Especially not when he was holding her in his arms, feeling her body strain against his, her warmth seeping through him as he looked into her beautiful green eyes. His tongue still savored the singular flavor of her.
Just one kiss. That was all he'd promised himself.
There had been dozens of Black Douglases before him; all prided themselves on keeping their word. A Border ballad had been written about this Black Douglas's trustworthiness. Connor had recently caught snatches of the verse when he'd overheard one of the kitchen wenches singing it under her breath as she kneaded dough.
With a remorseful groan, his lips again sealed over hers, his thirsty tongue probing and seeking out the rich, warm inner recess of her mouth.
For the first time in his life, Connor Douglas had made a promise he could not keep.
Chapter 8
Stand up straight. I said straight! Shoulders back. Oh, for God's sake, girl, suck in your stomach. You look like an overstuffed goose!
The words, harshly spoken by Queen Elizabeth at a time that now felt like a lifetime ago, whip-lashed through Gabrielle. The memory stung as sharply as the half-healed wound th
ey'd created deep in her soul.
She flinched, instinctively pulling away from Connor's kiss, away from the confusion of his touch. He let her go immediately, and she wasn't sure if she should be happy about that or not. Her knees felt shaky as she staggered backward a step. Wet grass, moss, leaves, and pine needles crunched beneath the soles of her too-large, borrowed boots.
Gabrielle's size had been a constant source of irritation to her Queen, and Elizabeth wasn't shy about letting anyone within hearing distance know it. Why Gabrielle was allowed to remain at court, when her looks so disturbed her monarch, she could only wonder. She suspected pity had much to do with it, although, if pressed, she'd have to admit not knowing a single rime when Elizabeth had allowed her actions to be guided by anything resembling such a humane emotion.
Gabrielle's gaze had lowered, her sight fixed on the top button of Connor's jack It was made of horn, the disk dull and chipped. She tried hard not to think about the bands of muscle lying beneath.
Slowly, her attention lifted, locked with his. His eyes were passion-dark. At least she thought—hoped—passion was the emotion she saw in those piercing gray depths. As the memory of Elizabeth's words arrowed through her, however, leaving her breathless and numb, Gabrielle was suddenly unsure.
Was Connor looking at her with pity, or passion? And did it matter? Aye, it mattered a great deal! The uncertainty weighed heavily on her mind, for her reaction to him depended upon the answer.
If it was pity he offered, she wanted none of it.
If it was passion...
Gabrielle licked her suddenly parched lips. His taste lingered; the sharp flavor of his kiss was something she would savor in the lonely, sleepless nights ahead, no matter what had prompted it.
I'll kiss any way you want for me to, provided you kiss me like that again.
Had she really spoken such bold words? She had. More importantly, had she meant them? Aye, most definitely she had!
Gabrielle ached for Connor to kiss her again. Her body yearned to lean into his, press against his hardness, feel his heart beat against her breasts. Never had she experienced anything so wonderfully exhilarating. She had to fight the urge to take the hand he'd lowered to his side and put it back on her waist, her hip, the sensitive curve of her bottom. What she wouldn't give to feel the heat of his fingers burning through the material separating them, searing their powerful imprint into the tender flesh beneath.
The wants and needs raging through her right now were not those of a lady. Then again... Gabrielle's head was spinning with an abundance of strange desires and sensations, none of which had been constructed on ladylike foundations.
If nothing else, life at Elizabeth's court had provided her with a thorough education in the ways of men and women. Even if she hadn't participated, Gabrielle had observed it all keenly. And learned. She knew the intricate dance of courtship could be performed with a mere glance, a seemingly inadvertent flick of the wrist, the hint of a sensuously curved smile. In the right combination, all three could bring a man to his knees. She'd seen it happen time and time again.
While it was doubtful anything, especially a woman as plain-looking as herself, could bring The Black Douglas to his knees, that didn't hinder Gabrielle's thoughts from wondering. After all, she didn't want to bed the man, she only wanted to kiss him again. Please, just once more. Suddenly it seemed imperative that she know whether the hot, sizzling sensation she'd felt shoot like a bolt of lightning through her veins—a sensation that still left her feeling weak and tingly, that had made her toes curl into tight balls inside the too-large boots—had been her imagination, or if it had been caused by the feel of Connor Douglas's mouth moving hungrily over hers.
She'd a feeling it was the latter. Now, she sought proof.
In a move that would have left Elizabeth gasping at its brazenness, Gabrielle took a step forward, closing the space between them. Perhaps it was Elizabeth's harsh words, still ringing in her memory, that made her give a toss of her dark head and put a confident curve to her smile a second before she tilted her chin and sealed their mouths together.
She swallowed Connor's sharp exhalation of surprise, even as she leaned forward still more, leaned against him, leaned into him. The unfamiliar sensation she'd felt before was back, stronger than ever. It tingled in her blood and danced like frantic butterflies in her stomach. Her head felt light, her senses spiraled.
Ah, yes! She'd wondered, now she knew. There was no longer any doubt the sensation, whatever it was called, could be traced directly back to Connor Douglas, and the way his mouth opened over hers.
Unlike the last, this kiss was light, gentle. His lips whisked airily over hers with sweet promise, yet she sensed an underlying urgency.
Gabrielle splayed her hands over his chest. The leather of his jack felt soft and cool, moist from the rain, the wide chest beneath hard as granite. Her fingers closed around the material in tight fists as she tried to pull him closer. He went without even a hint of reluctance.
A moan escaped one of them.