Untamed (31 page)

“Why shouldn't I be jealous of this?” Dominic asked. “A man would kill for such sweet fire.”

Meg gently squeezed Dominic's masculine flesh as she asked huskily, “Do you think me too slack-
witted to know the difference between paradise and a childhood friend?”

“When you hold me thus, I can't think at all.”

Smiling, Meg stroked from blunt tip to base and beyond, cradling the twin spheres wherein his seed strained to be released.

“In your arms I taste paradise,” she whispered. “Duncan is my friend, Dominic. I have never touched him thus. I never would. It is only your sword that pleasures me.”

“God,” Dominic groaned. “You are killing me.”

Meg gave him a startled look, then understood he was speaking of sweet torment rather than true agony.

“You'll have me full to bursting all over again,” he said thickly.

“Is that so terrible a thing?”

“Nay.”

Dominic's burning gaze went from Meg's mouth to her breasts, to the red-gold nest that so tempted him. A primitive hunger lanced through his body. His hands slid up her thighs until he could touch the soft, sultry flesh that gave him so much pleasure.

“But we should have the privacy of a bolted door,” he said. “There are things I want…”

“What things?”

His only answer was another look at her and a silence that was hotter than fire.

Meg listened. No sounds came but those from the great hall below, where knights drank and boasted of their prowess in battle.

“No one comes,” she said.

“If we stay, it will be at your peril,” Dominic said.

“'Tis great danger for me here,” Meg agreed with a smile. “I can feel it like a mighty sword against my body.”

Dominic gave a crack of laughter. Even though he knew he should make himself go the short distance to Meg's rooms, he wasn't sure he could. He was on fire for his passionate Glendruid witch.

“There are things I heard of among the Saracens that intrigued me,” Dominic murmured, looking hungrily from Meg's eyes to the place where their bodies would soon be joined, “but I was never tempted to try them until now.”

“What things?” Meg asked again.

“Ways for lovers to tease and pleasure and finally ease, but only after they scream with the sweet torture.”

Meg's eyelids half lowered. “'Tis shameless of me, but I must confess to curiosity.”

“Aye, witch. I can see your curiosity.” Dominic's smile was dark and fully male. “I shall take great pleasure in satisfying it…and you.”

The ball of his thumb probed the lush nest between Meg's thighs. When he brushed against the nub hidden within, she flinched with unexpected pleasure.

“You are very sensitive,” he said.

Meg shivered.

“My thumb is too hard,” Dominic said in a low voice. “I believe my tongue would be better suited to polish the living jewel of your passion.”

The startled look on Meg's face made Dominic laugh softly despite the heavy, relentless beat of desire in his body.

“Aye, witch. You begin to understand.”

The sight of her nipples taut with arousal and the passionate flush of her body made him want to shout with triumph and hunger. He cupped her breasts in his hands and prodded the nipples sensuously, dragging a cry from her. The cry became a shattered sound of desire when his long index finger caressed down her belly and slid deeply within.

“I want you,” he said simply.

“I am yours to take.”

“Yes,” he whispered. “I can feel the truth of your generosity. I have never known anything like you.”

“It is you, not I.”

“It is both.” A shudder ran the length of Dominic's powerful body. “This time you shall scream with pleasure, my sensuous witch. I swear it.”

“What of you? Will you teach me how to give you that much pleasure?”

Dominic groaned. “I shouldn't.”

But he finally did.

“A
RE YOU READY TO GO HAWKING
this morning?” Dominic asked in a low voice. “Or is my beautiful falcon still tender?”

The shuttered sensuality of Dominic's eyes made Meg blush. It had been two days since she had bathed her warrior husband and discovered just how potent and demanding a lover he could be.

Before that afternoon, Dominic had held back much of himself. Meg hoped he would never do so again. She had discovered she was every bit as demanding a lover as he was.

“I was tender only for a morning,” Meg whispered. “A bath set me right again.”

The lazy gleam of his eyes deepened into a hungry blaze. He touched her smile with the tip of his finger, then brushed his mouth over hers.

“There is indeed magic in your baths, sweet witch,” he whispered against her lips. “We shall try one again after hawking.”

Meg's breathless agreement did little to cool Dominic's blood. The temptation to deepen the kiss was very great, but he suspected if he did, the only hawk that would get flown that day would be a
very special Glendruid falcon.

Reluctantly Dominic lifted his head and looked intently into his wife's unusual green eyes. They appeared as clear and untroubled as sacred springs. Yet each night he spent with her, she awoke at least once chilled and shaking.

Last night had been no different.

Why are you afraid?

I dream Glendruid dreams
.

Of what?

Danger
.

What danger? Duncan left for the north this morning. The Reevers are divided. Under Rufus, they will soon come to naught. The rest of my knights will soon be here. What danger is left?

I don't know. I know only that I dream
.

A peregrine's distinctive, keening cry sliced through the normal noise of the keep.

“Fatima is impatient,” Meg said, amused. “She senses that soon she will trail her jeweled jesses across Blackthorne's sky.”

“'Tis a fine day for it.”

Meg looked out through the high, narrow window of the upper keep. Sunlight poured into the keep in a soundless yellow torrent.

