said that there was the altar, that there was where the pagan priests made their blood sacrifices to their hungered gods.”
The company shivered, though Eglantine rolled her eyes. “Foolery to frighten children to their beds, ’tis no more than that.”
“Oh, my lady, you are brave indeed to so challenge what all know to be true.” Duncan nodded grimly and Eglantine was disgusted at the way her vassals hung on his every word, greedy for gruesome detail. “’Tis said among us that those souls who leave matters unfinished in their lives do not pass to the beyond. They linger, hovering, influencing the circumstance of the living, insisting that those unfinished matters be resolved before they can rest in peace.”
He fingered his chin as he looked toward the great stone, the company following his glance. “What secrets does this stone recall?” he mused, though none noted how Eglantine rolled her eyes. “What tragedies and marvels has it witnessed? I cannot help but imagine that those unfortunates who were sacrificed upon these stones had need of such resolution. Surely they would linger near the place of their demise, insistent upon seeing justice done.”
He had every one of them snared beneath his spell. Her vassals edged closer to each other, as though the sun was not enough to warm them in this place. Eglantine made to interrupt, but Duncan touched his fingers to her lips with such familiarity that she was momentarily startled.
’Twas long enough to suit him. He fingered the broken rope and let it fall from his fingers, his expression grim. “So many centuries they have waited in solitude, so many centuries they have longed for revenge. Can one blame them for seizing upon the first so bold as to build a keep upon the site of their misfortune?” He shuddered and stood. “Who knows what toll they ultimately will demand? In truth, I fear for you all—though you have acted in ignorance, you may well be forced to pay some gruesome toll.”
A chattering broke out in the ranks of Eglantine’s vassals and she wished she could consign Duncan to that same state of lingering between this world and the next.
It took but a trio of heartbeats before the appeals began.
“My lady, we must abandon the construction.”
“My lady, we must move camp.”
“My lady, we beg of you, do not trouble these souls any longer.”
“Perhaps,” Louis interjected crisply, “’twould behoove us to return to Crevy.”
Eglantine spun in horror to eye her châtelain, never having expecting him to correct her before the company. There was a glint of determination in Louis’ eye, though, and she knew he did not believe Duncan’s tale.
But he seized the opportunity to express his opinion of what should be done. Eglantine gritted her teeth, fully intending to have words with the older man over his so-called loyalty to her family.
The company rallied behind the châtelain, their gazes expectantly fixed upon Eglantine. She had but a glimpse of the wicked twinkle in Duncan’s eye, but ’twas enough to spark her temper.
He enjoyed the havoc he wreaked on her!
“This man lies to us all,” Eglantine declared with such fervor that her company was visibly startled. “Are you so witless that you do not see his hand in this? ’Twas a mortal hand that cut these ropes and pulled these pegs, ’tis a mortal man who wishes us to leave that he might make his claim to this land. He contests ownership of this holding, after all, and ’tis in his interests to see us gone.” Eglantine lifted her chin and glared at Duncan. “I will not be such a coward as to cede to his game.”
The company rallied slightly at her words, but the seeds of doubt were sown. The damage was done. Eglantine knew that reason would sink with the sun this night and that her vassals would lay awake whispering in fear. She knew that Duncan would not cease his manipulation of events and she knew that if he were not halted, her support among her own superstitious vassals would erode.
And he would claim Kinbeath in the end. Eglantine was not prepared to let him win so readily as that.
She would fight fire with fire. She hailed the priest and beckoned to him. “Father, we have need of a mass.”
“Aye, my lady.” The priest of Arnelaine bowed deeply. “’Twas the edict of none less than Pope Gregory to consecrate the heathen shrines of Britannia to the service of Our Lord. With your permission, we shall celebrate the mass at noon at the great stone.”
An apprehensive shiver rolled over the company, but Eglantine smiled with confidence and spoke before Duncan could interject. “I have always admired the clear thinking of Pope Gregory. Make it so, if you please.”
The assembly dispersed, chattering avidly as they returned to their duties. The priest chose a few to aid him and strode toward the stone, his crucifix held before him and his black robes blowing in the wind.
