Enchantress (Medieval Trilogy 1)

“Mayhap that is my question to you. Would you lie with his bride?” Her breath whistled past her teeth as he dipped his head and tasted her nipple.

“I cannot help myself.”

“Is the great lord so weak?” she asked, barely able to concentrate as he began to tug and nip at her breast. The feminine beast within her yawned again, causing a hot need deep between her legs.

“Where you are concerned, aye, I am weak,” he admitted, his hot breath fanning her cool skin. “You have made me powerless, Morgana. You have caused me to follow your visions when I could see none, you persuaded me to listen to your silly conversations with the wind, and you have turned my mind around so that I cannot help but want you — the very woman I promised to my cousin.”

She saw the outline of his maleness, firm and anxious and straining at the strings of his breeches, and she wanted to touch him, to offer him the sweet magic that he’d g

iven her.

“Would that I could forget you,” he whispered, his hands winding in her hair, his eyes boring deep into her own gaze as if searching for her soul. He kissed her again, his arms around her.

She reached for his breeches, and he caught his lips between his teeth, as if suddenly trying to fight off the demons that drove him to lie with the woman he’d promised to his cousin. He told himself to stop, to leave Morgana alone. But passion sang through his blood, and when he felt her velvet touch, he shivered with desire. Don’t do this, don’t go against your word, don’t betray Strahan! But as he lay atop her, felt her curves yielding to his own hot flesh, his reason fled. Her black hair spilled around her face, and her eyes, luminous and blue-green, were filled with sweet promise.

Ignoring his own code of honor, he gave in to the emotions burning in his breast. He plunged into her sweet warmth, for he had no choice but to make love to her. No other woman’s touch felt so right, no other woman’s mind was so quick, no other woman’s body seemed so inviting.

After their last lovemaking, Garrick had promised himself that he wouldn’t touch her again, and here he was making love to her as if she were his bride! He squeezed his eyes shut and closed his mind to the doubts raging in his heart. She pressed her tongue intimately to his chest and moved beneath him, whispering his name, digging her fingers into his arms. All his doubts disappeared, and he cradled her close against him as he stiffened and poured his seed into her. She cried out, and he collapsed in her arms. Rain dripped from the trees, cool against his back, and somewhere far away thunder pealed. Garrick buried his face in her neck and licked the drops of rain and sweat from her skin.

She smiled up at him and he was undone. All his promises of self-denial seemed silly, all his mistrust a mistake. She would never lie to him, not this beautiful woman. He caught himself grinning back at her as he played with a coil of her damp hair. “My men wait for us,” he said sadly.

“Aye. We must be off.”

Neither moved. Garrick kissed her forehead and wondered at the swell of tenderness that grew within him. With one finger he traced the slope of her shoulder and, seeing her nipple pucker, lowered his hand to the point of her breast.

“Again, m’lord?” she asked huskily.

“We have no time.” But his thumb moved slowly across the nipple.

“Aye…”

He lowered himself and took her breast in his mouth, tickling her nipple with the tip of his tongue. Looking up, he watched as she shuddered and threw her head back, closed her eyes, ready for yet around round of lovemaking. This time, he thought, he would take it slowly, show her what it was to want him so badly that she would lift her hips anxiously. He trailed a hand along the slope of her thigh and across her abdomen, his fingertips brushing the soft curls at the apex of her legs. She moaned beneath him as he touched her, feeling her hot moisture collecting again, though she was still filled with his seed. Her legs parted to his touch, and he stroked her, slowly at first, but more quickly as she began to respond. He wanted only to service her, to give her the best of lovemaking. He caressed her with his fingers and tongue, seeing her rapturous torment, watching as her eyes glazed over.

He had no intention of lying with her again — this time was for her — but she began to claw at him and tug him atop her, and his manhood was already hard again, thick and full.

“Garrick, please,” she pleaded when he probed her more deeply, massaging the swelling bud. She bucked upward, tossing away his hand, and dragged him atop her. “I want you.”

“And I want you, my love,” he whispered, unable to restrain himself or control the words that rolled so easily off his tongue. He wrapped strong arms around her, and his lips captured hers as he thrust into her again, harder than ever, as deep as he could, listening to her cries of pleasure as he withdrew only to plunge in again and again and again. She was on fire beneath him, clawing and kissing and writhing until, with a primal scream, she let go.

“Garrick!” she cried, convulsing against him and holding on to him as if to life itself. Her body rocked, and he could not hold back any longer.

With a final thrust he fell against her and kissed her eyes, face, and neck. “Morgana,” he whispered against her hair as afterglow surrounded him and he tasted the salt from her skin.

The rain had stopped and a few soft shafts of sunlight stole through the clouds, but as the afterglow faded, Garrick’s heart grew heavy. He was falling in love with Morgana, and he hated himself for his weakness.

Weak he was, where she was concerned, for he couldn’t imagine a day passing without his lust for her driving him to desperate measures. He would meet her, lie with her, perhaps sire a child by her. Dear God, he’d betrayed his cousin, been a traitor to his own good word.

He didn’t think he could live without Morgana. Without a woman who talked to the wind. Without a woman who drew meaningless signs in the dirt. Without a woman whose visions came and went at her whim.

“Come, get dressed,” he said a little gruffly as he rolled away from her. “We have things to settle.”

“Aye.” Her eyes were sad, but she murmured, “I thought we settled quite a bit just now.”

His face reddened. The nerve of the woman to ridicule him! “Nay. Things are worse than before,” he bit out, tugging on his breeches and frowning at the mud stains thereon. Morgana’s clothes, too, were wrinkled, wet and muddy. It wouldn’t take even the dullest of his knights long to figure out what they had been doing. Soon the word would reach Strahan. Garrick couldn’t let the marriage take place, but he couldn’t very well go back on his word.

Mayhap the best solution was to offer Strahan something more — a larger parcel of land, a woman with more wealth and status. Perhaps there was a woman in the king’s family — some distant but beautiful cousin with a large dowry and the king’s ear — who would appeal to Strahan.

As he tugged on his tunic and led Morgana back to the horses, he thought of Edward’s relatives and knew that Strahan’s chances of a marriage with royal blood were slim. Nay, he would want the bride he was promised, the bride he’d handpicked.