Untamed (12 page)

The touch of Dominic's mouth against her own startled Meg. Her eyes flew open, only to be closed once more by tiny, quick kisses. In a hushed silence
his lips roamed over her face as his fingertips had.

“You taste clean,” Dominic whispered. “Like warm rain.”

“Gwyn says I am a creature of water and growing things.”

Glendruid
.

Meg's breath caught, for Dominic had taken her lower lip between his teeth and licked his tongue across it. Almost as soon as the odd caress began, Dominic retreated, leaving no more than a beguiling hint of his taste. The tip of her tongue traced the place where his teeth and tongue had touched her.

Passion's talons clenched, hardening Dominic's whole body as he fought against a need that was rapidly becoming ungovernable. He had expected many things of his wife, but not an artless passion that set fire to him as no woman ever had.

“Did that hurt you?” he asked.

“Nay.”

“You started.”

“You have the most surprising way about you,” Meg said simply. “I don't know what to expect next.”

Dominic's smile was a fierce slash of victory; an opponent who was easily surprised was easily defeated.

“Did it displease you?” he asked.

She shook her head even as she slowly licked her lower lip again.

“You taste of the Holy Land,” Meg said.

“Do I?” he said thickly. “How so?”

“Lemon infused with sweet.”

“'Tis only the Turkish candy.”

“My candy didn't taste that good,” she said.

“Next time, choose the one that is as yellow as the sun.”

“Next time I shall have you taste it for me.”

“And then you will taste me?” he asked.

The idea both startled and intrigued Meg. Her eyes opened. In the room's dim light, their color was a green so dark it was nearly black. She could see nothing of Dominic but the strength of his shoulders and jaw outlined against the dying fire.

“Is that…seemly?” she asked.

Dominic started to say that Duncan of Maxwell's courtship must have been a rather boorish affair, but bit back the comment just in time. The last thing Dominic wanted to do at the moment was ruffle the feathers he had so cautiously and patiently soothed. He wasn't certain that his self-control would be up to another round of gentling this night.

God's teeth, but I ache. Not since I was an apple-cheeked boy have I been this hard!

“'Tis not only seemly,” Dominic said as he shifted Meg discreetly on his lap, “there is great pleasure in it.”

“How so?”

“Lick your lips.”

She did. He watched with an intensity that did nothing to slow the savage beating of his blood.

“What did you feel?” he asked.

“Er…” Meg frowned and admitted, “Nothing, in truth. My lip was dry and then it became wet.”

Dominic smiled darkly as he bent down to Meg.

“Now see how
this
feels,” he whispered.

With great care Dominic ran the tip of his tongue around the rim of her mouth. He meant to do no more than that, but the startled sound she made, the parting of her lips, and the warm rush of her breath created a temptation too great to deny.

His tongue slid into her mouth more gently than he wanted and less gently than was wise at this stage in the seduction of his very special falcon.

The glide of Dominic's tongue startled Meg for a
moment. Then she realized that, though unexpected, the caress was rather pleasing. He tasted of exotic sweets and yet was familiar as well, heat and the faint savor of salt, as well as a complex flavor she couldn't define. In an attempt to taste more fully, she returned the soft stabbing of his tongue with her own.

Dominic's fingers speared through Meg's hair, pulling her head back, opening her mouth so that he could take it deeply, repeatedly.

At first she was too surprised to move, but the primal rhythm of the kiss and the sensuous penetration and retreat of his tongue soon sent cascades of shimmering, glittery sensations through her. Heat leaped deep within her, a fire both tender and fierce ignited by the sweet friction of tongue over tongue.

A low sound was torn from Dominic's throat. He wanted to put his hand beneath the silver fabric and feel the curves of Meg's breasts change to meet his touch, but the silver-and-crystal chain was too cunningly fastened for him to defeat without ending the kiss. And that he would not do.

Dominic's hand abandoned the frustrating Glendruid chain and instead sought the hem of Meg's dress. There was no hindrance there. He swept up the fey, filmy cloth and felt the living heat of his bride's flesh beneath his palm.

