Page 6 of Unconquered

"Drogo, are you all right?" Tancred asked, but his laughter tainted his obvious concern.

As he slowly sat up, Drogo rubbed his aching head and smiled ruefully at his laughing friends.

"I shall have to break her of that little habit.

You were right, Serle; she does understand French."

"And speaks it," Serle replied as Drogo stood up and brushed himself off.

"Most colorfully.

What is that?" Drogo tensed when he heard a soft scratching at the heavy oak door then relaxed when it was followed by barking.

"Eada's dogs.

They left us at the door when we returned here.

I am glad that they are safe.

Someone could have easily thought them dangerous and slain the beasts." Ivo returned to the hall just as Drogo opened the door, and the two wolfhounds trotted in.

"Here, my big friend, this should please you."

Drogo smiled at the delight that shone in Ivo's face.

The man had wept like a small child over the pets he had been forced to leave behind in France.

As all animals did, the dogs went to Ivo without hesitation.

Drogo bolted the heavy door and returned to his seat at the table.

"Why do you linger in the hall with us?" Tancred asked in surprise as Drogo poured himself some wine.

"I would have thought you would be eager to seek your bed—your nicely full and warm bed."

"I believe it will be a most chilled bed for me tonight," Drogo said.

"Oh, yes.

Perhaps.

Howbeit, I think she is clever enough to have guessed by now that you only played a game."

"That knowledge will not really soothe her temper."

"No, mayhap not." Tancred laughed and shook his head.

"She has a strange manner of attack for a woman."

"Yes, although I prefer it to scratching nails and biting.

I think she must have had an unusual childhood.

Although I have fought the idea, I grow more certain that she followed us from just beyond the village to that old woman's cottage.

Throughout the journey there, Faramond acted as if he scented dogs."

"And you, too, felt as if someone followed us, Tancred," Unwin said.

"I did," agreed Tancred, but he shook his head.

"The girl would have had to trot or run all the way and stay out of sight."

"The dogs were panting," Serle murmured.

"The only way you can be certain is to ask her," Garnier said.

"True," agreed Drogo.

"Howbeit, tonight I think what little she might have to say to me is not something I truly wish to hear." He grinned when his friends laughed.

"I may come to regret that she can speak French."

"Mayhap you should make sure that she has no weapons," Unwin suggested, the expression on his face one of grave concern.

"There is no need," said Serle.

"You sound most certain of that, old friend." Drogo frowned in curiosity.

"I am.

That girl will never strike out so unless her very life is threatened." He reached across the table and picked up a small dagger next to Eada's plate.

"This is more than an eating knife.

She had it on her and has probably had it on her the whole time she has been with us.

Tell me, Drogo, why it does not now rest in your flesh."

Drogo took the dagger and studied the ornately carved handle.

"This is no peasant's knife."

"Neither is this the home of a poor man."

"No.

He may not be a lord, but he has a full purse."

"Her gown was no peasant's shift, either."

"Serle, I have seen all this for myself."

"She speaks French."

"Serle," Drogo repeated, a touch of steel hardening his deep voice.

"Cease this tedious game and just say what rests so heavily on your mind."

"You have grabbed yourself a high-born maid, Drogo.

I ask again that you think well on what you are planning to do."

"And I tell you again that reason and thinking carry little weight in this matter.

I have tried it; but there is a part of me which throbs so badly with wanting, it drowns out the voice of caution.

She is trouble—beautiful, tempting trouble.

I know this.

I simply cannot bring myself to care."

"Then can you not care for her fate?" Serle asked quietly.

"I do.

Yes, I know many would say that what I plan for her will dishonor her.

Yet which is worse? The same fate would greet her outside these walls if I set her free, mayhap even worse.

She was trapped within the heart of the enemy.

I will at least be kind to her and keep her safe."

"Safe? You intend to take her with you while you battle your way across England to London.

How can you promise to keep her safe?"

"Why do you argue with me about this?"

Serle shrugged.

"Although I am a man and can understand why you hunger for her, I am also old enough to see her as a child.

Something prods me to try and make you turn away from what you plan.

If you do not, have no fear that I will plague you with each step we march.

Once you have made your decision, I will stand by it and aid you in keeping whatever promises you make."

"I have made my decision, old friend.

I made it the moment I set eyes on her."

