The Princess and the Templar (25 page)

On their return journey to Dornoch, he’d tried to approach her several times, but she’d ignored him. There was nothing to say, no middle ground betwixt them. He’d explored every inch of her naked flesh, touching her in forbidden places, and still he’d turned her away. ’Twas her ultimate shame. For he’d wanted her, of that she was certain, remembering the rock-hard feel of his shaft, lying hot and heavy against her naked belly.

He simply hadn’t wanted her enough.

If he’d taken her and they’d made a child, what would she have done? The thought of holding Raul’s child in her arms brought a lump to her throat and tears to her eyes. She imagined the sweetness of cuddling their babe. The child would be a dark-haired boy like Raul with eyes the color of rich sable.

She closed her eyes, savoring the dream. If her fondest wishes could come true, they would rule Kinsale together, growing old whilst their grandchildren played at their feet. Then she would die, stooped with age but happy, in his arms. ’Twas the romantic dream she’d cherished all her life—to love a man—not for his rank but for himself. And there was no better man than Raul. No one stronger or braver, kinder or more gentle. She didn’t care one whit about his lack of title or name.

Gasping at the audacity of her thoughts, she covered her mouth with her hand. For she was truly ensnared in her own net, a slave to romantic notions. Despite all the odds against it, she’d fallen in love with her Templar.

****

Raul tossed on his narrow bunk. Across the tiny space, Arnaud lay on his back with one arm flung over his face, softly snoring. Turning again, Raul tried to find his ease, but his wounded shoulder throbbed. Sleep eluded him.

That was but a poor excuse, his shoulder. Forsooth, the wound of his flesh was healing. For it wasn’t his shoulder that troubled him. But the gaping wound in his heart kept the sleep at bay. Day and night, each waking hour and even in his dreams, his thoughts centered on Cahira. How he longed to hold her in his arms and beg her forgiveness. But she would have naught to do with him since that night.

Rising, he searched in the dark for his tunic and pulled it over his head, wincing when the cloth pressed against his injury. Opening the door quietly, he went out into the night, determined to pace the decks until exhaustion overtook him.

He passed the sailor on watch, inclining his head in greeting and strode to the forecastle. The sailor eyed him warily and returned to his duties. Raul walked the length of the ship. The first mate lifted his hand from the tiller and saluted. Raul nodded and made another round of the deck, wondering what he could say to Cahira. It was obvious she was shamed by what had passed between them.

As she had every right to be.

She was a princess, far above him, and he’d allowed lust to triumph over his common sense and duty. In the aftermath of the battle and half-dazed with pain, he’d given himself over to her sweet embrace, wanting to forget they’d almost perished. Death had proven a powerful aphrodisiac; the need to live and reproduce strong within him.

But his passion for life hadn’t given him the right to take her to a filthy cave where he undressed her and touched her and…

Thinking of what had transpired, his loins tightened and his manhood rose. He gritted his teeth at the familiar throbbing ache. Since that night he’d been in an almost constant state of arousal, remembering the feel of her soft and yielding body and the lingering smell of rose-petals in her hair.

¡Sangre de Cristo! He must stop this madness!

Turning to the ship’s rail, he gripped the rough wood and stared at the rolling sea. He’d promised to retake her castle after securing aid from de Molay. That meant they’d be together for many weeks, possibly months.

How could he withstand the torment?

He crossed the deck. When he neared the forecastle again, he heard a woman’s cry, followed by sobbing.

Cahira!

He raced to her cabin door and shouldered aside the weak latch. The swaying lamp illuminated the room, drawing his gaze to where she lay curled on her bunk with her face to the wall. Her shoulders shook with the force of her crying.

She must have heard his clumsy entry because she lifted her head and gazed over her shoulder. Her eyes were red, and the silver track of her tears marred her creamy complexion. Sighing, she said, “So, ’tis you.”

“Yes, I heard your cry.”

“’Twas only a nightmare. Go away.”

He heard the quiver in her voice and registered the hurt in her sea-green eyes. Tentatively, he took a step toward her. This time, he wouldn’t allow her to dismiss him. This time, he would speak with her. Perchance even comfort her.

But before he could reach her, the door burst open, and a sleepy Arnaud stumbled in. “What happened? I heard a woman’s cry.” Peering around Raul, he asked, “Are you well, Your Highness?”