With the same patience Dominic had shown for the peregrine, he gentled his wife again and again, his touch retreating and returning, caresses that slid higher and higher up her legs while he watched with eyes that measured even as fire ate into his very bones.

Then Dominic lowered his head and seduced Meg's mouth with the slow, sure strokes that echoed those of his hand. Finally Meg began stirring with a
different kind of restlessness beneath the deep kisses and warm caresses. The slow tremors that took her owed little to fear and much to the hushed sensuality of his hand stroking her while the kiss deepened into an elemental joining.

Even as Dominic told himself that he must stop very soon, that he should have stopped already, that the seducer was rapidly becoming the seduced, he couldn't deny himself one more gliding caress up the warmth of Meg's calf, across the hidden crease at the back of her knee, a slow caress up her silken inner thighs.

He knew he should stop there as he had before, but found the temptation to push farther irresistible. When he reached the apex of her thighs, he curled his hand around her, cupping her softest flesh in his broad palm. In the same motion he traced her secret warmth with his thumb.

Shocked by the intimacy of Dominic's hand between her thighs, Meg stiffened suddenly and tore her mouth free of Dominic's. He barely noticed her struggle, for she was a sultry mist against his palm. Violent triumph swept through his tensed body and a low groan of need was dragged from his lips.

Too soon. I must not take her
.

Reluctantly Dominic released the lush fire he had so briefly touched and looked at his unexpectedly sensual wife.

Meg was staring at him with wide green eyes that still glowed with passion recently ignited. Her lips were red, glistening, parted with shock and pleasure combined. Her breasts rose and fell with each ragged breath she took.

Dominic longed to see Meg as she was now, sprawled across his lap, but without the dress concealing her hunger for his seed. Just the thought of seeing her naked in languid disarray was enough
to bring him to the edge of bursting. Slowly he began drawing up the silver folds of her dress, wanting to see the moist yielding of her body to his touch, her flesh flushed and glistening, scented by passion.

“Dominic—”

“I am your husband,” he said in a low voice. “You can't become accustomed to being my wife if you cover yourself and lock your legs together like the jaws of a sprung trap. Have I hurt you in any way?”

“N-no.”

“Do you believe I am intent on hurting you tonight?”

“No,” she whispered.

“Then yield to me what any other husband would simply take.”

Slowly Meg's legs relaxed but for the trembling she was helpless to stop.

Again the silver cloth began its gliding retreat up Meg's body. The sweet foretaste of triumph brought husky laughter from Dominic as he looked at the graceful arch of Meg's foot, the feminine curve of her calf, the dimpled knee peeking from the silver cloud of her dress, the creamy thighs, and the lush thicket that was the color of fire.

She lay within his grasp; it all lay within his grasp, the land and the heirs and the dream of life that had kept him sane during the brutality of the Holy War.

“John's curse was in vain,” Dominic said thickly. “I will have sons of you after all.”

Sons
.

Even as Meg's reason told her that it was her duty to bear her husband heirs if she could, her pride cried out at being nothing more than a vessel for Dominic's ambitions.

She had felt a wild, sweet fire burning in her soul. He had felt only triumph at seducing her.

“Nay!”

Meg didn't realize that she had moved until she saw her own hands yanking on her wedding dress, trying to push the wispy folds of cloth back down her legs.

“Don't be shy,” Dominic said, laughing softly. “Let me see John's vengeance lying open, swollen with passion, pleading to know the sword within the softness.”

“Count not your victories before you are through the gates!” Meg retorted.

The coldness of her voice brought Dominic's glance up to her eyes. For the space of one breath, two breaths, three, husband and angry bride measured one another.

'
Tis just as well. I must not take her
, he reminded himself.
Not yet. It's unlikely that such an ardent maid is untouched
.

One thing is certain. Her soft gate hasn't been often breached. So tightly closed
…

Ah, God's teeth, it would be a foretaste of paradise to press into that silken sheath!