Drogo saw May return and silently hurry to Ivo's side.

With a nod to his friends, who did not look certain about his actions, Drogo rose and went to the bedchamber he had chosen.

He had little hope of gaining the prize he ached for tonight, but he still looked forward to simply sharing the bed with her.

He prayed that Eada was in the bed where she belonged and would not force him to hunt her down.

The room was dark when he entered.

Awkwardly, yet quietly, he found and lit the candle near the bed.

He was relieved to see Eada curled up beneath the covers, for he was weary and had no wish to chase her down.

It only disappointed him a little to see that she was asleep.

He would not be able to begin the seduction he had planned, but he would be saved her anger for a little while.

Drogo knew that the weariness now weighting his body would let him sleep despite the unsatisfied desire knotting his insides.

He shed his clothes, letting them lie where they fell, and eased his body beneath the coverlet.

It took only a moment before he decided he had grossly overestimated the strength of his weariness.

The strength of his desire was far greater.

The mere scent of her was enough to tighten his loins.

He was painfully eager for her and she was much too near to ignore.

Turning onto his side, he reached out to stroke her hair, savoring the soft, silken feel of it beneath his fingers.

He admired the slim line of her back and fought against the urge to strip the covers away and look his fill.

Drogo knew it was not only a lengthy celibacy that made his desire for her so strong.

That only made control a little more difficult to grasp.

Eada of Pevensey alone fed his passion until he felt bloated with it.

Drogo slipped his arm around her tiny waist, grimacing when she murmured in her sleep and cuddled closer to his warmth.

His body's reaction was immediate and powerful.

He found himself briefly, but heartily, regretting that he was not the sort of man who could just take what he ached for without a thought for the woman's feelings.

There was trouble ahead, and Drogo knew it.

The war had not yet begun, but it could not be averted.

He was in England to fight the Saxons; he would undoubtedly kill Saxons, and Eada was a Saxon.

Wisdom demanded that he not allow himself to trust her fully, and it told him that what lay ahead could easily cause her to hate him.

Every instinct told him it would be for the best if he just took what he ached for and left her behind when the army moved on.

He sighed then cursed as she sleepily wriggled even closer.

It was going to be a long, uncomfortable, and sleepless night.

Even more distressing was the knowledge that he would ignore all wisdom, all good sense and instinct, and do his utmost to keep her as close to him as she was now.

"No, no.

Edith! Oh, Edith," Eada muttered as she fought the harsh memory of her friend's death which disturbed her dreams.

Drogo cursed softly as one of her small flailing fists caught him squarely on the chin.

He swiftly pinned her thrashing body beneath his and shook her.

She stilled slightly but did not open her eyes, so he shook her again.

Eada blinked then hurriedly wiped away the tears dampening her cheeks before scowling at the man who had shaken her awake.

"What did you wake me for?"

He hastily swallowed the first answer that rose to his lips as he stared into her sleep-clouded lavender eyes.

"You were having a nightmare.

I thought you might wish to be freed of it."

When Eada realized she had spoken to him in French not English, she cursed herself for so quickly forgetting her resolution to treat him coldly and give him only silence.

Worse than that, she was also forgetting that she was supposed to be furious with him.

In fact, all she could seem to think about was how pleasant it felt for their bodies to be so close, the warmth of his large, strong frame infecting her blood with its heat.

Even though her thin night rail lay between them, she was far too concerned with the fact that she could feel his nakedness.

She decided she was not really thinking clearly at all.

After all, she mused as she studied the strong lines of his face, what do I know of this man who so effortlessly stirs the wantonness in me? He is big, handsome, Norman, and here to conquer my land and my people.

He is good to his big, slow servant Ivo, when few others would have such patience.

He has not raised a hand to me despite the times I have attacked and insulted him.

He is obviously quick of wit, for he guessed the game I played when feigning ignorance of French, and I know I played the game well until I foolishly allowed my temper to take control of me.

And he has not raped me, yet I am certain that he wants me.

Even now I can see the hunger in his dark eyes.

He is also a man who favors cleanliness as do I.

Inwardly she sighed as she thought of Edith, her grief over the woman's death still deep and sharp.

Edith had told her that this man was the one she had been born for, had even hinted that he was a man who would appreciate both her spirit and her wit.