Sitting up in her berth, Cahira replied, “Aye, Sir Arnaud, I’m fine. ’Twas only a bad dream.”

Raul caught Arnaud’s gaze and gave his head a shake. Arnaud, quick to understand, nodded once. “I’m relieved it was only a bad dream.” He bowed. “Sleep well, Your Highness.” With those words, he backed out of the cabin, pulling the door shut behind him.

Cahira tugged the thin blanket to her chin and stared at Raul. “You may leave as well.”

He advanced a pace. “I think not. I must speak with you.”

She lifted her chin. “There’s naught you can say that will change what has happened.” The flush on her cheeks deepened, and she lowered her gaze.

The lamp’s light picked out the threads of gold in her tumbled tresses. He remembered all too well the silky tendrils of her coppery hair and recalled with a gut-wrenching shudder the brush of it against his naked flesh.

She was so beautiful, even with her reddened eyes and tear-streaked face. He couldn’t help but admire the perfect curve of her cheek, the fan of her gold-tipped eyelashes, and the sweet, sensuous promise of her wine-red lips.

It was well the cave had been dark that night. For if he’d gazed into her green eyes and looked upon her fair face, he would have been lost. He would have taken her virginity, plunged himself into her hot, willing sheath. Together they would have scaled the heights to the stars and plucked the half-moon for her crown.

For he loved her with all his heart and soul and with every breath he drew into his body. But she deserved a noble husband, a man who could rule Kinsale. They could never marry, even if he’d gotten her with child. And what a coil that would have been, a bastard siring another bastard.

His lust had overtaken his common sense, and he’d done her a terrible disservice. She was right to avoid him. If they were to remain together that was the wisest course. Still, he couldn’t abide her hatred and disgust. He needed to make amends.

Taking her hands in his, he knelt before her with his head bowed. “Please, forgive me, Cahira. I had no right to touch you and t-to…to…I forgot myself.” He laid his head on her bunk. “You must understand; I couldn’t help it. You’re so lovely and I…” He stopped, biting back the word, for it wasn’t right. Even if he loved her with all his heart, that love changed naught. “I must ask your forgiveness.”

Then he felt her hand on his head, smoothing his hair, stroking him with such tenderness that a lump lodged in his throat, and he could scarce swallow. “Poor Raul,” she whispered, “I felt the same way. I couldn’t help myself. But I shouldn’t keep you from your vows.”

What was she saying? That what had happened in the cave was her fault? How could she even think it? He’d tried to protect her and in so doing, he’d shamed her even more.

Lifting his head, he gazed at her. “My vows were but a poor excuse. I thought if I took the blame, you would spurn me.” He turned his face and nuzzled her hand. “But my ploy worked too well, Cahira. Heaven help me, but I’m damned, for I can’t stop thinking of you. Can’t stop wanting you, though I have no right.”

He heard the catch of her breath, and her luminous eyes brimmed over with more tears.
¡Madre de Dios!
Had he hurt her again? He held her hand tightly and started to speak.

But she laid one finger across his lips and whispered, “Oh, Raul, I wish you would have told me sooner. I thought you didn’t want me. That your vows were more important.”

He caught one of her shimmering tears with his fingertip and tasted its salty essence, wetting his lips with her hurt and feeling her pain as if it was his own. She cupped his face in her hands. Her lush mouth hovered but a whisper away.

His gaze fastened on her mouth. So close, but so far. A lifetime separated them. He couldn’t go on like this, for if he looked at her mouth for one moment more, he would kiss her. Kiss her with all the pent-up longing in his heart.

He turned his gaze aside.

“Why do you say you have no right?” she asked. “I give you the right. Am I not ruler over my own body?”

“I can give you nothing, Cahira.” His throat felt raw. “I possess no lands, no title, not even my own good name.”

“You’ve given me more pleasure than I thought the world could hold. ’Tis enough.”

No, he wanted to shout at her. It wasn’t enough. But he was weak, too weak, to turn her away. Despite all his vows, all his misgivings, all the promises he’d made to himself only moments before, he couldn’t resist her. Couldn’t withstand the blinding drive to touch her, to possess her, to keep her for himself.