Desire hammered through Dominic's blood, threatening his control. The realization of how close he was to his own limits shocked him as nothing else could have. He dropped the silver cloth as though it burned his fingers.

“Now you know,” he said savagely.

“That you want my body only to breed heirs? Aye, my cold Norman lord, I know that well!”

Dominic looked at Meg's furious face and had to stop himself from spreading her legs and taking what she plainly had been willing to give.

“Nay, my passionate witch,” he said. “Now you know the magic of a certain kind of kiss.”

“What is that?” she asked sarcastically.

His hand slid swiftly up beneath her dress once more, overpowering her struggles with casual ease.

“This,” Dominic said through his teeth. “What was once dry is now wet!”

“W
HAT ELSE DID
S
VEN HAVE
to say?” Dominic demanded without rising from his bed. “Besides the obvious, of course.”

Simon gave his brother a sideways look and barely managed to bite off a curt retort. Whatever had put Dominic in such temper likely had to do with the fact that on what should have been his wedding night, the groom was lying in John's hastily refurbished quarters…alone. His Glendruid bride presumably was sleeping in the solitude of her maiden quarters on the far side of Blackthorne Keep.

Presumably. It wasn't a topic Simon was foolish enough to bring into the open. He had been awakened in the night by the sound of his brother returning to the lord's quarters. Frustration had rung in the repeated sound of boot heel meeting wood floor.

Obviously the wedding night had been less than successful. It not only had ended early, it had left Dominic in a savage state of mind. Simon had listened to his brother pacing the floor for quite some time. Then there had been silence followed by the sound of something metallic hitting the wall with great force.
Finding it impossible to sleep himself, Simon had gone to report to Dominic on the mood of the keep's people and the progress of Duncan and his Reevers.

“While Duncan and some of his men will be missed by the people of the keep,” Simon said, “most of the Reevers will not. They are little better than rogues and bandits.”

“It took no great wit to discover that,” Dominic retorted.

“Duncan and his followers will be at Carlysle Manor within the morrow.”

Dominic was no kinder to the second offering of news than he had been to the first.

“God's teeth,” he snapped. “Even the village fool could have told me that.”

“Your leman grows restless,” Simon said smoothly. “Perhaps you should see to her comfort?”

Dominic gave his brother a sideways look.

“Am I that obvious, Simon?” he asked with a rueful smile.

Simon gave a crack of laughter and gestured to the blanket that didn't quite cover his brother.

“I've seen stallions less imposing than you when they mount a mare,” Simon said. “You must have frightened her to death. Go to the leman. Then you'll have more patience with—”

“I've no desire to harrow yet another of Duncan's fields,” Dominic interrupted harshly.

“Another?” Simon's laughter vanished. “'Tis true, then? Lady Margaret is Duncan's lover?”

A savage movement of Dominic's hand was his only answer.

“There's no way to be certain,” he said after a moment. “She swears not.”

Simon's grunt was unenthusiastic.

“Aye,” Dominic agreed sardonically. “I would hardly expect my noble bride to entertain me with
tales of her previous lovers.”

“So you let her sleep alone?”

“Until she bleeds. That way I'll be certain I'm not like John, raising another man's get.”

Simon grimaced. “I beg a favor from my liege.”

Dominic's left eyebrow lifted in silent inquiry.

“Send me out into the forest to bring back a wildcat in my bare hands,” Simon said.

“Pardon?”

“It will be less taxing than walking on eggs around you for a fortnight or two while you wait,” Simon explained.

Dominic scowled.

“Better yet,” Simon continued, “go after Duncan and his Reevers. 'Tis certain they will give you the fight you desire.”

“I would rather have my wife.”

“The leman would be less troublesome.”

A shrug of Dominic's broad shoulders dismissed Marie.

“Then one of the local wenches,” Simon said.

“I don't need a procurer.”

“You never have before,” Simon agreed. “But—”

“
Enough
.”

No one, not even a man who was both friend and brother, crossed wills with Dominic when he took that tone. Simon shut his mouth and waited.

“Is Sven with the Reevers?” Dominic asked after a time.