Talk of destiny was all fine and good, she thought crossly, but it should not mean that she must warm to him after only a day's acquaintance nor spread for him as easily as some whore.

Despite that admonition, Eada had to admit to herself that she was warming to him, alarmingly so.

Her body had already softened in welcome beneath the weight of his.

She closed her eyes as she fought to gain control of her errant passion by not looking at him.

It did not help.

She became even more aware of the tantalizing clean male scent of him, of the feel of him.

Her mind's eye revealed images of their bodies entwined, sensuous images which were not at all conducive to chilling her rapidly heating blood.

Destiny had decided that they were soulmates and clearly did not see the need to allow her any time to truly know the man or to adjust to the turmoil she had suddenly been dragged into.

Drogo felt the softening of her lithe body beneath his.

He dropped his gaze to her full breasts and saw as well as felt the increasing unsteadiness of her breathing.

Gently he pressed more of his body against hers and felt her tremble.

That sign that she was not completely cold to him was enough to loosen what little control he had kept on his desire since first setting eyes on her.

It took all his strength to hold back, to remind himself that they were still little more than strangers.

Moving too quickly could put a swift end to the subtle welcome of her body.

Gently, slowly, he told himself over and over again as he began to brush light, tender kisses over her face.

Eada felt the warm softness of his mouth against her cheek and shivered.

She struggled to put a halt to the feelings flooding her body but found such restraint almost impossible.

She wished he would grow rough, even violent, in his passion, for she knew that affront would give her the strength to fight him.

The gentleness of his seduction made her too willing to succumb to the tempting heat he stirred within her.

"No," she whispered, turning her head when he touched his lips to hers, but he cupped her face in his big hands and gently but firmly turned her back to him.

"Yes," he murmured against her full, shapely mouth as he teased it with soft, nibbling kisses.

"Come, you knew from the moment I took you from that old woman's cottage that this was meant to be."

"No, it does not have to be so."

"Ah, my pretty, honey-tressed Saxon, it does.

It has had to be since I first set eyes upon you."

Her reply was slain by his mouth as he pressed her for a fuller kiss.

She tried to remain cold beneath him, but her body refused to obey her mind's pleas.

Eada released a soft cry of helplessness as her mouth softened and her desire rapidly responded to his.

She was not even able to refuse the invasion of his tongue, the gentle strokes within her mouth robbing her of what little resistance she had been able to muster.

When he eased his heated kisses to her throat, she simply tilted her head back to allow him greater access then cursed her own meek surrender.

"You mean to take the land and the power from my people," she said, her voice thick and husky.

"Must you rob me of my honor as well?"

Inwardly Drogo winced, but he replied, "You have told me no, have requested me to cease.

Let that soothe your honor.

All who have seen you know you are my prisoner and know just what I shall steal from you.

They will not judge you because of this.

You are but a tiny woman, and although I know you could put up an astonishing fight if the fever you now curse did not steal away your resistance, you could never win.

Even your own people will see the truth of that."

Drogo was unlacing her night rail, touching each newly exposed patch of skin with a kiss, and Eada found speech difficult.

"My people will see me as a traitor."

Although he ached to simply rip the thin gown from her body, Drogo continued to move slowly.

He did not really want to discuss the right or wrong of doing what he craved to do, for he knew it was wrong.

Talking aided him in reining in the desire raging through his body, however.

He also hoped that he might yet find just the right words to ease and defer all her future regrets and recriminations.

"Some people will think that any Saxon who does not kill a Norman, even if the man is sleeping and unarmed, is a traitor.

Most will think little ill of you and of the other women who will soon be held in Norman arms."

"Held with no thought to where her heart may belong or the man she might belong to?"

He glanced at her face and cursed the dark, for the shadows made it difficult to correctly read her expression.

"And does any man hold a claim to you, Eada?"

"No.

I am a widow."

"Good.

It means I need not make you one now."

His soft, cold words shocked Eada.

She struggled to reply but a moment later lost all her ability to even think of a response.

He gently cradled her breasts in his big callused hands, brushing his thumbs over the hardening tips until they ached.

When he replaced his thumbs with his tongue, she cried out and clutched his broad shoulders.

She trembled inside and out from the strength of the desire he stirred in her, a desire so powerful she was unable to fight it.

