RavenHawke (Dragons of Challon Book 2) Read online

  His lips were firm, warm and dry, not sloppy and wet as Phelan’s were in his rough attempts to steal a kiss. She craved to close her eyes and enjoy the conflagration he spread within her flesh, relish the sweet cider and mead on his lips. Wanted to watch him, see the reaction in his bedeviling eyes. The why he was here with her was long gone from her thoughts. She only wanted to touch him, stroke him.

  His arms were beautiful. Granite hard, clearly shaped from years of wielding a sword and lance, yet they were not bulky like Einar’s. There was a sleekness to his body, a warrior’s elegance, which set him above all men.

  Breaking the kiss he gasped for air, his eyes searching hers as though he spoke to her mind with The Kenning. The warmth in the pale gaze spoke adoration, love, a soul deep wanting―emotions that astonished her.

  The mobile lips closed over hers once more. Slanting his angle, he worked her mouth, teaching her the skills of pleasure. Control shattered as the kisses went on. And on. Aithinne felt a low moan echo in her, yet wasn’t sure if the sound came from him or her―didn’t care as long as he kept kissing her.

  Heat rolled off his flesh, blistering her, branding her as the kiss deepened, more demanding. His tongue pressed along the seam of her lips. He did naught to compel her to open for him, though when she sighed, the questing tongue seized the advantage, spearing in to stroke over, then around hers. The concept shocking. In spite, she quickly learned the rhythm, the play.

  She recalled Dinsmore cornering her once as she came out of the garderobe and trying to force a kiss upon her using his tongue. It was sloppy, made her think of a piece of calf’s liver shoved into her mouth. There was no comparison. This man showed her just how pleasurable, how varied kisses could really be.

  Leaving her breathless, he trailed his mouth along her jaw, then down the side of her neck, pausing to lave his tongue against the spot where her pulse frantically jumped. Her heart slammed against her ribs, but also felt the force of his in his chest, and knew the power of this magic between them reached him with the same measure.

  She remained motionless, anxious by the dark craft he wielded so easily. Even so, he drew her, called by instincts older than the dawn of time.

  Sliding down the bed, he pulled her under him, the solid weight of his warrior-honed muscles pressing her into the bedding. Her body conformed to his solid planes, her rounded softness met in perfection. He was heavy, yet she found she relished the sensation. The surrender.

  His body moved lower, and in rising hunger, his mouth feasted on her breast. At first, his tongue circled the hard peak of her nipple, flicking it playfully. Then, sucking it hard, he drew on it in a rhythm that echoed in her body. Hands clutching his upper arms, she arched to him―wanting it all.

  For an instant out of time, he paused to stare at her.

  “Is something wrong?” she asked, suddenly scared he would not take her.

  He swept the hair away from the side of her face. “I want to capture your image in my mind’s eye. When I am old and gray, I shall conjure this memory and recall the power. Recall you, so beautiful with your golden hair kissed by fire, pooling around you. Recall how I have dreamt of this for so many long, cold years.”

  His fingers traced through the soft curls at the apex of her thighs, finding them damp from her body’s desire, preparing her for his invasion. He moaned as he slid a finger into her, then two, her hips bucked in reaction as he stretched her body. “You are so tight. I do not want to hurt you.” Then, he moved the fingers in and out slowly, opening her, stretching her.

  “Please…” She seemed unable to gasp anything further.

  Taking Aithinne’s hands, he interlaced his fingers with hers and pushed them up beside her head, his body aligning to hers. His erection nudged against her opening, moistening the mushroom tip with the honey of her need.

  “As a virgin, you might feel pain when I breach your maidenhead. I wouldst have pain be no part of this special time. Do not be afraid…pleasure is on the other side. Kiss me, brand me, own me. Become one with me,” he whispered as he flexed the muscles of his hips and slid into her. He paused when he bumped against the virgin’s veil. Withdrawing partially, she felt him readying his muscles to apply the force needed to break through the maidenhead.

  Aithinne almost yelped. “Wait…”

  “Wait?” came his strangled reply.

  “Aye…you must speak your deepest wish.”

