Page 17 of Taming the Earl (The Earls of the North #3)

M orwenna stayed in the circular paddock with Fauvel until long after nightfall. When the temperature dropped and she began to shiver, she crept inside the shelter and covered herself with the thin peasant’s cloak which Angus had discarded earlier.

How could so much have happened in just one day?

She sat on an empty sack of oats and pulled her knees to her chin, still feeling the pinpricks of cold despite the cloak. An owl hooted overhead, where a bright, full moon shone in the vast night sky. From here, she could look out over the paddocks towards the dip in the valley and the woodland where they had taken their picnic. Back when it seemed nothing would be more momentous than their daring escapade. His kisses. His caresses. His declaration of feeling.

But then the world had tilted all over again.

Out of long habit, Morwenna clutched her fingers over the wristband of the leather cuff and traced the pattern there. Only now she knew it wasn’t just a pretty pattern. It was the standard of her grandmother’s family.

Her family.

The idea still seemed impossible.

Her grandmother had been an active, capable woman. Her strong hands had rocked Morwenna as a baby, gathered herbs and berries, chopped wood for their fire and stirred endless stews. They were not the hands of a woman accustomed to living in the grand chambers of Wolvesley Castle.

She thought of Esme’s habitual grey gown; the rough fabric frayed and worn in places. How could that garment compare to the rich splendour of Violetta de Neville’s ensemble? How could her grandmother have borne the drop in status from the daughter of titled nobles to an old woman selling herbs and balms to scratch out a living?

Fortune’s wheel never stops turning.

How little Morwenna had realised the meaning of those words!

Part of her couldn’t accept that this new slant on her family history could possibly be true. At first, she had thought Angus must be mistaken, but Violetta’s tale held the ring of authenticity, not least because of the emotion flashing in the dowager countess’s eyes.

A dark shadow loomed out of the paddock and Morwenna’s breath caught in her throat, until she discerned the curious form of Fauvel.

“It’s only me,” she told him, unnecessarily.

Fauvel pricked his ears and swung his head towards her. For a moment she could make out the liquid pools of his eyes, but then he lost interest in his night-time companion and began to crop at the grass again.

She let go of the cuff and linked her hands together instead.

She couldn’t deny that the tale rang true for other reasons too. It would explain her grandmother’s deep-seated desire for privacy. Her instinct to keep the neighbours at bay. Her strict instructions for Morwenna to always make sure there was no one watching before she communicated with horses.

Her distrust of others, which had gradually communicated itself to Morwenna herself.

Why hadn’t she ever told her?

She lifted her face towards the stars as emotion coursed through her heart. If she had inherited any of her mother’s abilities to talk with spirits, she’d be demanding an answer now, loud and clear.

Although, what difference would such knowledge have made?

Mayhap Morwenna would have been even more anxious about coming to Wolvesley Castle. The fear she felt when the earl’s carriage arrived outside her hut would have increased tenfold.

What a tangled mess it all was.

The cold had settled over her like a blanket and was working its way into her bones. Morwenna didn’t want to move, but knew that must, else risk catching a chill. With her limbs shouting in protest, she pulled herself upright and wrapped the cloak more firmly about her shoulders. Pins and needles shot through her feet as she stumbled out of the shelter and found the rabbit path back to the stable yard. Horses paused from their grazing and swung their heads up to follow her halting progress. Twice she stumbled, saved from a hard landing by the long, tussocky grass. At least the night was dry and still, the bright moonlight shining above her like a beacon. A fox slunk silently ahead of her as she rounded the corner towards the stable yard, its bright eyes and white tail gleaming in the dark.

The high archway greeted her like an old friend after the vastness of open land. Torches still flickered from the stable walls and the sweet smell of hay had never felt more welcoming. Here was warmth, comfort and familiarity, after a day of impossible twists and turns. Her legs groaned with weariness as she slowly climbed the wooden steps to her room.

It was a blessing to unlock the door, go inside and fasten it behind her.

She stumbled towards her narrow bed, too tired to worry about undressing, nor even to take off her boots.

With a groan, she fell upon the soft mattress and pulled the blankets over her head, wanting only the oblivion of sleep.

But sleep would not come.

Sounds drifted up from the stable below; the horse moving around and snorting gently. She tuned into his rhythmic munching of hay, her ears straining for something more. Something she should not want to hear; but she did.