Eglantine left Duncan without another word, so irked with his game that she had no interest in whatever he was clearly schooling himself to say. She spoke with Louis, though to no avail—he believed he served the ultimate welfare of the family by expressing his doubts.
His tone made it clear that he thought Eglantine risked all for no good reason. ’Twas not an argument she could win. Esmeraude played with Célie, reminder of another battle in which Eglantine took the losing side. Alienor swept past Eglantine and headed directly for the camp of Duncan’s men, prompting her stepmother to sigh with exasperation.
Could anything else go awry?
First matters first. Eglantine’s gaze was drawn unwillingly to Duncan, joking with his men. He stood with his muscled legs braced against the rock, as much a part of this place as she was not. Her heart skipped when he lifted a hand to her in silent salute.
As though she would welcome his company after what he had done! Eglantine stalked in the opposite direction. She had to find an alternative, more enduring, solution to the problem and the presence of Duncan MacLaren. She glanced back in time to see Alienor preen before Duncan as he watched, a small smile playing over her lips.
And with sudden certainty, she knew.
Eglantine had hoped French knights would compete for her daughters’ hands. But then, there was a paucity of knights in this region, and Kinbeath was considerably further from civilization than Eglantine had expected. ’Twould take years to build the manor, perhaps even longer to build a reputation that would coax men to Eglantine’s court.
And Alienor grew no younger.
Duncan was the chieftain of the Clan MacQuarrie, so evidently a man of some affluence and influence in these lands. He spoke Norman French and thus could converse with Alienor, an apparently distinguishing characteristic in these parts. He was far from foul to look upon, Eglantine conceded, ignoring the unruly skip of her heart. He was not without charms—he could sing, he had shown compassion with Esmeraude.
Alienor clearly found him appealing. Perhaps they two would suit each other—her demanding nature might pass for honesty in his estimation. Aye, and Alienor could certainly benefit from a match with a man nigh as stubborn as herself.
Certainly, such a course would resolve the issue of their respective claims, for a marriage between Eglantine’s family and Duncan’s clan would merge the ambitions of both groups. ’Twould halt this nonsensical competition between them and ensure all could labor together for the benefit of all.
’Twas perfect. Something needled Eglantine about the solution, but she deliberately ignored her doubts. No doubt Duncan would agree with such a sensible proposition. Aye, once he had a woman in his bed, he would cease his attempts to seduce her, as well.
For some reason which did not bear exploration, Eglantine did not want to think overmuch of that.
Aye, as soon as she set the camp to rights again, she would propose the arrangement. The matter must be presented delicately, in privacy and with ceremony. Eglantine nodded crisply. She would see her own tent outfitted as her temporary court and welcome him as an honored guest. He would be impressed with the circumstance.
Duncan would surely be delighted that she thought so highly of him as to surrender her daughter to his hand.
* * *
Contrary to Eglantine’s expectations, Duncan was infuriated.
She sent for him shortly after midday, and Duncan expected naught good. Indeed, ’twas unlike her to send another to retrieve him, instead of simply hunting him down herself and he assumed ’twas no good portent. He came to her tent, as bidden, braced for her fury and a lecture on the inappropriateness of fostering superstition, no less meddling with the beliefs of her vassals.
But the lady surprised him, yet again.
She received him with a gracious smile, like a queen at her court. She wore a kirtle he had not seen before, its rich green hue making her eyes yet more like emeralds. Her hair was secured behind a sheer pale veil, making her look disconcertingly unfamiliar and remote by dint of her formal attire. She appeared slender and regal and unapproachable in such garb, even more foreign than she had thus far.
In contrast, he felt somewhat less than presentable. Aye, Duncan was well aware that his shirt had need of a scrub—as did all the rest of him—and his whiskers had need of a scrape. The tower his men occupied offered somewhat primitive accommodations and they had not intended to linger here, after all.
Coals glowed upon an ornate brazier near the lady’s feet, rugs were thick beneath his feet. The silken walls of the tent shimmered as they moved slightly in the wind, the filtered sunlight painted the rugs in striped patterns. A thick mattress piled high with pillows lurked behind the lady, the fine texture and varied colors of the cloth beyond what was seen locally.