  He echoed the word as if foreign. “Wish?”

  “Aye, for what your heart desires most.” She kissed the column of his neck, while silently asking the Auld Ones for a child born from the fire of their passion. The child born of her plans to protect Lyonglen and Coinnleir Wood…only, she now wanted that child.

  Wanted his child.

  “Look at me,” he ordered, his voice rough. “You are my wish. I want to see your eyes when I take you…when I make you mine.”

  Aithinne batted her lashes, staring into his shadowy countenance, stunned by the conviction in his words. She heard forever in his declaration. Her heart clenched knowing that could never be, no matter how her soul cried out wanting it.

  His male hardness stretched her. She marveled at the hot, pulsing flesh pushing, prodding against her barrier. The fullness was startling, but she recalled Oonanne’s instructions to breathe deep and slow, relax until her body conformed to accept his flesh within hers. Surely, this joining was fire magic. Confused by his hesitation, she felt him pull back, but then he plunged forward. A cry escaped her lips, but he caught it, kissing her until the pain receded. Lying still, she reveled in how deep he now was within her, how connected their bodies were.

  Lifting slightly, he stroked inside her again going even deeper, causing her to moan in pleasure, desire, not pain. He whispered against her lips, “My wish―to have you, own you, possess you…forevermore.”

  Her beautiful stranger set a rhythm of plunges that had her clinging to him, her fingernails biting into the flesh of his shoulders. Then clinging was not enough. She picked up the pattern so she could arch to meet his frenzied thrusts. The pace quickened, as wild and furious as a summer storm.

  Her body exploded into a thousand white-hot cinders, nearly blinding her vision as he pulled her into a maelstrom of fire. His body tensed as he vibrated, the agony, the beauty etched on his face as her eyes focused on his countenance. She clung to him as the scalding heat of his seed poured into her body.

  The splendor of their bonding summoned tears to her eyes, so humbling she hid her face against the curve of his neck. To her surprise, he was not done. With a smug grin, he suddenly flipped her over, onto her stomach. Aithinne was puzzled what his intent was, but he began by trailing kisses down her spine. He leaned forward, reaching for the unguent, and in strong strokes he kneaded her back, her hips, her legs. Pure ecstasy. When his warrior’s hands worked their way back up, his thumbs skimmed the inside of her thighs, then maddeningly traced circles on her soft flesh. His care was both relaxing and provoking in the same breath.

  He rolled, taking her with him, until she was sitting astride his hips. It took her several heartbeats to comprehend that she could ride him, but when she understood what he wanted, she seized the chance to be in control. Or so she thought.

  Undaunted, his sensual mouth curved into a devilkin grin, as he pushed upward within her. The intensity of it, the fullness, caused Aithinne to shatter inside. Colors, like shooting stars, flooded her mind, overpowering her to the point she nearly slipped into a velvet oblivion.

  “Have…mercy,” she panted out.

  “Not a chance.” His white teeth flashed, the grin wicked. He reared up and wrapped his arms around her, driving into her again and again, each explosion building into another, his strong body bucking against hers, slamming up into her, harder, deeper, more frantic, until she could only obey his wizard’s bidding. Until she lost track of how many times he forced her to find her woman’s surrender.

  She yielded everything. He demanded and she gave, then gave more. No
t just her physical release...but her heart. There was no shielding against him, against the dark words of love he whispered to her, weaving his own Beltaine enchantment.

  She may have made a captive of him, but this dark knight ensnared her soul.

  Aithinne’s body echoed with the hot vibrancy of their coupling. Still pulsing, shimmering with his possession, she craved more. Leaning her face into the strong column of his neck, she clung to him, wanting to prolong the sensations. So very right, she felt a part of this special man.

  All of Oona’s teachings failed to hint of the mysterious power that rose between a man and woman, how quickly she pined for more. How it bonded her to him. Now she understood why women so willingly surrendered the small control they had in their lives, giving over their fate to a man.

  This time with him was precious, to be treasured. She thrilled knowing there would be more nights like this one.

  Six more.