As Drogo smothered her breasts in kisses, he quickly removed her night rail.

Tense with anticipation, he eased his body back on top of hers and groaned with pleasure as their flesh met.

He covered the crown of her breast with his mouth and drew the nipple deep inside.

A soft growl of need escaped him when she moaned and moved, rubbing invitingly against his body.

Eada lost all ability to think and all interest in doing so.

She gave herself over completely to the feelings raging through her body.

Greedily, she ran her hands over the lean, muscular body she had admired from the first time she had seen it.

She did not care that the body she held was Norman or that the hands stroking her would soon wield a sword against her people.

He was simply a man, a big, beautiful man, and she ached for him.

Drogo sensed Eada's surrender and fought to keep that knowledge from severing what little control he clung to.

The feel of her small, soft hands moving over his skin made that all the more difficult.

He wanted to immediately and fiercely bury himself deep within her warmth, but he knew it would be a grave mistake if he succumbed to that urge.

It was important that he give her pleasure, as much pleasure as he could, and not simply because he wanted to.

By giving her pleasure he knew he would further ease whatever regrets she might have when the clouds of desire fled her mind.

It would also ease any possible renewed resistance from her.

He stroked her, kissed her, and whispered sweet flatteries against her downy, soft skin.

Eada felt as if some madness had seized hold of her.

It was the only explanation for why she was succumbing to the pleasure of his touch so quickly and completely, her passion flooding her so strongly and hotly.

If fate had decided she should be with this man, it had certainly found the surest way to make her follow the right path.

Such heady passion was hard to fight.

Part of her resented being pushed and led into something that could bring her pain and heartbreak.

A moment later, she knew there was no hope for a return to sanity as he slid his hand up the inside of her thigh and stroked the very heart of her aching need for him.

The cry that escaped her lips held both regret and desire as she opened to his touch, silently welcoming the intimacy.

When Eada made no attempt to stop him at that final barrier, Drogo groaned.

His body shuddered as the hunger he felt for her gained force in one swift, heady rush.

She was fire beneath his hands, hot, wild, and inviting.

Unable to restrain himself any longer, he prepared to possess her.

As he eased into her, he felt her suddenly tense, and he joined their bodies with one greedy thrust.

He gasped in surprise when he felt himself tear through something he had not expected to find.

She had said that she was a widow and so should not have had a maidenhead.

He quickly grabbed hold of her when she cried out and tried to pull away.

Almost desperately, he struggled to soothe her and restore her passion.

He did not think he had the strength to stop now if she remained cold to him, and yet he did not wish to continue if she were unwilling or in too much pain.

The burning pain Drogo had inflicted when he had plunged into her body tore away the passion clouding Eada's mind, and for one brief moment, she was able to think clearly.

She was stunned.

All her prideful plans to resist had been swept away with an embarrassing swiftness.

Even as she began to castigate herself, however, her passion returned.

As Drogo stroked and kissed her, her lost maidenhead and the pain of that loss grew less and less important.

He had not killed her desire, merely brushed it aside for a minute.

The need he restirred within her as he soothed and aroused her soon had her arching against him.

She was not sure what would happen next and simply moved instinctively, trying to draw him deeper inside of her.

Everything within her drove her to try and quell the hunger gnawing at her.

Her body craved something and moved in an effort to get it.

Drogo was left gasping when Eada moved against him with an unskilled eagerness.

The feel of her acceptance was exquisite.

Uttering a harsh cry, he began to move.

He was determined to give her as much pleasure as he could before he could no longer restrain his need for release.

Eada quickly matched his movements, thrust for thrust.

She wrapped her lithe limbs around his body, and he lost all ability to hold back.

As Drogo's lovemaking grew fiercer, Eada felt more exhilarated.

It increased her passion tenfold to feel the loss of control in his large, strong body and know that she had caused it.

It was a heady thing to know that she could stir him as much as he did her.

Suddenly, she cried out, clutching at him in a wild attempt to draw him even closer.

Pleasure tore through her body in waves, thrusting her into an oblivion that was both frightening and dizzingly beautiful.

She was faintly aware of Drogo's almost painful grip on her hips and of the way he drove deeply within her, holding himself there as he cried out her name.

Her last clear thought was that she could easily be tempted to do anything and everything just to hear him say her name like that again.