Rising, he sat on the bunk and gathered her into his arms. Her familiar rose-scented perfume filled his senses, promising paradise. She was so soft to hold. Her slender arms encircled his neck, their supple length twined around him. Beneath the thin linen of her nightshift, he could feel the soft mounds of her breasts.

His blood heated. A burning pulse point started in his groin. His member stiffened and throbbed. He closed his eyes and ground his teeth together, praying for strength. She pressed her mouth to his. For a heartbeat, he held back. But her honeyed lips moved over his, warm and inviting.

Groaning with oh, so sweet torment, he kissed her back. Their mouths fused as one, ravenous with need, starving with desire. They feasted on each other. He sucked on her tongue, and she opened her mouth wider, taking his tongue within. Relishing their intimate contact, he couldn’t help but think of how it would feel to bury his manhood in her wet, tight sheath.

At that thought, his shaft grew even harder, turgid with need. Crazed and impatient, he fumbled with the bow at the throat of her nightgown, twisting and knotting the delicate satin ribbon. Breaking their kiss, she pushed his hand aside and undid the knot, pulling back the soft cotton material and exposing her breasts, cupping their succulent weight in her hands, offering herself to him.

The breath left his body as he stared at her soft, white flesh. He’d touched her that night but had not looked upon her nakedness. Just as he knew they would be, her breasts were perfect. Blue-veined like the finest marble and topped with rosy, sassy points, just ripe for the sucking. With a ragged growl, he lowered his head and took one perfect peak into his mouth, licking the nipple with his tongue and sucking greedily.

She whimpered in the back of her throat and arched into him, giving him better access. He cradled her other breast in his hand and stroked her satiny skin, teasing her nipple into a tight little bud.

Burying her hands in his hair, she lowered her head and touched her mouth to his neck and ear, pouring kisses over him. The blood thundered in his ears, pounding with a blinding, searing passion. She clutched his hand and brought it to her woman’s mound, pressing down. He marveled at her boldness, while cherishing the desire she freely showed.

His Cahira, a lioness in all ways.

Bucking against his hand, she moaned. Her fingernails raked the flesh of his back, her need insistent. He sought the border of her gown and gathered its folds, pulling it over her head.

She was naked beneath.

Tenderly, he lowered her to the bunk and parted her nether lips, stroking the hidden secret of her pleasure, rubbing the sweet nub between his fingers until it hardened and swelled, a tiny imitation of his own aching manhood. Her honeyed juices coated his fingers, heralding her heightened desire.

She curled into his caress, making a soft mewling sound, like a kitten that was well pleased. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, urging him on. He answered her demand; applying pressure and stroking her bud of desire, feeling it grow harder and engorged with her aroused passion.

Insinuating one finger in her passage, he wanted to ready her more. She was hot and slick, and her virginal muscles cramped around his finger, squeezing. Thinking of being buried within her, he shuddered at the wondrous image of her hot passage milking him.

But he could not know her. Would not know her. Gnashing his teeth, he promised himself anew. No bastards would he make on her willing body. His fingers urged her to a completion he couldn’t have, to a satisfaction he would never know.

She didn’t disappoint him. Writhing on the bunk, she pressed herself against his hand. Her breath came in ragged pants. Her body stiffened and her eyes glazed. Tremors shook her. He could feel the contractions of her womb pulling at his finger. She clung to him, gasping and straining for her peak. And then she was calling his name. He covered her mouth with his, wanting to share her pleasure.

Madre de Dios
, she was so hot and wet and willing. Her female musk surrounded him, tantalizing him with promises of ecstasy. How he wished he could truly share in her pleasure. Seat himself inside her, joining them forever more.

She gasped and went limp. He lifted his mouth from hers, nuzzling her neck, tracing his tongue down the velvety column of her throat. Shuddering, she sighed deeply. He gathered her into his arms, and she snuggled close with a smug smile on her face. She was obviously sated and well pleased. He smiled to himself, savoring her happiness as if it was his own.

Then he felt her hand on his shaft, rubbing the length of it through the rough fabric of his chausses. He tried to push her hand away, but she clung to him, persisting. His manhood swelled and throbbed, like a too ripe plum, ready to split its skin.
Dios
help him, for he couldn’t withstand the agony. Maddened with lust, he closed his eyes and gave himself over to the sensation. Then he felt her loosen the cords that bound his chausses, and his member leapt free.