Duncan was awed. Eglantine wrought a court of naught, she proved her ascendancy and her birthright, in the same moment she made Duncan painfully aware of his lack of one.
’Twas a game of power and one artfully played.
While he hovered on the threshold, feeling large, male and unkempt, Eglantine donned a fur-lined cloak and a pair of gloves wrought of finest leather. “I would have you show me all of Ceinn-beithe,” she said with a sweetness he knew better than to trust.
This composed creature might have been a stranger. Even her features seemed unfamiliar, her expression so demure that she might have been the twin of his countess. She might have been a woman cursed with ice in her veins.
Duncan blinked. “I beg your pardon.”
The lady gave undue attention to her gloves. “I assume you can ride? I have ordered a steed saddled for you, as well as my own palfrey.” She met his gaze, her own sharp with challenge. “I assume you have no issues with this.”
She had a scheme, of that Duncan was certain. Though he was curious, he was more interested in how her scheme meshed with his own. He had pledged to seduce the lady and truly, there were better places to do so than within her camp.
He smiled, knowing his expression was predatory. “I should be delighted to show you my Ceinn-beithe.”
And then she surprised him again. “Your specific claim to Ceinn-beithe will be moot when you wed Alienor.”
She brushed past him, leaving him standing with his mouth open in shock. She had the manner of a woman who has resolved everything to her own satisfaction.
Duncan charged after her. “What nonsense is this?”
“You need not look so astonished, ’tis perfectly good sense.” Eglantine smiled at him as sweetly as a Madonna and continued to argue her case. “Now bite your tongue. I shall not discuss the matter before my vassals.”
The woman was naught if not determined.
Duncan was so angered by Eglantine’s presumption that he needed time to find words for his outrage. In other circumstance, he might have been amused by the lady’s underestimation of his response, but now, he was at such a loss for words, he who always had a glib reply. They rode in strained silence, their steeds climbing the low roll of hills that buttressed the land to the east.
Then Duncan knew precisely where he would take her. He seized the reins of her palfrey and touched his heels to the flanks of the steed she had shared with him.
“What are you doing?”
Duncan said naught but rode.
“As you can undoubtedly appreciate, this course makes perfect sense,” Eglantine declared with crisp efficiency, obviously taking his silence for some measure of agreement. “If our families are united, then this tedious competition...”
“It makes no sense,” Duncan interrupted, speaking somewhat more loudly than strictly necessary.
Eglantine blinked but was typically was untroubled by his volume. “Of course, ’tis somewhat of a surprise to you, but should you pause to consider the advantages...”
Duncan glared at her. “There are no advantages to be had in wedding a child!”
Eglantine cleared her throat gently. “Alienor is eight and ten years of age. She is a woman fully...”
Duncan snorted. “She is a ungrateful wretch of a child with naught good to recommend her character.”
Eglantine’s eyes widened at his blunt assessment. Then she smiled, the way she leaned forward to pat his forearm in such maternal fashion doing naught to aid matters. “I think perhaps that in your surprise at my generous offer, you underestimate Alienor’s assets. She can be somewhat temperamental, but I would think that a man of your nature would appreciate her honesty.”
“A barbarian is what you mean,” Duncan corrected, his anger rising with every word she uttered.
Eglantine laughed beneath her breath, a winsome twinkle appearing in those green depths. Desire joined Duncan’s simmering anger and coaxed it the boil.
How could she conclude that she could chart the course of his life, that she could conveniently be rid of him by saddling him with Alienor, the most unwelcome bride any man could find in his bed?
Duncan gritted his teeth, inclined to be anything but convenient.
“One never doubts Alienor’s desire certainly, but she is young and beautiful and not too old to bear a son for a man of such a position as yourself.”
“She is but a child!” Duncan roared. He coaxed his horse to a gallop and hers was compelled to match his pace since he yet held her reins.
“There is no need to shout and alarm the horses....”
“There is every need to shout!” Duncan halted the horse in a small clearing, then bounded from his saddle. Eglantine regarded him from her saddle like a queen, shocked at the outspoken manner of a minion. “How dare you imagine that you could rid yourself of that selfish creature by foisting her upon me!”
