Forbidden Night With The Warrior. Michelle WillinghamЧитать онлайн книгу.
was one of the men competing. Now her mother’s earlier warning made sense. She had no desire to be kissed by a stranger. But if Warrick wanted a kiss...she didn’t know what she should do.
At the far end, the men lined up for their turn. She soon realised that one man was attempting to throw a ball at the stool Lianna was standing upon. Another man defended her by striking the ball away with the stick. He ran hard around the line of stools, and his ball struck the base of it. After he had scored a point for his team, he returned to stand before one of the maidens. She offered him the cake, but instead, he took her face between his hands and brought her down for a deep kiss.
The men cheered, and the winner escorted the maiden away from the stools. Another young woman took her place.
Rosamund studied the crowd of men and women and saw Rhys pick up his ball. Warrick took his place with the bat and waited.
‘Don’t hit it, Brother,’ Rhys warned. His betrothed wife, Lianna, stood motionless while he prepared to aim the ball towards her stool. Rosamund almost pitied the woman for if Warrick did nothing, she would certainly be kissed in front of everyone. But Rhys’s anger made it an uncomfortable moment. It seemed that he wanted to humiliate Lianna, to force her to accept him.
Rosamund lifted her gaze to Warrick, hoping he would understand her unspoken message. He glanced at her and gave a single nod. The moment Rhys released the ball, Warrick struck it hard with his bat. It bounded across the grass and struck Rosamund’s stool hard.
She should have realised he would aim it towards her. It might have been luck that he’d hit it there, but she wasn’t certain. But as he ran past all the stools, she glimpsed a hard smile.
Would he try to kiss her in front of everyone? If he tried, her father would be furious. And yet, she wanted nothing more than to feel his mouth upon hers again. Her heart pounded when he approached the stool.
She remained frozen, feeling terrified that he might actually kiss her. But there was a way around this. In the barest whisper, she said, ‘At dawn, I will meet you by the stream for the kiss. For now, please accept the tansy cake.’
He made no effort to hide his interest. But when he took the tansy cake, he unwrapped the linen and broke off a piece. In front of everyone, he fed it to her, his thumb brushing against her lips. The gesture startled her, and she tasted the cake.
It was terrible, and she made a face at the herbs. With a laugh, she broke off a piece and fed it to him in return. ‘You try it. It’s awful.’
But his mouth closed over her thumb, gently kissing it as he ate the cake. There was no doubting that he wanted the kiss. ‘Tomorrow, Rosamund.’
She took his arm, and he guided her away from the others. With a soft smile, she answered, ‘I promise.’
Warrick rode towards the forest, but Rosamund was not yet there. He sat upon a rock, waiting for her. Only a few moments later, he heard a rustling noise in the tree beside him. He glanced up and saw her sitting among the branches, a delighted smile upon her face.
‘Why are you in the tree, Rosamund?’ Though it wasn’t high above the ground, it must have been difficult to climb with her skirts. And he saw no sign of her horse anywhere.
‘I had to, else someone might find me.’ She beckoned for him to climb up with her. ‘Will you join me here?’
‘It would be easier to kiss you here on the ground,’ he pointed out. Her promise had haunted him all the night, as had the fleeting taste of her skin. He could not deny the effect she had on him. He would have walked through a pillar of fire to kiss her again.
‘No one will see us here,’ she said. And in that, she had a good point. Warrick wasn’t entirely certain how she had managed to get into the tree, but he seized a large branch above his head and swung one leg over. He was upside down for a moment and then righted himself. It was then that he saw her studying a bird’s nest between two smaller branches.
‘Look at the blue eggs,’ she murmured. ‘They will hatch any day now.’
‘Don’t touch the nest,’ he warned. ‘Else the mother will abandon them.’
She nodded, her face alight with wonder. It was something he would never tire of seeing—her reaction to the world around her. Rosamund saw beauty in the most ordinary things, and it pleased him to see her smile. He had brought her a gift this day, one that he hoped she would like.
‘I have something for you,’ he said. ‘First, the sewing you left on the stairs.’
Her face relaxed into a smile and she accepted the folded linen. ‘Thank you. I was hoping you would bring it to me.’
‘But I also wanted to give you this.’ He pulled out a small pouch and handed it to her. It pleased him to see the delighted expression on her face. But when she opened the pouch and withdrew skeins of dyed thread, her smile faded. Instead, she appeared upset, and he had no notion of what he’d done wrong.
‘Don’t you like it?’
Her eyes welled up with tears, and she nodded. ‘No one has ever given me such a gift. I adore it.’ And yet, she appeared miserable.
An awkward silence spread between them. He had thought she would be overjoyed, that she would smile and embrace him. Instead, she appeared devastated by the gift, regardless of her words.
‘Why do you weep?’ he ventured. He wasn’t entirely certain he wanted to know the answer.
Rosamund tucked away the pouch of threads, swiping at the tears. A pained expression came over her face as she gathered her composure. Then she took his hands in hers, swallowing hard. ‘Because my mother told me I am to be married to Alan de Courcy. And I would rather be married to a man like you. Someone who understands me.’ She lifted her gaze to his, and in her green eyes, he saw the yearning.
In that moment, time seemed to stop moving. He understood that he was not worthy of her, but he needed to show her how much she meant to him. This exquisite woman was so far beyond his reach, but he could not deny the need to touch her. He touched the edge of her cheek with his knuckle, and she covered his hand with her own.
‘I want the kiss you promised.’ His voice came out ragged, and he wanted to lose himself in that mouth, to show her how much he wanted her.
Rosamund pressed her lips to his hand, kissing it softly. With a wry smile, he remarked, ‘That isn’t where I wanted you to kiss me, Rosamund.’
Her expression held amusement, and she lifted her face to his. Her lips were soft, moulding against his. Rosamund wound her arms around his neck, and he was careful to keep her safely balanced upon the wide tree branch. He couldn’t get enough of her, and the kiss turned wilder, hotter. Warrick felt the primal needs rising, and he moved her so that her back was against the tree trunk. He straddled the branch and brought her close so that her legs were around his waist. Then he wrapped his arms around the tree trunk, nestling their bodies close.
And yet, it wasn’t close enough.
She let out a gasp when he slid his tongue inside her mouth. Though she was an innocent, she pressed her hips close so that the ridge of his arousal lay between her legs.
Her eyes widened, and Rosamund pulled back a moment. Her lips were swollen, and she framed his face with her hands. Then she traced a path down to his shoulders. ‘I know I should not kiss you like this. But it doesn’t feel wrong.’
She moved against him, and he could imagine the sweet wetness between her legs. He wanted to touch her intimately, to move her skirts aside and bury himself within her depths. It took an act of the greatest concentration not to move.
‘Do you want me to stop?’ he asked. His tone balanced on the razor edge of unfulfilled desire. Did she understand what she was doing to him when she moved against him? He tried to hold her with