Besieged and Betrothed

‘What I want?’

He stopped a hair’s breadth away from her, his voice soft as a caress. ‘As I told you, my lady, I’m just a soldier. I’m only here to serve.’

She heard a strangled sound emerge from her own throat, though words themselves seemed beyond her. She had no idea what he meant by serve her, though if the tone of his voice were anything to go by, it wasn’t something that a lady ought to be doing... Why wasn’t the poppy working yet? She’d given him enough to fell an ordinary-sized man twice over! How could he still be standing?

He coiled a strand of damp hair around his fingers, using it to tug her face gently upwards. ‘Or you could just show me what you want?’

She dropped her gaze to hide her confusion, though unfortunately that only brought it level with his mouth. Show him what? Whatever it was, she’d probably only have to play along for a few minutes at most, but what did he expect her to do? Was she supposed to kiss him? To touch him? She wouldn’t know where to start! He was threading his fingers through her hair. Did he expect her to do the same? Not that his shorter style allowed quite the same scope. Perhaps she ought to caress his cheek instead?

She peeked up again, searching for some clue on his face, just in time to see a quickly concealed look of amusement.

Amusement! She felt a jolt, suspicion turning to certainty in an instant. He was laughing at her, mocking her pitiful attempt at seduction with a pretence of his own! Suddenly she wished there were a hole she could crawl into. All this time she thought she’d been leading him on, foolishly believing that he was attracted to her, when in fact the very reverse was true. He’d been pretending, too, enjoying her discomfort, letting her make a fool of herself while he simply enjoyed her performance, so arrogantly confident about her surrender that it probably hadn’t even occurred to him that she might have an ulterior motive for inviting him inside the castle! Well, she could console herself with that at least. In a few moments she’d be the one laughing at him!

‘My lady?’ Grey eyes glinted sardonically. ‘Have you changed your mind?’

Somehow she resisted the temptation to slap the smug look off his face. Bad enough that he was toying with her, but now he was mocking her overtly, too, adding insult to injury, as if he thought she wouldn’t have the nerve to go through with her seduction. Her temper flared at the thought. How dare he doubt her nerve! She wouldn’t back down from a challenge by any man, no matter how intimidating. He could mock her as much as he liked. She’d show him exactly how much nerve she had!

She launched herself forward impulsively, throwing her arms around his neck and her body against his chest with an audible thud as she crushed her mouth against his.

There! She felt a rush of exhilaration as their lips touched and clung. That showed him! It wasn’t so hard to kiss a man after all. All she had to do was press her lips against his and hold them there. A few seconds would surely be enough. There was nothing to it, nothing special or terrifying. It was quite ordinary really...

No sooner had the thought entered her head than she forgot it again, startled by the pressure of his lips as they began to respond, gently and unhurriedly at first, then with a deeper, building intensity. For a few moments, time seemed to stop as she simply stood there, stunned, not knowing how to react, unable to draw back even as his tongue slid its way smoothly between her lips, teasing them open before taking full possession of her mouth.

Then instinct took over. She didn’t think, didn’t give herself a chance to consider as she responded in kind, leaning towards him as he wrapped his arms around her waist, drawing her so close that she could feel every line of his strong, muscular body. He even felt like a battering ram, she thought in amazement, running her hands over the broad expanse of his shoulder blades. If she’d taken a running leap at him from the far side of the room, he probably wouldn’t have budged. Not that she wanted him to. She didn’t know what she wanted any more. Was she trying to prove something? She couldn’t remember. What had started as a gesture of defiance had turned into something else entirely, though as to what it was...

All she knew was that she didn’t want it to stop. She’d never even imagined a feeling like it before, this hot, trembling sensation deep in the pit of her stomach, an ache and a need and a longing all at the same time.

He groaned against her mouth and she raked her fingers through his hair, kissing him back just as fiercely—fiercer, even—running her tongue along his bottom lip before twining it back around his. Tasting, exploring...

She froze, suddenly aware that he’d stopped moving. He wasn’t kissing her back any more. He was barely even holding her, his hands slackening and then falling from her waist as he took an unsteady step backwards. She raised a hand to her mouth, mortified by her own shameless behaviour, afraid that he was about to mock her again before the truth finally dawned.

The poppy was working.

She let out a ragged breath. How could she have forgotten about the poppy? She’d been so wrapped up in the moment, in the heady feeling of his body and lips against hers, that she seemed to have forgotten everything else, including how a chatelaine ought to behave! It was one thing to pretend to seduce him—quite another to be seduced right back. Now he was swaying precariously in front of her, staring at his feet with a look of such bleary-eyed confusion that she was almost tempted to grab his arms and steady him. Then he looked up again, fixing her with a stare that had nothing remotely mocking about it, and she tried to jump backwards instead.

Too late. She jerked in mid-air as his hand shot out and grabbed her wrist.

‘What have you done?’ His tone was menacing.

‘Let me go!’ She tried to wrest herself free, but his grip was too tight.

‘The wine, what was in it?’

‘I said, let me go!’

‘What was in it?’ He tugged her roughly back against him, against the same chest she’d flung herself at just a few moments before, though there was nothing welcoming about it now. They seemed to have gone from one extreme of emotion to the other.

‘Poppy.’

‘Poison?’

‘A sleeping draught.’

‘You drugged me?’

‘Yes.’ She felt an unexpected stab of guilt. ‘But don’t worry. The effects will wear off by tomorrow.’

He staggered and she caught hold of his arms. No matter what had just happened between them, she didn’t want him to fall and hurt himself. Not that she cared, she told herself, but he was no good to her injured. Even if, with the full weight of him in her arms, she didn’t know which of them was in more danger.