Will he come?

If he did, she would admit him. Aye, and readily so. She needed him more than she needed to protect her heart.

Needed to feel him near, needed his hands on her body, his lips on hers.

And when the sound finally came, she thought she must be imagining it.

But the heavy, steady footsteps came ever closer. She heard them ascend the wooden steps and pause outside her door for the longest time. Morwenna sat up in bed, her whole body tensed for what might happen next. A gentle knock sounded on the wood and her heart threatened to leap from her chest.

Her mouth was too dry to speak. She crossed the chamber, newly conscious of her boots and creased tunic, and hesitated before easing the door open.

There he was. The earl, Angus . Who else could it have been? A raft of torchlight illuminated his golden hair and the raspy stubble covering his cheeks and chin. His piercing eyes were bright as a cat’s in the darkness.

“Morwenna?” he said. A question. A caress.

She tilted her head. “I hoped you might come.”

She stood back to let him enter and he stooped to pass beneath her low doorway. Once inside, there seemed scarcely enough room for both of them, but she already knew that did not matter. Her hands trembled as she lit the taper and a pale, fragile light blossomed between them.

“I wanted to see how you were.” His usually booming voice was low and quiet, lest anyone overhear.

“I am better for seeing you.”

It was true. She had been bewildered and confused. Now all she felt was warmth and kindness. A certainty that everything would be alright.

“And I you,” he breathed.

That was all she needed to set down the taper and move into the enticing circle of his arms, pressing her face into the rich fur of his cloak and inhaling his masculine aroma of woodsmoke and leather. Dressed once more in his own clothes, he was somehow even more attractive than he had been earlier. She had told him that she cared not for riches, and that was true. But Angus was the Earl of Wolvesley; his wealth was part of him, as much as his blue eyes and bright smile.

“I longed to hold you, in my mother’s chamber. I could see how her tale affected you. But I could offer you no comfort.” He spoke against her hair, warming the top of her head.

“You were there. That was comfort enough.”

“Nay.” His long fingers stroked her cheeks. “I can no longer creep around and disguise my feelings for you.”

The tenderness in his voice unleashed a new trembling that began in her core and spread all the way to her fingers. “You cannot mean…” The remainder of her sentence went unspoken as he dropped his lips to her neck in a series of warm, tingling kisses.

“I mean that I want to be yours, Morwenna. I want you to be mine. And I want everyone to know it.”

As if they had minds of their own, her hand travelled over his shoulders to wrap themselves in his thick, golden curls.

“I am still no suitable match for the Earl of Wolvesley,” she breathed, clinging onto reality with what remained of her ability for rational thinking.

“Forsooth. That is something I shall decide for myself.”

“Nay.” She shook her head, even as she closed her eyes and leaned into the warmth of his touch. “We both know it cannot be.”

“Everything has changed.” His voice was gruff with emotion. “You are the granddaughter of my mother’s closest friend.”

“The daughter of a witch.”

It was the first time she had said the words, even to herself. Her heart pounded beneath his gentle fingers which were travelling steadily to the laces of her tunic.

“That is not how my mother described her.”

A delicious tension unfurled inside Morwenna as he tugged at her laces and the top of the tunic fell away. Still, she could not let the matter pass.

“Are you not afraid of being with me, knowing what you know?”

His hands didn’t pause in their languid exploration of her shoulders and neck. “I know that your family and my family have long been intertwined.”

“And that my mother was a witch,” she said again. She would no longer flinch from her family history.

This time he paused, bringing his forehead down against hers. “Perchance mine too,” he whispered. “Besides, that is not a word which I allow in Wolvesley.”

Their warm breath mingled in the chill of the chamber. Angus held her close, banishing her fears.

“Are you sure ’tis only the word you forbid?”

“I am sure.”

She brought her hands down over his chest, relishing the broad expanse of his muscles beneath the fine fabric. Savouring the sharp, indrawn breath proving his appreciation for her touch.

“Do you have any further questions, Morwenna?” His voice had grown husky.

She could not speak. For an answer, she slipped her palms beneath his shirt and lay them flat against the planes of his stomach.

“Can I kiss you properly?” he breathed.

“I would be glad of it.”

