Part 14 (2/2)
He ran his hand beneath the curls at her nape, lifting them to expose her tingling flesh to the moist brush of his lips. Willow could not help but moan as all the tension melted from her body, leaving her as boneless as one of Mary Margaret's rag dolls.
The s.h.i.+lling clattered to the floor.
”Sorry,” she muttered, scrambling to retrieve it. She stole a glance over her shoulder at Bannor as she wiggled back into place. ”I have a feeling this is going to be much more difficult than it sounded.”
”I certainly hope so,” he murmured, nuzzling the sensitive sh.e.l.l of her ear.
Willow struggled to keep both her eyes and her knees clenched tightly shut as his lips tenderly traced the feather-soft hairs at her temple, the sleek plane of her cheekbone, the vulnerable curve of her jaw-finally coming to nestle against the pulse throbbing beneath the silky skin of her throat.
Willow's appet.i.te was whetted by the delicious sensation of his mouth against her flesh. She turned her head, blindly seeking a taste of him. But he would kiss only the very corner of her mouth, lightly flicking it with the tongue she longed to draw deep inside of her. The gentle press of his hands on her shoulders held her captive to that delectable torment, until they began to glide downward, his broad thumbs lingering against the fluted arch of her collarbone, then hooking in the bodice of her kirtle.
Willow's eyes flew open. ”What are you doing?” she demanded, both frightened and stirred by the inexorable descent of those hands.
”Only what you gave me leave to, my sweet lady,” he whispered. ”Anything. Anything at all.”
He leaned over her shoulder, pressing his cheek to hers. Raw excitement flickered through her, its pulsing flame fed by the beguiling p.r.i.c.kle of his beard stubble, the intoxicating spice of the ale on his breath, the ragged pounding of his heart against her back. Both of their hearts seemed to skip a beat as Bannor peeled down her bodice in one smooth motion, leaving her naked to the waist.
Nothing could have prepared Willow for the icy flush that heated her skin as her b.r.e.a.s.t.s were exposed to the firelight and to his gaze for the very first time.
For a timeless eternity, it seemed as if he would be content only to look, to drink his fill of her with his smoldering eyes.
Then he curled his palms around her, filling them as if with the most bountiful of treasures. As his knuckles grazed their pebbled tips, his groan of pleasure mingled with her gasp of delight.
Willow wanted to close her eyes, but she could not drag her gaze away from the sight of Bannor's callused fingers tugging gently, but firmly, at her distended nipples. A greedy mewling welled up from deep within her throat. She clenched her legs together even tighter, not to hold fast the s.h.i.+lling, but in a vain attempt to a.s.suage the sweet sting between them.
It was the same dart of lightning she had felt in her belly the first time their eyes had met, a white-hot flame that licked lower and hotter with each deft squeeze of Bannor's fingertips, threatening to engulf everything in its path.
When Willow could no longer bear its fevered kiss, she pressed her small hands to the backs of his, molding both of their hands to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. She never dreamed that he would take her unspoken plea as an invitation to slide his hand out from beneath hers and slip it beneath her skirt. And not even when his hand drifted gently up her thigh did she guess he would be so bold as to seek to soothe that sting himself.
Which only rendered the shock of his big, blunt forefinger raking through her silky nether curls that much greater. A shudder of pure reaction seized her as he slid his finger into the throbbing cleft between her legs, burrowing as deep as he dared.
”The s.h.i.+lling, Willow,” he reminded her, his voice resonating with the same urgency that was mounting deep within her. ”Remember the s.h.i.+lling.”
It was an exquisite torture to squeeze her legs together when her every instinct was begging her to let them fall apart, entreating her to let him dabble his fingers in the warm honey melting from the feminine heart of her.
The s.h.i.+lling might prevent him from reaching that overflowing cup, but it could not stop him from finding the glowing ember nestled in her damp curls. He stroked it to raw flame using nothing more than the supple twist of his finger. Willow bucked and writhed, but there was no escape from the sweet madness pulsing through her womb.
She clung to his powerful forearms as pleasure began to spill through her, culminating in a surge of rapture so deep and hard she never even heard her own wail, or the musical tinkle of the s.h.i.+lling striking the floor. Bannor's hand slid down, cupping her so hard she had no choice but to ride another wave of pleasure to its soul-shattering crest.
She was still being rocked by lingering tremors of delight when he drew her hard against him, burying his lips in her hair.
