Authors: Gerri Russell
She watched with fascination at the acceleration of the pulse at the base of his throat as she opened her stance.
"Wider," he said hoarsely.
She obeyed, and his hand slipped inside the warm, moist folds. He pressed his thumb and forefinger against the most intimate part of her. She bit her lip to keep from crying out as unbelievable ripples of sensation spread from his hand to every part of her body.
She arched toward him, into the pulsing manhood that pressed against the fabric of his breeches. She wanted more. She wanted him. Her hand moved down to the laces of his breeches. One tug on the ties set him free.
He jumped down from the ledge and pulled her close, his rigid manhood pulsing against her. "Are you sure this is what you want?"
"As sure as I've ever been about anything." She didn't want to stop. She couldn't. She closed her eyes and swayed against him, blocking out all sensation but the feel of his hands on her heated flesh.
He lifted her. "Clasp me with your legs," he commanded, leaning back against the castle wall.
Her limbs encircled his hips. He settled her atop his flesh and he pulsed into her. When he met with resistance he stopped, before thrusting up in one swift stroke. He covered her lips with his to absorb her cry of pain. Rhiannon's entire body tensed. Then the sensation faded as his presence inside her sent waves of heat through every muscle in her body. His palms cupped her buttocks and held her to him.
"So tight." His eyes glazed with an expression of primitive pleasure, and his body trembled, shuddered as he moved her slowly up and down, his breathing coming in sharp gasps. The intensity of his need filled her with a heady excitement and increased her own hunger tenfold.
She clenched around him and heard Camden give a low groan. He lifted her, drawing all the way out and plunged to the heart of her.
Rhiannon arched her neck back and gave a low cry. A hotness she had never known poured through her, merging with him, until they moved as one entity trying to reach ... what?
Then she knew. The knowledge broke over her in a release of rapture that left her gasping and shivering in the aftermath.
He held her to him, breathing heavily, his flesh hot against her own. Even so, his hips still moved yearningly, as if he hadn't had enough of her even though he'd reached his satisfaction.
She'd known the moment she put her hand in his in the bedchamber below that something would happen between them this night. She'd wanted it. But she had never expected this — a joining that had been both primal and urgent.
Camden's breathing gradually steadied. "I was too rough." His voice was uneven. "I lost control."
"We both lost control. I had no idea it could be that way." She looked up at him, uncertain of what she would see. "I watched our horses mate once, but this…"
Desire, hot and hard, reflected in the depths of eyes. He pulsed inside her, hardening, readying for her once more. "I want you again." His voice sounded pained. "I promise not to be so primitive this time."
She smiled, feeling fully alive for the first time in her life. "I liked primitive."
His eyes darkened. "Then allow me to indulge your primitive instincts again."
Her body barely registered the chill of the morning air as he pulled her to him and set her senses spiraling. By the time they collapsed against each other, the apricot fingers of dawn stretched across the sky, heralding a new day.
"We should go back belowstairs," he said, reluctantly moving away from her to collect their clothing. "The morning guards will be here soon."
Her cheeks flamed as she boldly explored the hardened contours of his body, remembering how his muscles had flexed, reacting to her touch.
With tender care, he placed her nightrail over her head, then wrapped the woolen coverlet about her shoulders. "What are you thinking?" she asked, surprising herself at her boldness.
He smiled the same wicked smile he'd given her last night. "Honestly?"
"Absolutely." She tensed, awaiting his response.
He leaned toward her, his gaze caressing her face. His light blue eyes narrowed with intent. Strange how she first had thought those eyes were icy. "You're beautiful."
Honesty. "Thank you," she whispered, touched by his words.
He kissed her forehead. He held out his hand, his fingers curling protectively around hers.
The blare of a clarion cut through the morning's silence.
Startled, Camden released her hand. He moved back between the crenellations. Rhiannon followed him, followed his gaze.
A group of armed men gathered around the castle's gate. "A call to arms. I must go."
He left her there, alone on the wall walk. A chill crept across her skin that had nothing to do with the light morning breeze.
A call to arms? Against whom?
Chapter Seventeen
"Why now?" Camden bit out the words. He clutched the missive in his hand. The bold wax seal of Robert II, King of Scotland, taunted him as he strode back and forth in front of his men at the gate. The king had sent riders with the orders to raise a force against the most recent army of English invaders.
Half the castle's warriors gathered in the courtyard at Orrin's command, armed and ready to ride. In the morning mist they appeared to be mythical creatures floating on a cloud, instead of men of flesh and blood. They would once again put their lives on the line for their king and country.
They were the best of men, honorable and true. Camden had no doubt that together they would drive the English back behind their own border. But at what cost to his own household? Would leaving half the warriors behind be enough to keep his people safe?
His men awaited orders. "Repairs to the wall will take at least two more days. I don't like it," Camden said with sudden violence.
"We don't have a choice," Orrin reminded him patiently. "You cannot ignore a summons from our king."
Camden's hand tightened on the missive. "What if this is a trick to draw us away from the castle?"
"The king's seal could not be forged without great difficulty," Orrin reasoned.
Camden frowned down at the bold mark of the king's authority. "It seems incredibly suspicious."
"Or it could be merely bad timing."
"The worst."
Orrin shrugged. "We could send everyone back to Lockhart Castle. The walls there are solid."
Camden shook his head. "It's too dangerous for them to travel with only half the warriors as protection. They are safer here even with the wall breach than out in the open."