This time his lips crashed down upon hers, claiming her mouth with an urgency which thrilled her. After a few seconds he walked backwards towards her bed, seating himself upon it and pulling her down onto his knees. With their heads at a more even height, their kiss gained a new depth and passion. Morwenna felt herself sinking into it, moaning slightly as his tongue touched hers. His fingers inched beneath the fabric of her tunic and without pausing to think, she gripped the garment and pulled it over her head. It had not even hit the floor before his strong hands were stroking the length of her back, pulling her closer and suffusing her with heat.

“You too,” she demanded, pulling at the thick brocade of his shirt.

She felt him smile. Then came a chill waft of air as their bodies parted to allow him to take it off. When he reached for her again, Morwenna’s bare breasts nestled against the golden warmth of his chest.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, one hand sliding up over her rib cage to cup her flesh.

She exhaled hard as his fingers closed around the taut bud of her nipple, letting her head hang forward as he trailed kisses over her shoulder and down. The sensation when his lips fastened onto her left breast was like nothing she had ever known. The core of her began to pulse with wanting, even though she knew she should not want him.

She should not want this . Because despite her brave thoughts of earlier, now that he was here, kissing her and making her feel more than she had ever felt before, she knew that she could not give herself to him without also losing her heart.

But heaven help her, she did want him. She always had. Their physical connection was so strong it battered away all reasonable concerns about the morrow. And now, because of this link with her grandmother, it seemed Angus had abandoned his scruples and given in to the fact that he also wanted her.

Everything has changed , he’d said.

The momentous possibilities contained within these simple words rippled through her.

Did great joy hover over her horizon?

Suddenly she was seized with a sense of urgency. If this chance of happiness– almost unbearable happiness– was real; she must grasp it firmly.

Greatly daring, she roused herself from the daze of rapturous pleasure and traced her own hand lower down his abdomen, towards the part of him that strained hard at his breaches. His breath came harder as she circled him, feeling the heat travelling through the fabric. She gasped as his teeth gently nipped her tender flesh, increasing the sharp edge of her desire. Emboldened, she closed her hand around him.

“Morwenna,” he breathed.

She stood up shakily, drawing his hands to the waistband of her braccae and holding her breath as he pulled them down. His breath was warm on her belly as he leaned to unfasten her boots. She stepped out of one, then the other, held steady by his warm hands on her bare hips. He lifted his head and looked up at her, blue eyes glinting in the flickering candlelight.

“Are you sure?”

She could no longer speak, she could only nod. Angus pressed a trail of soft kisses on her lower belly, one hand wrapped around her buttocks and the other slowly parting her thighs. When his probing fingers found her curls, her strength ebbed away and she leaned against him. Her own fingers knotted into his hair as he slowly explored inside her.

“I want you,” she said in a sudden rush. “All of you.”

“And you shall have me.”

In one smooth movement he lifted her from the floor and laid her gently on the bed. In another, he whipped off his own breeches and positioned himself on top of her. Reluctant to let any more time pass by, Morwenna wrapped her legs around his waist and drew him towards her, relishing his thrill of surprise as he slid deep inside her.

“Ah, Morwenna.”

She arched her back and tilted her head upwards for his kiss. Their fingers entwined as their lips met and his hips rocked slowly against her, gradually increasing the pressure building in her core. He was a large man and he filled up every bit of her; yet somehow it was as if their bodies had been designed to slot against each other, just so. She felt him tense with the effort of self-restraint and in response, she bucked her hips, not wanting him to hold anything back. Panting hard and grasping one another tightly, their passion climaxed in perfect synchronicity.

He tumbled to his side and scooped her towards him, pushing the blankets away from their hot bodies. In the pale candlelight she saw how the sharp angles of his face had blurred with pleasure. Impulsively, she leaned over on one elbow and kissed him again on the mouth.

His response was instantaneous. One hand tightened against her buttocks and with the other, he palmed her breast.

“Are you ready for me again, my lady?”

She chortled; the words sounded even more incongruous amidst the bare walls of her small chamber.

“No one has ever called me that before,” she declared. “And most likely none will again.”

“We shall see.”

Her heart began beating more quickly, but this was not a conversation for now. Not while her head was heavy with the events of the day and her body still glowed from his touch.

“Let us not speak of anything further,” she whispered. “Let us just be together.”

“We can save further discussion until the morn,” he allowed, reaching down to pick the blanket from the floor and spread it over their entwined bodies.

“Until morn,” she agreed. And safely nestled against him, Morwenna finally found the sweet welcome of sleep.