“Yes,” she said. “'Tis a fine day. Perhaps spring has finally thawed winter's icy breast.”

Yet something in Meg's voice told Dominic that she didn't believe winter's grip had been defeated.

The rhythmic beating of hooves in the bailey announced the arrival of horses and knights eager to go hawking. Dominic and Meg hurried to join them. But no sooner had the lord and lady arrived in the great hall than Eadith rushed up from the well room.

“Lady Margaret, wait!” Eadith called.

“What is it?” Dominic said impatiently. “We're off to go hawking.”

“'Tis Marie,” Eadith said. “She's spewing her breakfast and groaning like a woman in childbirth.”

“God's teeth,” he muttered.

Meg sighed. “I must see to her, lord. You go hawking.”

“Not without my small falcon.”

When Meg turned to go to Marie, Dominic was at her heels. Silently he watched while Meg questioned the sick woman. There was no doubt that Marie was in unhappy straits. Her skin was pale and dull and her normally red lips had no color in them at all.

When Meg finished asking about Marie's condition, Dominic raised one eyebrow in silent question.

“'Tis likely a piece of spoiled fish,” Meg said.

“Excellent. Leave Eadith with her.”

Meg dismissed the idea with a motion of her hand. “Eadith is useless at sickbed. When the patient vomits, so does she. Go hawking. I'll join you next time.”

Dominic hesitated.

Standing on tiptoe, Meg spoke softly into Dominic's ear. “Go on without me, my warrior. It distresses Marie for you to see her like this.”

With a muttered oath, Dominic turned and stalked from the room. Minutes later the clatter and shout of a hawking party leaving the bailey rang through the keep.

Meg barely noticed. She was busy dripping medicine from a spoon between Marie's pale lips. The task required patience, for half the time the drops got no farther than the leman's tongue before she became sick all over again. Eventually enough of the medicine stayed with Marie that she vomited less frequently. Finally she gave a shuddering sigh and slept.

A glance at the angle of the sun told Meg the hawking party would be too far away for her to catch up with them on her aged palfrey. By the time she reached Dominic, the hawking would be done and they would be on the way back to the keep. Sighing, Meg returned her thoughts to Marie.

“Lady!” Eadith cried from the hall.

The urgency in the handmaiden's voice brought Meg to her feet.

“What is it?” Meg asked as Eadith rushed into the room.

“Lord Dominic's horse fell and he was badly hurt. They fear for his life unless you come quickly!”

For an instant the world went black around Meg. Then she forced breath into her lungs and thought into a mind gone blank with terror.

Is this the danger I feared?

“What are his injuries?” Meg asked tightly.

“The squire didn't say.”

“Send for my palfrey to be—”

“'Tis done,” Eadith interrupted.

“Old Gwyn?” Meg asked as she rushed from the room.

“I sent one of the kitchen girls to fetch her.”

“Stay with Marie. If she vomits again, give her twelve drops from this,” Meg said, handing over a tightly stoppered bottle.

Then there was a wild jangle of bells as she raced down the twisting stairway to the herbal. She grabbed medicines, wrapped them in rags against the hard ride to come, and ran from the room. When she reached the bailey, Harry was there. He tossed her up on the palfrey with a strength that belied his old injury.

“The stupid squire bolted back to the hawking party as soon as he told me,” Harry said roughly. “Wouldn't even stay to guide you.”

“I know the land better than any of the newly come squires,” Meg said. “Where is my husband?”

“The boy said the accident happened in the northern fen, just south of the cart road where the Holy Cross Creek comes out of the fen.”

“So far,” Meg said fearfully.

“Senseless place to go hawking for waterfowl. Any fool knows they have too much cover there for a peregrine to hunt well.”

But Harry was talking to himself. Meg had startled the old palfrey into a canter and was clattering out across the drawbridge. She went up the lane with a speed that scattered chickens and people alike. When vassals called out after her, she ignored them.

Only one thing mattered to Meg. Her husband was lying badly injured somewhere ahead. He needed her, and she was not there.

Grimly, Meg kept the old horse at the best pace it could manage while fields and dry-stone fences flew by on either side. By the time the last of the cultivated lands had fallen behind and no more distant cottages remained, the palfrey was sweating. When the way turned more steep and forest closed in, the horse's breathing became deep and hard. Lather gathered on its flanks and shoulders.

Reluctantly Meg allowed the beast to slow for the worst hills. As soon as possible, she demanded more speed. At a normal pace it would have been at least an hour's ride to the place where the accident had occurred. She had no intention of taking that long. Eadith's words were like a knife turning in Meg's soul.

Your husband's horse fell and he was badly hurt. They fear for his life unless you come quickly!

The most steep incline lay just ahead. The way was rough and the forest crowded in on either side
of the cart road. Unhappily Meg slowed her horse again.

Reevers galloped out from hiding in the forest, surrounding her before she could flee. She yanked the reins to the right, launching the palfrey at an opening between two knights.

