Sin and Surrender (25 page)

“Another Bladesman to distract me from my work?” Paul asked. “Last time, ‘twas Theobald’s turn.”

He eyed Michael, who looked almost uncomfortable. Paul had been surprised that afternoon when Michael had approached him after the joust and expressed reluctant admiration for Paul’s ability to fake mediocrity. Only another man so skilled would truly understand the difficulties.

In the loud hall, full of singing minstrels and cheering soldiers gambling at dice, no one was close enough to pay attention to their words. Paul rubbed his hands together. “If you must be here, I need answers.”

“Answers?” Michael repeated suspiciously.

“Tell me about your journey with my brother down the length of England with his kidnapped bride.”

“She wasn’t his bride then,” Michael said, then winced, as if he regretted the words.

“Ah, eager to talk are you. I’m eager to hear. So you and my brothers breezed into her father’s well-guarded castle and simply stole her away.”

Michael rocked on his heels as he looked at the floor, and for a moment, Paul thought he’d retreat into silence.

“We used a wagon,” Michael said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Tossed her in a sack and buried her beneath the straw before anyone saw what we’d done.”

Paul chuckled, feeling a tightness in his chest begin to loosen. “Tell me more.”

Juliana approached Paul, walking slowly because she hated to interrupt. He and Michael were laughing together—laughing
together!
—and she couldn’t have been more shocked. There’d been such antipathy between them: Paul, because he envied Michael’s journey with his brothers to avenge his parents; and Michael, because he felt Paul had abandoned his duty to the League.

Finally she was close enough to hear their conversation.

“And then you became separated in London?” Paul asked, his voice full of disbelief. “And Florrie went to confront her murderous father alone?”

“Adam found her in time, of course,” Michael said, shaking his head.

“Aye, Adam mentioned how difficult it was for his wife to hear the extent of her father’s sins. She’s a brave woman.”

“And then there was Timothy’s assistance.”

Juliana expected Paul to change the subject, but he only nodded.

“Adam mentioned it. What did he do?”

“He caught up with us part way, and when he was supposed to bring back Lady Florence, he let us depart, going against the League.”

Paul made no sarcastic comment, only sighed and said, “Glad I am that he took the right stand.”

Both men suddenly noticed her, and Michael nodded. “I’ll leave you in capable hands, Sir Paul.”

“She
is
my closest guard,” Paul said.

Juliana and Paul looked at each other, and when he reached out a hand, she took it but didn’t walk into his embrace. She suddenly didn’t know how to tell him what she’d decided, what she wanted. It seemed too brazen, and she couldn’t play the concubine for something so important. She was restless and eager and uncertain.

“Paul, you jousted today, getting the exercise you so badly needed. I’ve had none. Come with me, for I need your help.”

His gaze was curious, but he didn’t question her, only followed her up to their bedchamber. Though she was distracted, she still did her duty, careful at every open door they passed, every corridor that intersected with theirs.

But at last they were alone.

And Paul watched her, waiting.

She felt foolish now, uncertain, but she presented him with her back. “Can you unlace me? I need to don a shirt and breeches. You might want to remove that fancy doublet for something more practical.”

When she went behind the screen, he called, “What are we doing?”

She peered out and grinned. “Sword fighting.”

When she emerged, he eyed her with interest. “We have little room to maneuver.”

“Then it will be a challenge.” She removed her sword from beneath the bed, drew it forth from its sheath, and grinned fiercely as it shone in the lamplight.

He lifted his sword and began to circle, as she did the same. He thrust, she parried, twisting so that their swords locked and they faced each other close across the blades. Part of the challenge was that these were no blunted swords, but lethal weapons.

“We could train in the nude, as the Greeks did,” he said, his smile wicked.

“Patience,” she said.

His smile faded into surprise.

This time she attacked, driving him backward, letting her sword just near him, trusting that he would counter the move. He put a table between them, and a chair crashed to the floor.

“Sure of yourself,” he said.