“I had thought you might be of like mind.”
“You thought wrongly! I have no lust for children, no desire for women who think only of themselves, and no interest in blushing virgins who come unwillingly to bed!”
Eglantine rolled her eyes. “I hardly think that Alienor could be considered reluctant to rid herself of her virginity,” she said with a touch of the incisiveness he had come to expect from her.
The very glimpse of the Eglantine he knew vastly encouraged Duncan. “But I shall not do the deed!” he cried. “You may find another hapless fool to do your bidding in this!”
Eglantine’s eyes flashed and she too dismounted, her own words rising in volume. “’Tis not a case of doing my bidding, but of finding a suitable solution for all.”
“This solution does not suit me!”
“Well, perhaps it should!” Eglantine shouted back. “Perhaps you are a witless fool, after all! What manner of man would refuse a noble bride, a young beauty like Alienor? What manner of fool would choose dissent over peace?”
Duncan was sorely tempted to give her a shake. “A man who knows what he wants, no more than that.”
“Aye?” Eglantine, unafraid, tilted her chin in challenge. “And what is it that you want, Duncan MacLaren? What lofty ambition have you that Alienor is not good enough to fulfill?” She flung out her hand. “Tell me what good reason you might have to spurn this fine offer?”
Though he appreciated that he could shout without Eglantine fleeing like a startled hare, in this moment Duncan was irritated that she paid so little attention to his anger. He let his voice drop low and noted the answering flicker in her eyes with satisfaction.
And something else. She caught her breath but did not step away from him.
“Let me make myself understood, my lady Eglantine,” he growled. “I have seen one commanded to wed to suit another’s convenience once already in this life, and I will not be part of such a plan again.”
She was blessedly silent, her gaze fixed upon him. Aye, he had her full attention. Duncan liked that Eglantine did not flinch. He liked her trust and he liked her bravery. He caught her elbows in his hands, lifted her to her toes and drew her closer, liking the heat that dawned in her eyes.
“A wise man learns from error, Eglantine,” Duncan purred. “If ever I wed, ’twill be solely for my desire and convenience.”
“How like a man,” she whispered. “To wed solely to sate his lust.”
“How like you to twist all I say into what ’tis not.”
Eglantine arched a brow, inviting him to explain, the wary light in her eyes telling him she expected little persuasive.
Duncan smiled despite himself, her response dismissing his temper. He let his thumbs move across the smooth wool of her kirtle, let his palms slide up her arms to cup her shoulders, and leaned close enough that he could hear her catch her breath.
“If ever I wed, my lady Eglantine, ’twill be to a woman without whom I cannot draw a breath, a woman who had laid claim to my heart, a woman from whom I cannot bear to be parted.”
Her lips quirked. “And you shall cast her over your shoulder in good barbarian fashion.”
“I shall woo her, until there is naught in her heart but me.”
Eglantine swallowed visibly as she stared up at him. “Then woo Alienor,” she suggested, her voice catching on the words.
Duncan let his gaze drift to her lips and he flexed his fingers as he drew her closer. She caught her breath, her lips parting, and he knew with sudden clarity what he did want. “Nay, Eglantine,” he whispered, his lips a finger’s breadth from her own. “I cannot woo Alienor. ’Twould be far too simple to live without her presence.”
Eglantine almost laughed. “You and your whimsy. Tell me where you will find a bride of finer birthright, of more noble lineage, of more beauty than Alienor?”
Duncan smiled, the word rising to his lips with such ease that he knew ’twas the truth. “Here.”
Duncan felt Eglantine shiver when he claimed her lips with his. He hauled her against his chest, lifting her to her toes. ’Twas no gentle salute he offered this time, but a kiss demanding her surrender, a kiss demanding that she loose the passion he knew slumbered within her.
And ’twas but a moment before the lady leaned against him. She opened her mouth to him and Duncan did not need to be invited twice. Duncan’s heart pounded in triumph and he tasted her fully, loving how she met him touch for touch. He discarded her veil impatiently, marveling at how finely she was wrought even as he pushed one hand through the thick silk of her hair.