“Not yet. It will take time to get close to them. They are a clannish lot.”

“Keep him here, then. Let him put an ear to the ground for any signs of unrest among John's few knights.”

“I doubt they will trouble you. They are too old to trouble anyone, even their wives.”

“Nonetheless, see that each knight gets a freehold
large enough to support himself and his family in a manner suitable to his station and years of service.”

“As you wish. You've land enough and then some.”

“Aye. See that each gets an ox and a plow, wood from my forests for building, four sheep, a cow, seed, fowl, and some rabbits as soon as the ones we brought from Normandy breed. It's foolish to lack for meat.”

Simon listened as Dominic continued to list the necessities for setting up a small freehold. As always, his brother's command of detail fascinated Simon. Whether it was war or farming, Dominic made a thorough study of the matter, assembled what was required for success, and then attacked with breathtaking swiftness.

“Don't forget the cooking pots. They are more valuable than gold,” Dominic concluded.

“Anything that keeps a wife contented is more valuable than gold.”

Dominic threw his brother a sharp look. Simon's black eyes held both understanding and carefully shielded amusement.

“Was there more?” Simon asked.

“Aye. Tell Sven to keep an eye out for my wife. I want to be quite certain that she meets no one from beyond the keep.”

“Do you really think she will try to go to Duncan after marrying you?”

“She is the key to everything I have ever wanted in life,” Dominic said flatly. “Until I am certain she is breeding my heir, I will watch her as carefully as an eagle watches a foolish rabbit.”

 

T
HE
dream condensed slowly, relentlessly, eroding the peace of Meg's hard-wonsleep.

Danger
.

Meg whimpered and turned on her other side as though to escape something only she could see. But there was no escape, for the dream was caught within her mind and she was caught within the dream.

Bleak, colorless, cold, the nightmare engulfed her.

Death
.

A silent scream froze in Meg's throat, tearing at her with claws of ice.

Disaster
.

Wordlessly Meg clawed against the silence, asking what she must do.

The answer was equally wordless. Green welled up through the emptiness surrounding her. Shapes condensed from the void. Plants growing in secret, drinking raindrops, opening their leaves to an unseen sun. The plants were all the same color, the same shape, the same leaves, the same sense of silence and ancient, undisturbed ground.

Go
.

Eyes still closed, Meg sat bolt upright, her heart hammering. Her head throbbed from the violence of the dream. A single certainty resonated through her mind and body.

Danger
.

With a muffled cry, Meg opened her eyes, ran to the window and threw open the shutters.

Nothing greeted her but the eerie silence that comes just before dawn. In the next few moments a cock would crow the sun awake and then strut before his hens, arrogant with his prowess and with the certainty of future generations coursing through his loins. In the moments after the cock crowed, the cotters and serfs would stir, cooking fires would be lit, men would call across the bailey as they discussed chores to be done and maids to be wooed.

In the next few moments…

But not now. Now there was only a transcendent hush as the earth awaited the coming of the sun.

Breath held, Meg stared out the narrow window, straining toward the ghostly mist rising from millpond and fish pond, meadow and lake. No movement was visible. No sound of armor or bridle came through the silence, no hoofbeats, no muffled orders to men creeping through the dawn.

Yet danger existed. Meg knew it as surely as she knew her eyes were Glendruid green.

The certainty of peril was a knife in her heart. She had thought her marriage would end the danger of war. She had thought her marriage would ensure the safety of her people and the survival of Blackthorne Keep.

And now she was certain only that something was savagely wrong.

Death
.

Meg shuddered.

Disaster
.

She had not dreamed so vividly since the night her mother walked into the forest and did not return. Ever.

Are you calling to me, Mother? Will I finally know the secrets of the ancient mound?

As soon as the haunted place occurred to Meg, a certainty grew in her that she must go there. There, where the ground was undisturbed by man, where plants grew on ancient soil steeped in primeval secrets; there she would find the harvest that was all that stood between Blackthorne Keep and ruin.

She didn't know how she knew it.