“And of you.”

“That will surely impress the League.”

She frowned even as they both slashed. He drove low, forcing her to jump his blade. She felt alive, her muscles moving in the rhythm she’d almost forgotten. Feeling once again capable and talented, she drove him backward.

He tripped over the chair and crashed into the table on his back. Lying across him, she held her blade to his throat and laughed.

They heard the squeak of the door latch, and only had a moment to toss their swords behind them to the floor. She put her hands on his face and kissed him fiercely.

“What is the meaning of this?”

A Kilborn soldier stood in the doorway, gaping at them. Juliana looked up from her place across Paul’s chest, her heart pounding, her breathing coming in gasps.

“What does it look like?” Paul demanded.

“I—I—forgive me, Sir Paul.” The man backed out of the chamber and closed the door behind him.

They stared at each other.

“That could have been a Bladesman,” he said tightly, staring at her mouth.

She licked her lips, and felt a groan reverberate through his body. “We both know they wouldn’t have entered like that.”

“What happens now?”

Wearing a slow smile, she tugged at the laces at his
neck and bared his skin to her hungry gaze. She suckled beneath his ear, tasting the saltiness, feeling his life’s blood pump just beneath her mouth.

His breathing was harsh, his erection straining beneath her belly.

“Juliana, if we do not stop—”

“I don’t intend to stop. I’ve decided.”

She expected him to toss her onto the bed, to pounce on her.

Instead he pushed her up by the shoulders so he could search her face. His hesitation surprised her, but didn’t stop her. She stood up, and knowing how much it pleased a man, began to disrobe for him.

He came up on his elbows to stare at her, the table rocking precariously beneath him. She pulled the tunic over her head, let him look at the way the thin shirt outlined her breasts. Her boots and breeches came next, and she made certain he could glimpse her cleavage as she bent over.

With a man, it was so easy, she’d been told. Give him a visual feast, and he could be manipulated, and she could remain in control.

But she didn’t feel in control of her wild emotions—and she didn’t want to manipulate him.

Giving him her back, she pulled the shirt up over her head. She was naked, and she could hear his groan of approval.

“Juliana, my God,” he whispered hoarsely.

Turning slowly, she arched, let him see her breasts in profile as she released her hair from its leather tie. The curls cascaded about her, hiding her breasts, then revealing them.

She spread her legs as if bracing herself during high seas. For his blue eyes were full of storms as he rose up, breathing hard, tugging on his garments.

She stopped him and put her hands on his body. “Let me.”

He closed his eyes briefly as she pulled off his shirt. She let her hands run down the muscles of his chest as she’d always wanted to, learning them, caressing his nipples until he shuddered. Again he reached for her, tried to push her back toward the bed, and again she eluded him.

She loosened the laces of his breeches, then reached her hand inside to clasp the hard, hot length of him. He sucked in his breath, his head dropping back as he shuddered.

“This isn’t working,” she said, feeling like she couldn’t explore as she wanted to.

His eyes slammed open and he gaped at her.

She gave a low, sensual laugh. “Think you I mean to stop? Nay, think again.”

And she pulled his breeches and braies down to his knees. His erection seemed to aim right at her, and as
she admired what she’d only heard about, she tried to imagine what it must be like for a naive virgin on her wedding night when confronted with
that.

She dropped to her knees, bending to remove his boots. When he was entirely naked, she sank back on her heels and looked up at him, feeling so aroused, yet also experiencing a sweet, soft yearning to please this man.

She came back up on her knees with purpose.

“Juliana, nay, do not, I won’t last.” His voice was guttural, desperate.

She pushed his hands away. “I’ll make certain you last until I am well pleasured.”

And then she took him into her mouth. He reacted in every way she’d heard of, but she hadn’t imagined how she herself would feel, performing something that had once seemed so foreign to her. Her need to please him went beyond awkwardness. She wanted to give him all of herself, wanted him to remember this night when they were far apart, both alone in their beds because of their own choices. The thought made her ache, but she banished it from her mind.

