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“Arianne, if I stay, if I kiss you again…I won’t stop…not until I’ve had you, taken you…”
“Please.” She laughed shakily, reaching up to drag her fingers through his hair, to stroke his face. “Take me. I want you to…”
“By God, you’ll wed me when this is over. If we live we’ll take our vows. It will be forever. Answer me now, yes or no.”
Arianne tugged his head down toward hers. “You make it sound like a threat.” Her laughter was soft, spilling over him like sun-warmed honey as she traced her finger gently, teasingly, around his lips.
“It’s a vow. A vow of honor.”
Nicholas pulled her against him. As his hand closed over her breast, Arianne’s eyes widened with newly discovered pleasure.
“Forever,” she squeaked.
“You won’t change your mind.” It was a statement as his thumb found her nipple.
“I…never change my mind…Nicholas,” she managed and then closed her eyes in pure pleasure as his mouth devoured hers again.
When they sank down on the corner pallet, it was as one. Her body was aflame everywhere he touched, and he touched everywhere. With furious, exquisite passion they clung together, shedding tunics and hauberk and breeches and chemises and hose, their bodies hot and feverish despite the chill easing off the stone walls.
By candlelight they kissed and touched and tasted. Neither knew what the morrow would bring. They might have only this one night.
Arianne’s hands slid down his powerful back, and her fingers paused as she discovered the many scars embedded in his flesh.
“Nicholas!”
“It’s nothing, sweet. It doesn’t matter.”
“But these are whip scars…”
“From when I was imprisoned…by men who did Julian’s bidding.” He was trailing kisses down her throat. “They fell upon me after I was wounded in a battle in Chessperon. They brought me to a dungeon in the far marshy reaches of the land. I was thrown in prison, beaten…”
Her mouth and eyes were wide with horror.
Nicholas brushed a kiss on the top of her nose. He spoke gently. “Ari, don’t think about it.”
“That’s why you weren’t here sooner,” she murmured brokenly, clutching his shoulders.
“I only recently escaped. I came as soon as I got word of your pleas.”
“Nicholas, forgive me, forgive me. I wronged you…my poor dear.”
“Don’t pity me, Arianne.” He caught her against him and cupped a warm, strong hand under her breast. The kisses he pressed against her throat, and then lower, to the swell of her breasts, heated her flesh. “At this moment I am the luckiest of men.”
This time when he claimed her mouth with his, the kiss nearly blocked the horrid images from her mind. It swept through her, wild and possessive and demanding, and she gave herself up to it, but far beneath the sheer ardent passion of the moment, love and need and tenderness burned. As her mouth parted beneath the onslaught of his, as she slipped her arms around him and drew him close, closer still, love poured from her heart, open and free and giving. It wrapped them both in a cloak that no wind or breath of coldness could penetrate.
As they drew together on the pallet, he gave to her his strength, his courage, his love, and she gave tenderness and warmth and healing. They rocked together in that cold, uncertain night, while the candle sputtered and the wind sighed at the window, and destiny waited beyond the walls of the chamber.
7
“We’ve come forthe prisoner from Galeron. Archduke Julian commands his presence in the great hall prior to the execution.”
Nicholas and his black-masked companions waited with feet planted apart as the dungeon master fumbled for his key ring. “Does he want the gypsy, too?” the man grunted.
“Both of them.” Nicholas’s hand was on his sword hilt. “Quick, you fool. If you keep the archduke waiting, he’ll see you locked here in their stead!”
Another guard ambled along the corridor of miserable prisoners. His feral eyes inspected the tall, masked knight with suspicion. He halted before Count Marcus’s cell, his back to the bars, and folded his arms across his chest.
“Nees told me at supper last eveninghewas the one selected to lead the escort for the prisoners today.”