She was magnificent.
He claimed her lips hungrily again. Duncan did not know whether he had provoked her into showing her true desire, or whether she twisted him to her own purposes. He was provoked enough himself that he did not care.
And neither, it seemed, did Eglantine. Her slender hands were in his own hair, her fingertips running over his face, her tongue between his teeth. ’Twas as though a storm had been unleashed, the passion he had glimpsed afore compelling her to seize her share of pleasure.
Duncan was only too happy to aid in that pursuit. His blood was thundering, his body was hard. And ’twas no lie that he desired this woman. He kissed Eglantine’s cheek, her eyelids, her temple, her ear, anxious to sample her everywhere. He nuzzled her throat, kissing her in that achingly soft place beneath her ear and the lady moaned. Eglantine twisted her tongue in Duncan’s ear, her breathless gasp of his name enough to drive him wild.
With only one thought, he swept her into his arms and made for the crumbling structure that had been his destination. “The horses,” she whispered, but he shook his head.
“They are not stupid enough to flee.” He smiled crookedly for her. “And if they are, you are better without them.”
“What is this place?”
“A chapel built by a hermit monk, some five centuries ago.” He ducked beneath the low sill of the stone doorway, blinking at the darkness within. “’Tis dry here and sheltered from the wind.” The ceiling was low, compelling him to crouch as he balanced Eglantine on his knees. ’Twas no bigger than a noble’s bed within, but ’twould more than do.
He smiled. “’Tis unfortunate the pelt of the wolf is not yet cured.”
“’Tis but squirrel,” she said huskily, loosening her cloak and revealing the fur lining. “But perhaps ’twill do.”
The confirmation of her willingness was more than he expected. Duncan caught Eglantine’s nape in one hand, holding her close, his fingers buried in the soft shimmer of her hair. His other hand caressed the length of her, her curves pressed against him from shoulder to toe. She made a cry in her throat when he found her nipple and arched when he rolled that peak between his finger and thumb.
Her lips parted and her lashes fluttered against his cheek as he cupped her breast in his hand. He bent and grazed his teeth across the peak, and she shivered, his touch clearly penetrating the wool of her kirtle.
’Twas not enough.
He broke his kiss to study Eglantine, noting her shining eyes, reddened lips and flushed cheeks. He caught his breath that her gaze was fixed wonderingly upon him and indeed, he wondered what she saw that filled her eyes with marvel. Her breath came quickly and she held his gaze as he coaxed that nipple to a tighter peak with finger and thumb.
He drew back to watch her and was astounded only now that she had permitted him such familiarity. Desire coursed thick and hot through Duncan’s veins. He would be the next between her thighs, of that he was certain.
Though the lady would agree to it first.
“You lied to me, Eglantine,” he murmured.
“Nay,” she insisted, her gaze unswerving.
“Aye.” Duncan whispered. “In this moment, you do indeed owe me aye or nay.”
It nigh killed him to wait, to feel her softness beneath him, to know that he could coax her with his touch to submit, to be convinced that without consent, she was not his to take.
But wait, Duncan did.
But the lady had already labeled him a savage and he would not prove her aright. He would not take more than she offered. His thumb did move persuasively across her taut nipple, ’twas true, as though his touch alone would coax her to cede all. Her breathing caught and Duncan was not above using all advantage to his side.
Eglantine studied him for a moment that seemed to stretch through eternity, her pulse pounding beneath his hand.
Then she abruptly gripped his neck and pulled him closer, offering her lips and the sweet curve of her throat. Characteristically, the lady made her choice and did not linger over the decision.
“Aye,” she whispered hoarsely against his flesh. “God help me for my weakness, but I can say naught else.”
Duncan claimed her lips, even as awe flooded through him. He had asked her for honesty, but never expected this much.
He had no intent of giving Eglantine the opportunity to reconsider.
* * *
Eglantine told herself that ceding to Duncan was the only way to ensure his surrender of Kinbeath. Aye, he had but one interest, the interest of a man seeking conquest, and once he had sated his desire, he would be gone.
She did not truly believe it. She did not want to consider her own weakness, her own burden of desire, certainly not her growing sense that her life was wrought of responsibility alone.