With her mouth and tongue she played him, watched the subtle signs that she went too far, and retreated. He quivered beneath her touch, legs spread as he braced himself against her.

“Enough!” he finally said harshly, and lifted her clear off the floor.

He laid her on the bed with more gentleness than she’d imagined him capable of in his aroused state. Her hair draped across the cushions, even as she arched and lifted her arms above her head to let him see everything he would have. She expected him to take her with the single-mindedness of men, and she was ready for him, aroused and eager to have him inside her at last.

He slowly crawled over her, and she gladly spread her legs.

With a strained laugh, he said, “Nay, do not rush me.”

He bent over her and pressed a kiss in the valley between her breasts. His hair touched her with its own caress, and she inhaled, startled. He took his time, lingering over her skin, tasting her without putting his mouth where she truly wanted it. She squirmed and wriggled, beyond content, needing to feel his tongue, his attention. If their desire weren’t mutual, his power over her would have frightened her.

But she didn’t feel fear, only a mindless ache of desperate pleasure.

He chuckled, eluding her breasts even as she practically put them in his mouth.

“You’re rushing me, and that will only make me avoid what you want.”

With a moan, she sank back, trembling, and it took all her control to lie still as he had his way with her. At last she understood how a woman’s defenses, her very
thoughts, could be swept away from her, unresisting. Paul licked her slowly, working his way to the peaks of her breasts, until she was panting, barely holding herself back from moaning too loudly. At last he took her nipple into his mouth, tasting, licking, teasing, doing the same to the other.

She was no longer Juliana the Concubine, but simply Juliana. Though she’d known what to expect, she felt overwhelmed, overcome, so grateful to be sharing this with him.

And when at last he settled between her thighs, she lifted her hips, whispering, “Yes, yes, yes.”

Still he held back, his penis at her entrance, teasing her, drawing out each moment. Beneath him, she knew at last she was a woman, not just a warrior, and that by denying the feminine part of herself, she’d only been living half a life.

And then he entered her, thrusting deep. The pain was negligible; her gasp because he stretched her, filled her, made her know that she would experience all.

But braced with his hands on either side of her shoulders, he froze and stared down at her.

She was a virgin after all.

P
aul was so surprised he almost pulled out of Juliana. Yet she gripped him with her lithe thighs, pulled him down until their bodies were touching along their entire torsos. He was buried in the heat of her, felt her breasts like hot brands in his skin.

He shook his head, trying to clear it. “Juliana—”

“Do not stop—please.”

It was the desperation of that final word that at last sank into his brain. The deed was done and could not be changed. She’d let him think—

But then she started tilting her hips, bringing his cock in deeper, and letting it slide out. He shuddered, and the last of his control was gone. She hadn’t wanted to be treated as a virgin, so he didn’t, thrusting into her over and over, feeling like he went deeper and deeper, losing himself in their shared moans. He kissed her openmouthed, his tongue mating with hers as they mated below.

He felt her every shudder, knew when her pleasure
was cresting by the urgent way she held his hips, guided him against her. It took everything in him to remain on the edge of his own need, waiting for her. When at last she cried out, he used his mouth to silence her, and sought his own release.

At last he braced himself on his elbows, their perspiring bodies still flattened together, his breathing barely in control.

Lifting his head, he stared down at her. “Juliana, you lied to me.”

Her smile was catlike and contented as she undulated her body beneath his, so warm and slippery that they slid sensuously against each other. He was hard again inside her, his mind leaving him, his need for her overtaking everything else.

But he flung himself to the side of her and covered his face with his forearm as he tried to regulate his breathing.

“That was … that was …” she began, but could find no words, only laughed softly as if to herself.

He felt her roll onto her side and drape herself along him, tormenting him.

“That was sex,” he said, his voice harsh with denial of his body’s demanding needs, “and you’d never had it before.”

“I never lied,” she insisted, trailing her fingers through his chest hair and following the path lower.