  Her heart squeezed. Only six. Then, he would be gone, back to his life. A life that did not include her or the child they would make. When she sent him away, he would take a piece of her with him. A piece of her heart.

  How could she ever let him go?

  In her mad scheme, could there be a possibility he might wish to remain with her? Foolish yearnings. Yet, her heart cried, make it so.

  All of Scotland knew how Marjorie, Countess Carrick, had made prisoner of Robert Bruce, Lord of Annandale. Annandale had traveled to pay his respects, and inform the lady of the circumstances of her husband’s death in the Holy Lands. As he rode away at the end of his visit, he was unexpectedly beset with the countess’s guard. They escorted him back to the castle where she kept him captive until they wed. The union produced enough Bruce children to say it must have been a happy marriage.

  Dare she do the same? Was she audacious enough to hold him longer than the time Oona said she must to insure he bred a child upon her? This night had been founded on a need to control her life, keep her safe from the men determined to use her for their material gains. Only, could this special man stay? Be her knight protector? Logic said such a wish could never be, yet the seed of hope took root in her heart.

  He stroked her hair and then pulled her to him as he rolled, holding her close. “So long… I have loved you. I had begun to think you were not real.”

  “I am real.”

  His words were low, softly spoken against her hair as he nuzzled the side of her face. “I dreamt of you. When I closed my eyes I wished for the dream to visit me. Even when I did not dream, I sensed you, wanted you, craved to be near you. So long, I nearly gave up hope of finding you. Then I saw you, saw you were mortal. Only, it nearly crushed me to know you would never be mine.”

  Aithinne could not speak, so awed by his heartfelt words. A side effect of the potion he had been fed―a man could only speak honesty when under its influence. The words he offered came from his inner heart, where all truths lived.

  “You have seen me in your dreams?” Barely able to breathe, hope surged within her. Could this be? Oh, please let it be!

  He leaned halfway over her, wrapping his thigh over hers as if to anchor her, make sure she did not slip away from him. Rubbing his cheek along her jawline, he nuzzled her as a cat would. “Since I became a knight. Before my dubbing, I spent the night in reflection. Fighting exhaustion, I prayed long into the dark hours of morn for God to guide me to be a knight true, and show me the path of my destiny. A face came to me in the darkness, barely more than mist. Details were not strong and I was so startled, I nearly lost the thread of the vision. But I could see the eyes. Your eyes. I had no idea what your coming meant then. Later, you appeared again―when I was wounded in battle, your presence visited me. This time my sight was clearer. I saw your golden hair, shimmering as if kissed by fire. When I thought I might die, you soothed my brow and told me I could not give up. I have loved you, hunted for you. No man could love a woman as I love you.”

  He kissed her. Not the gentle kiss of worship, this kiss was full of passion, born of the fire of their coming together. His knee shifted her thigh so he could slide over her and into her. He linked his fingers with hers and pushed her arms over her head, arching her body to conform to his, to meet his thrusts eagerly.

  The perfection of him being within her, knowing their joining was done with love, moved her so profoundly she could hardly breathe. He had seen her in his dreams! Oh, how beyond belief was this! This man was destined to be hers, willed by the Auld Ones.

  His body pounded into hers as he brought them to a shimmering release. Their reaching this pinnacle in the same breath only amplified the sense of their belonging to each other. Oh, this night was indeed miraculous, more than she could have ever wished!

  He rained gentle kisses over her face, between gasps for air. “I love you…love you…love you…”

  Her heartbeat pounded harder, more erratic, with each declaration, knowing she loved this man. They were destined to be; together they could forge a magnificent future.

  “Forevermore. I will always love you…Tamlyn.” With his final words, he drifted into an exhausted slumber.

  Aithinne could not draw air. The pain was too much. She laid there, frozen, tears sliding down her cheeks. How could she have not recalled seeing Tamlyn’s face within his thoughts?

  Devastation rolled through her, the hurt burning until she feared she might puke. Her beautiful stranger loved her cousin, Tamlyn! He thought she was Tamlyn! She pushed him away from her, curling into herself and choking back silent tears.

  Tears of anguish that his heart would forever belong to another.