Nay, she wanted to feel. Duncan seemed intent on ensuring she did precisely that. The lace at the neck of her kirtle was already loosed, the tie of her chemise similarly undone. Eglantine shivered as Duncan pushed the unwelcome cloth aside, exposing her breasts to the cool air. She saw heat flicker in his eyes and felt a surge of nigh-forgotten feminine pride.
Then his lips closed over her nipple and she forgot all but sensation. His tongue flicked the peak, urging it to tighten further, his touch sending a surge of heat straight to her toes. The warmth of his hand closed over her knee and eased over her garter, the touch of his palm upon her bare thigh more delicious than she could have believed.
Eglantine’s heart was thundering, her mouth was dry. She wanted as she had never wanted before. She pushed her hands into the thickness of Duncan’s unruly hair, letting the thick waves wrap around her fingers. She gripped the back of his neck as his teeth grazed her nipple and arched against his strength, wanting only more.
His questing hand slipped through the hair at the top of her thighs as he lifted his head and met her gaze. His fingers parted her, his hand landing with a surety that made her jump. And he smiled at the wetness he found.
“Tell me what you desire, Eglantine,” he whispered, his eyes gleaming as his fingers worked. Eglantine writhed, certain she had never burned with a lust of such vigor before. She gripped his shoulders, her nails digging deep, her nipples taut. His hand closed around her waist possessively, his lips grazed her chin, her earlobe. “Tell me,” he urged.
“You know the truth of it.”
She felt his smile against her flesh and nigh swooned when he licked her earlobe. “Aye, I could guess, but I would have the tale from your lips.” His tongue rolled in her ear, his persuasive fingers made her moan. “Tell me, Eglantine.”
“I want pleasure.”
Duncan chuckled, his breath warm against her neck. “No more than that?” He rolled his hips against her, letting her feel the fullness of his erection. “How would you be pleasured, Eglantine?”
“’Tis vulgar to converse in this moment,” she charged, breathlessness stealing any indignation from her tone.
Duncan laughed and drew back to watch her. “But I am a barbarian, am I not?” He had that unpredictable look about him, but Eglantine only had a moment to recognize the fact of it before his heat was suddenly gone.
He slid beneath her skirts, cupped her buttocks in his hands and closed his mouth over her.
Eglantine moaned, powerless to keep silent, and lifted herself against him like a wanton. She had never felt such an intimate kiss—and she did not want it to cease anytime soon.
Duncan’s tongue rolled against her, exploring, teasing, coaxing her ardor to a crescendo. He held her fast in those great strong hands, though Eglantine writhed and twisted. She felt the brush of his teeth, his nose, the roughness of the whiskers on his chin, but all served only to further enflame her.
And his tongue, oh, his tongue had a wicked skill.
Her desire rose to heights previously unscaled, there was an inferno blazing unchecked beneath her flesh, and her hips began to buck of their own accord. She gripped the breadth of Duncan’s shoulders and heard herself cry out as pleasure washed over her in a sudden wave.
Before she could catch her breath, he was crawling over her, his eyes burning with his own desire. He laced his fingers through hers and stretched her arms over her head, bending to suckle her breast anew. Eglantine found herself moaning, her fingers gripping his tightly as her desire roared once more. He sampled one breast then the other, gazing upon her with satisfaction when the nipples were drawn to peaks.
Then his gaze locked with hers and his weight settled between her thighs. She caught her breath at the size of him, the hardness of him, pressed against her, and she wanted.
“Your eyes are telling tales again. Eglantine,” he murmured, with no small measure of pride. He smiled and rolled his hips against her. “But tell me what you desire.”
“You,” she whispered before she could stop herself.
Duncan arched his dark brow, tempting her to surprise him in turn.
“You, your heat inside me, filling me as none other has ever done,” she declared, her pulse racing at her own boldness. “Take me, Duncan, and please me again while I am wrapped around you.”
His eyes flashed as he bent to kiss her and nigh devoured her in his urgency. He caught her hands in one of his now, his other hand fairly tearing cloth in his haste to have it out of the way. Eglantine returned his kiss hungrily, greedily, barely aware of the bareness of her thighs before he was atop her again. She felt the rough tickle of the hair upon his legs, then parted her own, arching against him as she offered what they both desired.