Camden crumpled the missive.
"We are not defenseless," Orrin reminded him. "Even with the wall down, even with half our men left behind, we would still be a strong force."
Camden knew that was true. Yet he hesitated. "That is why the king relies so heavily on us. But that doesn't change the fact that with us gone, Lady Violet and Rhiannon are vulnerable."
"We could take them with us," Orrin offered.
Camden frowned. "Battle is no place for women." He continued to pace. "There has to be a solution."
"I will stay behind with them," Orrin offered. "Will that give you peace of mind?"
Camden's gaze shot to his face. "You would do that yet again?"
"If it keeps you from committing treason and from the hangman's noose," Orrin said with a smile that quickly vanished at Camden's dark frown. "I did not mean to—"
"No offense taken. I accept your offer to stay behind. With you nearby, I know what happened to Clara will not be repeated." He strode to his horse.
"Mount up, men," Camden ordered. He would do what had to be done. Yet a sense of impending doom pressed down upon him like a heavy shadow. That shadow darkened the dawn as the gates opened and he and his men proceeded south.
The sooner he rid himself of the English who violated Scottish lands and their way of life, the sooner he could return home, where he belonged.
The storms that had plagued the skies over Lee Castle finally moved on, and the sun made a weak appearance through the mist that refused to dissipate. The snow had started to melt, leaving patches of green and brown among the traces of white. Regardless, Rhiannon ventured out with Violet for archer lessons in the outer bailey. The silent shadows of Camden's warriors marked their every move.
Her body ached in unfamiliar places from last night's passion. Camden had been so passionate, yet so gentle when he'd touched her. How had he learned such tenderness when he had matured into manhood in the most hostile of situations?
Violet stood before the makeshift target, her small bow in her hands. She concentrated on the target, then let the arrow fly. The arrow hit the target this time.
"I did it." Violet's wide grin brought a smile to Rhiannon's lips.
"Excellent work. Try it again. This time aim a bit more to the right."
Violet skipped to the target to retrieve her arrow. She raced back to Rhiannon's side, then nocked the arrow once more. A study in concentration, she pulled back the bowstring, squeezed one eye shut, and carefully lined up her shot before loosing the shaft. She squealed in delight as the arrow thudded solidly into the target.
Rhiannon tried to be as enthusiastic as her young charge, but her mind was whirling with anxiety. Was Camden safe? Was he going off to battle her family? She prayed the threat was English, though she knew her brothers were just as capable of treachery. But as ruthless as they were, did she really want Cory and Dougall to die? With them gone, she would be the sole remaining Ruthven. Even though she hadn't considered herself part of the family for years, she still felt a pang of grief at knowing she could be the last of the line.
Rhiannon cast a quick glance at the little girl who skipped back and forth by her side. Rhiannon had been alone until Violet and Camden had entered her life. But maybe now she had a new family of sorts. It was then that another chilling thought occurred to her. If her brothers found out she was living with their sworn enemy, would she be putting Camden and Violet at risk? Would her brothers inflict upon them the same painful end as Clara and James?
Fear twisted around her heart. When would her family's villainy stop?
"Rhiannon?" Violet ceased her archery lesson. She moved to Rhiannon's side and took her hand in her small fingers. "What's wrong?"
What could she say to make Violet understand her turmoil? Even if Camden could eventually learn to see past her Ruthven name and into her heart, could she accept his love knowing that doing so could place him and those he loved in danger?
"I'm merely overtired," she said, hoping Violet would not detect the lie. "Perhaps we should head back inside."
Violet nodded. The little girl gripped her bow in one hand and tightened her grasp on Rhiannon with her other as they headed back to the keep. They had barely entered the courtyard when Mistress Faulkner raced up to greet them.
"Mistress Rhiannon. Lady Violet." She skidded to a halt in a swirl of gray hair and brown skirts. "We need yer help."
Rhiannon's heart dropped to her knees at the woman's pale face and wild eyes. "Has something happened to Lord Lockhart?"
"Nay." She shook her head.
Relief washed over Rhiannon with such intensity that she staggered. Violet's firm grasp on her hand stabilized her. "Then what is the matter?"
"One of the warriors is hurt. It's bad. Please, you must come help the man, or at least tell us what to do."
Rhiannon was no healer. Assisting in the birth of Charlotte's child did not qualify her for anything more. And yet words to the contrary came out of her mouth. "Take us to him."
Mistress Faulkner led them to the keep and into the great hall where the injured warrior had been moved.
"Why did you do it, Rhys?" Orrin asked the man, who stood with the help of two warriors holding onto his arms. His shirt and breeches were wet and soaked in blood, and his hair was a wild wet mass. The man's pale and drawn face made Rhiannon smother a gasp of alarm. She feared it was already too late to do anything for him.
"I … had … no choice," Rhys said, his breathing raspy and labored. "He … threatened to … kill my son."
"Who?" Orrin asked, his voice harsh. "Who threatened your child?"
"The bishop," the dying man whispered.
A dark frown settled over Orrin's face.
"Ye must … believe me."
"I do." Orrin shook his head. "Seems that man's influence has touched many of our lives."
Rhiannon strode toward the small gathering, curious to know how the injured man had become separated from the others. "Were you one of the warriors fighting with Lord Lockhart?"
"Nay. I was not with … Lord Lockhart."
The man brought his glassy gaze to her face. Contrition reflected there. "I'm … sorry. I dinna … help ye. They shouldn't have … tried to burn ye."