She knew only that it was as true as death.

With a stifled sound Meg threw off her nightshirt and yanked on the cotter's clothes she wore while working in the herb garden or mews. Fingers stiff
with cold and fear fumbled her hair into loose braids and bound them with leather thongs.

Simple head cloth and circlet in place, wool stockings pulled on, boots in hand, Meg slipped soundlessly through the keep's stone halls and down its winding stairways. Stopping only long enough to take some bread and cheese from the larder and push her feet into the boots, she went quickly to the forebuilding.

A fair-haired stranger kept the door there, allowing servants to come and go between keep and bailey as they set about their early morning chores. The man barely glanced at Meg as she rushed by.

Smoke from the kitchen shed rose in the bailey, blending with the misty dawn. The cobbles in the well-trod paths were slick and cold. Meg moved over them as though wearing wings. The gatehouse was cold and dark but for the torch burning near the guard's stool.

“Good morning to you,” Harry said, getting stiffly to his feet. “You be up and about early.”

“I've neglected my herbal and my garden,” Meg said.

“Aye,” Harry said gravely, “I heard the plants pleading most sweetly for their lady all of yesterday. I sent Black Tom to tell them you were busy with your duties as wife of the keep's new lord, but the rascal just rolled in the catnip and said not one word of comfort to the wee plants.”

The twinkle in Harry's eyes was obvious even in the gloom of the gatehouse. Meg smiled at him despite the urgency driving her. She touched Harry's hand as he reached for the door.

“You brighten my day,” she murmured.

“Nay, lady. 'Tis you who brighten our days. Not one of your people but doesn't have a tale of your kindness to tell.”

Smiling, Meg shook her head in denial. “Not one of you hasn't done a kindness for me.”

“Are you…”

Harry's voice died. A ruddiness that had nothing to do with torchlight appeared on his weathered cheeks. He cleared his throat roughly.

“Is all well with you, my lady?”

When Meg realized that Harry was asking about her new status as wife rather than maiden, she flushed to the roots of her hair.

“The people…” Harry cleared his throat and tried again. “Your mother was a stranger when she came here. We saw…That is, your father was a harsh man even when he wasn't in his cups. And when he was…”

“Aye,” Meg whispered.

Harry shifted his feet uncomfortably.

“You're nae stranger to us, lassie,” he said in a rush. “If that Norman bast—er, if the lord hurts you, we'll nae stand for it. Do you need us, send up a shout and we'll come running and let the devil take the hinder part. You've nae need to go to the forest like your mother to find your peace. Many accidents can befall a man while hunting. I promise you.”

Tears shimmered in Meg's eyes, making them huge. She brushed a quick kiss over Harry's cheek, which flushed even more at the gesture of affection.

“Tell the people to be at ease,” Meg said. “Lord Dominic has not been unkind to me in the way you fear.”

Before Harry could speak, Meg was gone. She hurried out the portal and over the drawbridge like a fleeing wraith. Chills that had nothing to do with the cold morning chased over her body, shortening her breath. Indeed, Dominic had not forced his
Glendruid bride. He had simply let her sip paradise from his lips and then had told her that she was alone in that paradise; for he sought only heirs from her body.

Are you in Hell, John? Are you laughing at the hell you made for others on earth? Dominic wants only a son, an heir
.

Futile dream. Dominic has no love within him, simply a burning need to found a dynasty and a shrewd tactician's understanding of the battle ahead
.

The path led between low, dry-stone fences that marked off fields and pastures. The rich, deep brown of the furrows glistened with moisture. Parallel stripes of light green marked the first, fragile growth of a future harvest. Blackbirds hopped from ridge to ridge among the furrows, seeking seeds or insects. Like pale patches of mist, sheep hovered in the pasture while their clever black lips searched out new growth amid the straw of last year's grass.

Church bells rang through the hush, calling the hour and telling the people it was time to go out into the fields. The sound of the bells normally delighted Meg. This morning they simply goaded her, feeding the urgency that grew with each step she took away from the keep.

Danger
.