He eased within her, filling her completely. He gave a ragged sigh, his gaze dark as it locked with her own. “Eglantine,” he whispered, the single word filled with wonder. His fingertips eased the hair from her brow, his erection swelled within her.
And Eglantine felt more powerful than she had in all her days and nights. This man who had granted her pleasure fit to melt her bones, this rough man who could seize any trinket he desired, wanted a gift of pleasure that only she could give. She smiled and lifted her hips against him in silent demand.
He grinned, his teeth flashing suddenly. “Do you not ask what I want?”
Eglantine chuckled despite herself. “I know what you want.”
But Duncan’s eyes filled with mischief. “Do you?”
Eglantine considered him for a moment, then decided to indulge him. She gripped the back of his neck and drew him closer, deliberately echoing his pose and question. “Tell me what you desire, Duncan,” she whispered, then flicked her tongue across his ear.
He shivered in a most satisfactory fashion and eased deeper within her. “Pleasure,” he acknowledged, his voice strained.
Eglantine slipped her hands beneath his chemise, liking the smooth heat of his flesh beneath her hands. “What else?” she demanded, nipping the corded strength of his neck with her teeth. “Tell me.”
Duncan began to move, his rhythm coaxing the embers of Eglantine’s own desire to burn anew. When he looked at her, his eyes had darkened to the hue of slate.
“Your eyes tell tales,” she teased, then ran a possessive hand through his hair. “Tell me what you desire, Duncan.”
His eyes flashed and he gripped her buttocks tightly once more. “You,” he declared. “And you know it well, my lady Eglantine. I want you wrapped around me, I want to scream with your release. I would have you claw my back and fair devour me. I would have you sated in my embrace.”
He eased within her to the hilt, his shoulders trembling with the force of his control. He watched her closely, as though he feared he had moved too deep too fast—though Eglantine gasped at the size of him, his heat was welcome indeed. “And I would have you sate me, in turn.”
Eglantine smiled up at him and watched relief filter into his expression. She reached up, pushed an errant curl from his brow, and framed his face in her hands. “I want all you have to give,” she whispered, liking the flame that lit in his eyes. “And Duncan, I want it now.”
He laughed suddenly, as though she had surprised him, then braced himself over her on his elbows. He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her with new intensity even as he moved within her. And Eglantine writhed anew, loving the heat of him within her, the weight of his hand upon her breast, the fervor of his kisses.
“I want you and I to find pleasure together,” Duncan whispered against her temple. His hand slipped between them, his thumb seeking the bead of her desire and soon Eglantine arched against him once more. She could feel him shaking with the effort of pacing himself and was touched beyond all else at his concern.
Then again, his touch obliterated all thought. Eglantine rose against him, she gripped his shoulders, she writhed and moaned. She nipped at his neck with her teeth and twined her legs around his waist, bucking against him in silent demand.
Duncan moaned, he moved with increasing speed, he held her fast. ’Twas a ride unlike any other Eglantine had shared and truly, she did not recognize her own unrestrained response. But it felt absolutely right. They moved together as though they had loved a thousand nights before. Their gazes locked and Eglantine watched the storm gather in Duncan’s eyes. She saw the heat rise in him and felt an answering heat within herself. He drove deeper and moved faster, she twisted against him and moaned aloud.
And a heartbeat later, they crested the peak as one. Her breath caught as her name slipped over Duncan’s lips.
“Mine,” he whispered against her throat, he rained kisses along her throat. “Eglantine is all mine.”
Far from arguing with the possessive claim, Eglantine found curious pleasure in it. She closed her eyes and fell back, holding Duncan fast against her chest, the thunder of his pulse indistinguishable from her own. She smiled at the realization that she was warm to her toes for the first time in months.
Then she found the wits to wonder what she had done. Eglantine stared at his dark hair curled between her fingers, felt his breath upon her throat and stared at the marks of her teeth upon his flesh. Horror coiled cold in her belly.
What manner of savage had she become?