  Chapter Four

  Cha sgeul-rùin e ’s fios aig triùir air.

  (’Tis no secret if three ken it.)

  — Auld Scots Adage

  Just after dawnbreak, Aithinne stormed through the courtyard of Lyonglen, so furious that she could barely think. The anger blunted the pain swelling in her chest. Oh, aye, being mad kept the other emotion at bay.

  A scream split the bailey, but none stirring about their early morn duties paid it the slightest heed. Aithinne paused, and glanced around looking for a rock—a big one. When the peacock spread its beautiful fan of green and teal feathers, and proclaimed its dominance of the courtyard once more, she let loose of the stone. It fell short of her target, and only caused the feathered menace to come running after her. She took off running, up the steps and inside the tower, slamming the door after her.

  “Damn bird, mayhap Cook will make a meal of him come Lughnasadh,” she grumbled.

  Opening the door just a crack, she peeked through to see the stupid critter was pecking at the door with angry insistence. “’Tis the wrong day to pick a fight with me, Mr. Peacock.”

  She slammed the door again, and then headed straight to the Great Hall. She pulled up, growling under her breath as she espied her brothers lazing around the lord’s table, awaiting food to break their fast. Their spirits quite merry. With the foul mood she was in, their inane chuckles set her teeth to gnashing.

  “Ooooo…nodcocks!” Her eyes narrowed on them. “Let me finish with you, then see if you still have a half-mind to laugh.”

  Last night had been more than a maid could wish for her first time. Her stranger taught her things she never knew about her body, showed her pleasures beyond imagining. Aithinne’s lip quivered when she recalled how exquisitely he worshipped her with his hands, his mouth, his heat singeing her flesh. How deep he had been within her. How a part of him she had been. All the sensations he made her feel.

  There had been no holding back. Defenseless, she had given her heart to him.

  Then, the bloody bastard ruined the beauty of their time together by calling her Tamlyn!

  A knife in her heart. She faced the pain―and the facts. Obviously, there was no longer any question. Her stranger knew Tamlyn, and felt deep emotions for her.

  Loved her.

  She choked back the rising tears, her hands trembling as she barely controlled the urge to cry. Oh, how
much more muddled could her life get? Sucking in a deep breath, she once more forged the pain into anger.

  “From where did you steal him?” Aithinne launched her attack before the idiots wised up enough to see she was in a horrid temper.

  The three of them had a tendency to scurry like rats when she wanted a handful of them, so she kept squarely in the path of their retreat. Silly twits failed to notice her bubbling fury.

  Hugh leaned sideways in the lord’s chair, his legs dangling over one arm. His hazel eyes looked up at her blankly. Deward and Lewis mirrored his action. All three smiled innocently and inquired in one voice, “Who?”

  “Save playing innocent, you lackwits. We have only one stranger you dragged to Lyonglen and dumped into my bed.” Putting her hands on her hips, she glared at them. At the edge of her vision, she spotted Einar in the shadows, trying to slip away. “Dare not leave, Einar! You were supposed to see they carried out my instructions to the letter. Sit!” She pointed to a bench.

  “Aye, Princess.” Contrite, he strived to scrunch himself into about half his size as he walked to the bench and sat.

  The Norseman was quite comical, but she suppressed the rising chuckle and snapped, “Do not call me Princess, Einar.”

  Head hanging in shame, he nodded. “As you wish, Princess Aithinne.”

  She exhaled her frustration. “I did not mean address me as Princess Aithinne, I said do not call me Princess a’tall.”

  “Aye, Princess,” he rumbled, whilst her three mooncalf brothers giggled and poked each other.

  “Och, never mind. I have no time to argue over something that you have failed to learn in ten years. I need to know where they found that man. He is a warrior. I examined his clothes―raiments belonging to a noble. So from where did you cork-brains steal him?”

  Her three brothers looked to each other, eyes rolling, trying not to snigger. Deward kicked Lewis under the table, trying to warn him to silence. Naturally, Lewis kicked back. Harder. Then, suddenly they flew at each other, slugging away, while Hugh howled with laughter.