A Whisper Of Rosemary (Medieval Herb Garden #3)

A Whisper Of Rosemary (Medieval Herb Garden #3) Page 52

Maris shivered in anticipation. This night would end much differently.

“Maris, my love, come to me.” His voice was low and smooth, and his eyes never wavered.

Nervous, excited, anticipatory, she moved quickly to him and allowed him to pull her onto his lap. He drew the transparent veil from her head and thrust his fingers into the long thickness of her hair, gently combing through the braids and untangling the mass of waves and curls. “Your hair is so beautiful,” he told her, pressing a kiss to the end of a thick lock.

He stroked the edge of her chin, his touch leaving tiny sensations of pleasure, then closed his lips over her mouth in a sleek, sensual kiss that left her breathless. His long, tan fingers unfastened the golden girdle that rested on her hips and eased the heavy overtunic above her head, then flung it into a heap on the floor. And when he bent to kiss her once more, it was a long, thorough, and easy one, as if to remind her that they had all the night to taste each other.

Closing his hands over her breasts, still covered by the gossamer undertunic, he stroked his thumbs over her nipples. They tightened into miniature erections, and then he shifted the fabric across them, the soft cloth rasping over their sensitive points, Maris felt a delicious dart of pleasure shimmy down to her core.

A sort of heaviness grew low in her belly, and she felt as if she were filling and swelling in her private areas. Damp heat rushed and centered there, and Maris realized she was beginning to feel a sort of itchy, needy sensation in the pit of her belly.

Dirick’s muscles tightened and shivered as she smoothed the flats of her hands over the muscular slabs of his chest, down the sides of his ribs and abdomen. Lightly, lightly, she ran the raggedness of her fingernails over the back of his shoulders, then down and around to the ridges of his belly. Tiny bumps followed their paths and he shivered, his breathing becoming rough and unsteady.

Abruptly, Dirick stood and directed her toward the large bed where the curtains had been pulled back. Sprigs of rosemary and violets lay on their pillows, and he swept them to the side before easing Maris onto the plush bed. She watched, unafraid, as he slid his breeches down over lean hips and well defined, muscular thighs. A sigh culled the back of her throat when he came to lie next to her, pulling her to the long, warm length of his body.

Her chest rose and fell, and he placed his hand over the swell of one breast, allowing it to rise and fall with it.

“Maris,” he spoke, looking at her directly. “Do you know what is to happen?” The gentleness in his grey eyes stirred her and she reached up to smack a playful kiss onto his lips.

“Aye, Dirick, ’tis no secret to me what a man and woman do when they mate. And, I am not afraid,” she told him. “I’m not afraid of you. I welcome you.” Her fingers twisted in the thick hair that fell over his forehead, then trailed her hands lower, drifting down his chest and boldly to the hardness between his legs. When she brushed against that hot, tumescent skin, he stiffened, catching his breath in a sharp, pained groan. Maris couldn’t help a self-satisfied smile, and, with delight at his obvious pleasure, she closed her fingers over hard, velvet-skinned erection. This time, the groan that came from the back of his throat was primal and needy.

She began to explore its warm reach, not at all certain she knew what she was doing…but sliding up and down along it seemed like a good idea.

“You are bold, my lady,” Dirick said, flashing a tense grin at her. He shifted out of her greedy reach with a quick, precise movement. “And I find myself at an unfair advantage—for I am at your mercy, and you are still armored by some manner of cloth. Allow me to rid you of your protection.”

With a quick movement, he yanked the fragile cloth, rending it down the center of her body, leaving its ivory curves bare to his gaze. Maris gasped in surprise and with a faint twinge of annoyance. “Dirick,” she admonished laughingly, “you’ve just ruined the dearest piece of cloth I’ve ever purchased.”

“I don’t care,” he murmured, filling his hands with her breasts. “I shall buy you another to replace it. Two if I must.”

Then his hand smoothed over her belly, down to that warm, moist place where all of her senses seemed to have collected. She throbbed and moistened at his touch as he fingered the swollen little knob there, teasing and massaging it gently. Maris felt the most inexplicable sensation, rising and swelling inside her, blossoming into something hot and needy and all the world fell away but for the sensation of his fingers, stroking and sliding in her wetness.

“Beloved, I would not hurt you, but I cannot prevent it…and I must have you…now.”