”Oh, my!” she gasped, her breath coming in convulsive little pants. ”I never... I never ever... I never even dreamed . . .” Clutching her bodice to her heaving b.r.e.a.s.t.s, she twisted around to give him a fierce scowl. ”You miserable knave! You did too know it was possible to give a woman pleasure without taking your own!”
Bannor smoothed a sweat-dampened tendril of hair from her cheek, a crooked smile quirking his lips. ”Indulging you, my lady, was one of the greatest pleasures I've ever known.”
Willow's heart melted at his gallant declaration. She pressed her mouth to his, kissing him with pa.s.sionate fervor.
When he finally managed to disengage himself, the strangled note in his voice was unmistakable. ”You mustn't forget the s.h.i.+lling, Willow. There's one more thing you must do to ensure its success.”
She blinked at him, still drunk on the potent sweetness of his kiss. ”And what would that be?”
”Leave,” he said firmly.
”Leave?”
”Aye, leave. Now. This very moment.”
Before she could gather her scattered wits or her s.h.i.+lling, Bannor had drawn her off the bed and to her feet. He tucked her back into her gown, his hands as matter-of-fact as if he were dressing one of his children, then hauled her to the door. He gave her a hot, hard kiss that left her weaving, then shoved her onto the landing and closed the door in her face.
Before she could stagger toward the stairs, it flew open again. ”Oh, Willow?”
”Hmmm?” she murmured, bestowing a dreamy smile upon him.
Bannor leaned against the door frame, his tousled hair and heavy-lidded gaze making him look every bit as deliriously wicked as the satyr she had once believed him to be. ”Come back tomorrow night. I've a few tricks of my own to show you.”
Nineteen.
Hugging her cloak tight around her, Willow darted across the bailey, hoping she could make it to the drawbridge before the dozing guard awoke from his slumber. Even in her haste, she could not resist stealing a look at Bannor's tower. A smile touched her lips as she imagined him sprawled across the feather mattress, his hair rumpled, and his skin smelling of sleep. She hoped the embers of the fire she had kindled would still be glowing when he awoke, a smoldering reminder of what had pa.s.sed between them only a few short hours ago.
”M'lady! M'lady!”
Willow clapped a hand to her pounding heart as Fiona came lurching out of the dawn mist. ”Good heavens, Fiona, I thought you were a haint.”
The old woman certainly looked the part. Despite the morning chill, she wore naught but a ragged shawl draped over her white gown. Her tidy bun had unraveled, leaving her hair to hang in lank wisps around her face. Willow had never seen the little woman look quite so frazzled.
”Forgive me, m'lady. I saw ye from the nursery window and knew I'd have to make haste if I was to catch ye. Mags has taken the colic and sweet Peg here has hardly got a wink o' sleep all night. Every time the poor creature starts to drift off, Mags wakes up screamin' and there they both go, howlin' their wee heads off.” Fiona thrust the basket dangling from her wizened arm at Willow. ”I was hopin' ye wouldn't mind lookin' after the poor mite fer a spell?”
Willow took an involuntary step backward. ”Oh, Fiona, I really don't think-”
”I'd ask one o' the maidservants to do it, but they just haven't got yer tender touch with the wee ones.” The old woman's bottom lip quivered so piteously Willow feared she might burst into tears herself.
Willow sighed. ”Very well. Give her over.” She hooked the basket over her arm. ”It's certainly not as if I've never had a baby foisted off on me before.”
”May G.o.d bless ye, m'lady!” As a second baby's strident shriek pierced the morning hush, Fiona's toothless smile tightened to a wince. Muttering beneath her breath, she hastened back toward the castle, leaving Willow alone with her new charge.
Willow started to tighten the hood Fiona had fas.h.i.+oned, but some foreign impulse prompted her to peel back its folds and steal a look at the child's face. She expected the baby to be sleeping, not gazing up at her with a wide-eyed curiosity no less keen than her own.
”Well, h.e.l.lo there,” she murmured, nonplussed by the babe's unwavering stare.
Peg's rosy cheeks had already began to ripen. She was becoming less puckered and more puckish, looking less like a wizened old man and more like a jolly elf. The head that had been bald only a fortnight ago was now covered with fuzzy blond down. Willow could not resist brus.h.i.+ng her fingertips across it.
A bubble of laughter escaped the baby's lips, so merry and engaging that Willow was startled to find herself laughing.
”Aren't you a good-natured thing,” she said, gently tweaking the creature's pug nose.
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