Once Upon a Castle - Jill Gregory [124]
“No,” he said slowly. “And for that I am profoundly grateful. I prefer to treat you like a woman!”
Drawing her roughly into the circle of his arms, he kissed her thoroughly. His mouth was hot on hers, possessive and demanding. His hands pressed flat against her back, molding her figure against his wide chest.
Tressalara’s head swam. No one had ever dared do such a thing before. She should have been angry and indignant, totally outraged at the indignity to her royal person. Instead she melted against him even more, curving her body into his.
Cador knew he was lost then. She owned him, body and soul. Her tiny moan of surrender inflamed his blood. There was no girlish hesitation about her. She was all womanly response, warm and pliant, inviting his ardor. He smoothed his strong hands over her supple back, her neat waist, the womanly curve of her hips as he pulled her even closer. Everything was forgotten but the two of them and the passions they had both fought to deny.
There was no disguising his hunger for her, or her answering need. In another time and place, they would have been more cautious; but these were perilous times, and they were sworn to a dangerous mission. How could they wait and see what the morrow might bring, when neither knew if they would see another sunrise?
Cador slid his hand beneath her tunic and groaned at the softness of her flesh. So perfect, so warm, so yielding to his touch. He knew that, for both of them, there was no going back.
Tressalara arched her throat for his kisses. His mouth was gentle at first, then fierce. She was swept away on the wild winds of desire. She clung to his broad shoulders as he parted her lips, then took the kiss deeper. His embrace tightened until she thought her ribs might break. Or perhaps her heart. The emotion was so intense that she pulled away a bit.
Instantly Cador released her. His eyes were dazed, like those of a man awakening from a dream. He touched her cheek. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean…”
She slid her arms up and locked them behind his neck. “Did you not?” she replied huskily. “Then I am insulted beyond bearing, Cador of Kildore. For I have been dreaming of your kiss these past five nights!”
He laughed low in his throat. “If you insist, then!”
He backed her against a tree and tipped her head back, lowering his lips to hers once more. The perfume of her hair, her skin, surrounded him like incense. She was like a drug in his blood, and he could not deny his need for her a moment longer. Slowly, gently, he lowered her to the mossy ground. It was as soft as a feather bed beneath them, as yielding as the boundaries that marked his soul, and hers.
Tressalara twined her fingers through his hair. He smelled of green woodsy things, of leather and heady, masculine sweat. The passion surging between them was like a river in spate, a beautiful fury that would carry her away and over the threshold of womanhood in Cador’s arms. She surrendered herself to it, to him.
As he removed his tunic, there was a rustling in the brush along the river path and a soft oath as someone stumbled, but neither heard it. Nor did they hear the retreating footsteps a moment later. It was drowned out by the music of the water flowing over smooth stones and the wild singing in their blood.
While they dallied by the river, Brand went weaving back to camp, shaking his head. Too much of that Kildoran brandy, no doubt. He could have sworn that was Cador and Trev by the river. He lifted one of the water buckets and upended it on his head. It didn’t help. The rebel captain blearily sought out his tent with the intention of avoiding any more of the potent Kildoran liquor—and the conviction that the morning would bring him one hellacious hangover.
But two swans drifted placidly along the river, listening to the murmur of love words and the reassuring chirp of crickets. They found a safe place for the night