“Yes,” she whispered, hardly aware of what she was saying. With a smooth motion, Dirick moved between her legs, anchoring up on one elbow while he guided himself to her opening. And then, suddenly, she felt him fill her, full, oh…full…and then a sharp pain surprised her and she gasped softly

“Beloved,” he whispered, holding himself poised and still over her, filling her so deeply. “Forgive me.” His breathing was the only sound in the chamber, and she could feel him waiting, uncertain and desperate.

The pain had ebbed and all at once, Maris was aware—very aware—of being filled, of the anticipation, the need, beginning once again. She gave a little twitch, a little shift, and with the gust of released breath, Dirick began to move inside her.

Any lingering discomfort melted away as he shifted, sliding in and out in a long, slow rhythm that made her tighten and reach, lifting and gathering until something exploded inside her. A storm of shivers and fluttering filled her, blossoming from her middle to the end of every limb and digit in a sharp snap of heat.

Maris might have gasped, she might even have dug her nails into her husband’s skin, but she wasn’t certain, for he was moving faster now, faster and with more urgency. His muscles bunched beneath her fingers, his skin was hot and damp against hers.

She knew, hazily, that he reached his fulfillment when he threw his head back and slammed inside her with a low groan. He froze like a beautiful god above her in an instant of vulnerability and ecstasy.

Then he smiled and opened his eyes to look down at her. “Beloved,” he murmured, rolling to the side, gathering her damp body close. “How blessed I am.”

And then his eyes slid closed and he settled against her.

When Dirick awoke much later that night…or mayhap ’twas near the morning…the first thing he saw was the unruly mass of thick, lemony smelling hair that belonged to his wife.

Joy welled inside him and he smoothed a wrist thick wave away from her face, baring the fair skin and rosy lips of Maris. His wife.

She stirred and sleepily rolled over toward him. Her eyes fluttered, then opened wide as if surprised to see him. Then, they shuttered and a smile curved her mouth before she opened them again, now fully awake.

“Good morrow, Dirick,” she told him, reaching to touch his face.

“Good morrow, beloved.” His voice was raspy with desire and sleep. “How do you feel?”

“Wonderful,” she told him, stretching like a cat. “And ’tis all you to blame.”

He grinned down at her. “That is one blame I shall not shirk, my lady.” Squinting at the sunlight filtering through a light tapestry, he said, “’Tis morn. They’ll arrive anon to check that the sheets are blooded.”

“Aye.” Maris eagerly drew the blankets away from their naked bodies to show the white sheet and its dark red drops of blood.

Dirick rose from the bed to use the chamberpot, and Maris followed. They embraced in passing, one long, lean, haired body pressing to a smaller, softer, rounder one.

Though he felt himself harden in response to her proximity, Dirick pulled reluctantly away. Their chamber would soon be invaded by a delegate to ascertain whether the marriage had indeed been consummated, and that the lady had indeed been a virgin…and he did not relish the thought of being interrupted thus.

“We will leave London today,” he told her as he settled back on the bed. He felt her gaze caress his nakedness and felt a rush of delight and victory at the realization that she was well and truly his. “Michael d’Arcy has not been found, and you will not be truly safe until he is.”

Maris wrapped a light cloth around her shoulders and curled on the edge of the bed. “He is my father,” she told him unsteadily.

Dirick pulled her to rest her head on his chest. “I learned that only yesterday. I’m sorry that I did not know sooner.”

“He killed my father—Merle.”

“I know that, or suspected that, as well. He is the man who killed my father—the one that I spoke of to you.” Dirick tightened his lips. “I will not rest until he is found.”

Maris pulled away, sitting up to look down at him. “You will have a care, Dirick. You will not put yourself in danger. Michael has killed so many—”

“I cannot let him go unpunished.” He searched her face with his gaze, seeing the love and respect that shone in her green and gold eyes. “You must know by now that I love you, Maris. I never thought to feel this way about any one woman, but you have driven me so mad that I realized I could not live without you…and I must ensure that the one who would see you dead is also gone. And then I can have no fear that you will be taken from me by a crazed madman.”

Her fingers smoothed the hair back from his forehead. “How lucky I am that my papa chose to repudiate my betrothal to Victor…else I would surely be a murderess on this morn.”

Dirick smiled. “Had that happened, I would have spirited you away before the ceremony that bound you to him…or after you had done the deed, I’d have been your escape route.” He frowned. “But even if I did that, there was no certainty you would have accepted my help—as you refused it once before. I must know, now—why would you think I could have been party to your kidnapping by Bon?”

“What else was I to think when I tumbled onto the floor and looked up to see you staring down upon me?” Maris asked indignantly.