The old horse was too slow. The Reevers spun their agile war-horses on their hocks, closing the opening before the palfrey reached it. Though Meg spurred her mount forward anyway, the Reevers' battle stallions simply braced themselves as they had been trained to do, ready to take the shock of the palfrey's charge.

From the corner of her eyes, Meg saw other men closing in behind her. In a last, desperate attempt to break free, she yanked the reins hard to the left. Before the winded palfrey could respond, a charger leaped forward and knocked the old horse aside.

Even as the palfrey went to its knees, a Reever snatched Meg from her horse's back and set her astride in front of his saddle.

“Nay!” Meg screamed, turning to claw at her captor's unprotected eyes. “My husband is hurt! I must go to him!”

A casual backhand from a chain mail gauntlet sent Meg's senses spinning. By the time she recovered, she was pinned facedown over a Reever's thighs while the charger thundered at a dead run through the forest.

Dominic! My husband, my warrior, what have they done to you?

There was no answer save the drumroll of hooves and the terrible realization of a Glendruid dream come true, danger all around, chilling Meg to the marrow of her bones.

In the silence of her soul, Meg called again and again to the man who had become a part of her.

 

“G
OD'S
teeth,” Simon snarled to Dominic. “You're like a cat walking on wet grass. What is wrong with you? Fatima has flown splendidly.”

Dominic gave his brother a narrow sideways glance, then resumed watching the eastern fen with cold eyes. Fatima rode calmly on a perch secured to Dominic's saddle. Sunlight caught the soft, gold-embossed hood over her head, bringing the Turkish designs on the leather into fiery life.

“I can't shake the feeling that we should have ridden war stallions and dressed in hauberks,” Dominic said after a moment.

“Why? Do you think Duncan will go back on his vow?”

“If I thought that, I would have killed him two days ago.”

Simon grunted. “When Duncan left yesterday for his estates in the north, he took the best of his knights. The Reevers are little better than bandits now.”

“Aye.”

“Rufus is no leader,” Simon continued. “In a fortnight, the Reevers will be dispersed like chaff on the wind.”

“I told Meg the same this morning, in the dark hours before dawn.”

“And?”

“She wasn't consoled.”

Simon muttered something about Glendruid witches and the difficulties they gave to the men who married them.

“There are rewards,” Dominic said, smiling to himself.

One of them was that Meg's hair looked quite beautiful by candlelight, fanned across her husband's body as her soft mouth taught him that the
falcon also flies its master. The sensuous experience had been extraordinary, for both of them.

Abruptly the sense of wrongness that had been plaguing Dominic crystalized into a need to see his wife once more. Without thought, Dominic turned his horse back the way they had come. The gray stallion responded instantly. Though not the size of Crusader, this horse was faster and easier of gait, an ideal mount for hunting or hawking.

“Dominic?” Simon called, surprised.

“I've had enough of hawking for the day,” Dominic said flatly. “'Tis time to check on my own small falcon.”

“God's blood. Can't you trust the wench out of your sight?” Simon muttered.

Without answering, Dominic urged Fatima onto his wrist and spurred his mount into a canter. Cursing, Simon put his own hawk on his wrist and turned to follow. The three other knights and six squires rapidly followed suit.

When the hawking party finally came cantering past fields and between dry-stone fences, peasants dropped their tools and stared at the lord of Blackthorne Keep as though he were a ghost.

The first time it happened Dominic thought little of it. But when more and more people stopped work at the sight of their lord riding by, Dominic and Simon exchanged uneasy glances.

“What is it, man?” Simon called to a shepherd. “Why do you stare so?”

The man crossed himself, turned, and fled. Nor would any other vassal come close to the riders. In fact, they seemed terrified of Dominic.

“I like this not,” muttered Simon.

Dominic simply urged his horse to a faster pace. Not until he was at the drawbridge did he rein in.

Suddenly Harry limped out of the gatehouse,
stared in shock at Dominic, and grabbed at his hand as he rode by.

“Thanks be to God,” Harry said fervently. “I knew the lass would save you!”

“Save me? From what?”

Harry started to speak but no words came. He simply stared, slack-jawed, at the man who bore no marks of injury of any kind.

“The mistress…” Harry struggled to swallow.

“Lady Margaret?” Dominic asked sharply.

Harry nodded.

“Speak, man,” Dominic commanded. “Where is Meg?”

“A squire came. He said you were sore injured near the northern fen.”

Simon started to speak. A curt gesture from Dominic cut off the words.

“As you can see, I'm not injured. Where is my wife?”

“She went to you, lord. To care for you.”

“To the northern fen?” Dominic demanded. “That's halfway to Carlysle Manor, isn't it?”

“Aye.”

“Who went with her?”

The look on Harry's face told Dominic more than he wanted to know.

“God's
blood
,” he snarled. “You let her ride out alone?”

A woman screamed from the bailey. The high, despairing cry made the hair on Dominic's neck rise. He turned and saw Eadith running toward him across the cobbles of the bailey as though pursued by the fiends of Hell.

“Lord,” Eadith sobbed, throwing herself at the feet of Dominic's mount. “Don't have me whipped, lord! I did my best but I couldn't talk her out of it!”

Dominic started to speak, but Eadith's sobbing words never paused.