But red hair appeared, instead of red wind, and the soft clinging cream gown that Abigail still wore from the wedding.
Abigail, oh, dear Goddess, no.
“Why aren’t you in your room?” The sudden burst of adrenaline, of fearing that an enemy had come to the castle, left him irritable once more. “You should be in bed, asleep.”
But she strolled forward, now in her bare feet, as though she belonged in his house. “Just thought I’d have a look around.”
He turned away from her, fatigue settling in hard. He wanted his whisky and the deep leather chair in front of the fire. Whisky always eased the tremor in his hand. He’d have to summon a doneuse, but not tonight. “Did you leave your room and forget your way? That part of the castle is a rabbit warren.” He was trying to be polite but he wanted her gone so he wouldn’t have to think about what he wanted to do to her, what he had almost done to her earlier.
“No, I didn’t forget my way.”
“Good, that’s good. But you must be exhausted.”
“Not so fatigued as you, I’m sure.” He looked up at her at that. She was standing just a few feet away. The light from the lamp on his desk seemed to enhance her delicate complexion. She was very beautiful, almost ethereal because of her fair skin.
She held out her hand to him. “Come. I’ve made something for you. I think it’s what you need. I’m not sure, but I believe it will do. Will you trust me?”
“This is a strange sequence of words coming from you.” He narrowed his gaze. “Always the enigma. But I am too tired to decipher your meaning.”
She smiled. An image drifted through his mind, something that felt as though it came from the future, probably just a fantasy. But she was in his bed, asleep on the pillow next to him.
He gave his head a shake. It was late, he had battled tonight, and now he was imagining things.
She had been a good sport and hadn’t complained once during the attack. She had even saved the boy. He owed her this little bit, he supposed, despite how tired he was, to accept whatever kindness she had prepared for him.
He rose to his feet but didn’t take her hand. He feared touching her. Since she was able to connect with his personal frequency, he didn’t want to relive anything as dangerous as what he had shared with her earlier in the forest.
He swept his hand in the direction of the doorway. “Lead the way, Mistress Abigail.”
She turned and without any hint of flirtation, began walking down the long hall. She was going in the opposite direction of the entrance hall, which meant he would have a long trek back to get to his whisky and sink into his leather chair.
But he had told her he would oblige her and so he would.
He only suspected something was wrong when she led him not in the direction of any of the public rooms, or even toward the guest suites of which there were twenty on the far side of the castle, but rather straight down the hall to his private quarters.
He stopped at the top of the hall. “Mistress Abigail, I believe you must have lost your way.”
She didn’t even pause in her steps as she looked over her shoulder and said, “No, I didn’t. Come.”
On she moved. He waited for a long moment even after she disappeared into his private sitting room. Which led to his bedroom.
He felt dizzy suddenly but not precisely fatigued. In fact, his heart had begun a serious pounding and all that activity within his chest put his booted feet in motion again. He was certain he shouldn’t be walking down this hall, but he couldn’t seem to help himself.
He didn’t take many women to bed and never at the castle. Far too complicated. The Mastyr of Merhaine couldn’t allow for expectations to arise in any quarter.
But this, a human. Could he engage with Abigail and not get caught in a different kind of net?
He passed through the sitting room. When he reached the angled doorway of his bedroom, he pushed the door wide against the stone wall. He glanced down and saw her matching cream heels sitting side-by-side, close together, very tidy.
He scanned the bedroom but she wasn’t there.
He stood on the threshold, staring at his bed, his dresser, his massive closet. He had lived alone here for a hundred and fifty years. In all that time, he had never brought a woman into his private rooms.
He wanted to call out to Abigail, to tell her to leave at once. He even lifted his chin, parted his lips, but the words wouldn’t come. Maybe he was just too damn tired.
His heart beat harder now and in the distance he heard water splashing.
Was the woman bathing? His body responded, just thinking thoughts of Abigail in his copper tub. Her long red hair, her beautiful eyes, her pale skin, would look almost exotic in his tub.
“Gerrod. It’s all right. Come to me. Just this once. No pressure. No hidden motives. Nothing.” Then her soft chuckle as though she found what she said amusing.
For some reason, perhaps the soft but confident tone of her voice, his boots once more began to move. Some terrible threshold had been crossed in which his profound need, his fatigue, his despair overrode his fear of being involved with Abigail, with this human.
He moved into the bedroom. Looking through the archway into the bathroom, he saw that she sat on a stool at the lower end of the tub, near the faucet, and she had removed her gown. She wore an undergarment that also looked like a gown, but with thin straps. It covered her breasts and ended at her knees in a line of lace.
His desire for her rose, despite the fact that she was still essentially modestly clothed.
Essentially.
As he drew closer, he saw that her gown, which she had worn to the wedding, hung on one of the pegs to the left, opposite the tub.
He still hesitated. She had prepared him a bath. A great kindness, indeed.
He chose in that moment, not to over think any of it, not to have any expectations, not to try to take charge, not to do anything except to give himself over to this strange human.
He stood by the side of the tub and she rose from her stool. As she reached for the thick shoulder strap, she hesitated. She looked up at him. He nodded.
The moment she made contact with the silver buckle, he felt it again, his realm vibration, coming alive with her touch.
She snapped the large silver buckle that held the strap together. She caught one side and slid the rest off his back. She opened the coat wide, then spread her fingers over his left pec. Her lips parted.
“I can feel your vibration,” she said. “It’s powerful and seductive. It strikes me here in a steady rhythm.” She looked back up at him and removed her hand from his chest and put it between her breasts.
He nodded. “We are a world of frequencies. Even when I battle, it’s a frequency that I tap and I’m able to draw energy from the earth and from the air and form it into narrow beams that can do great harm.
“My personal frequency is a very different thing. When you touch it, as you just did, it’s as though all that I am, to the end of each extremity, begins pulsing toward the center of my being.” He laid a hand flat on his upper abdomen. “Here. Put your hand here.”
She laid her hand against his stomach and her brows rose. “I can feel it all up my arm.” Her lips were still parted as once more she met his gaze. “It’s very sexual.”
“It should be. It’s called the mating frequency.”
“Well, I won’t deny that it fills me with desire, the way I felt in the forest earlier. So, have all the women you’ve known enjoyed your frequency?”
She was smiling, thinking she understood, but she didn’t.
He shook his head slowly. “Never. I have to allow it to happen and I’ve never wanted to because it would mean a deeper connection. The women I have known couldn’t do what you seem to do so easily, to access my personal vibration, which makes you a mystery I cannot solve.”
She seemed truly shocked. “Then how the hell can I do this?”
“I do not know, Abigail. It worries me.”
She nodded several times bu
t fell silent. Finally, she said, “Very well, we can’t understand everything right now but we’ll just have to make the best of it.” Then her smile appeared. His breath caught. He realized he loved her smile, that just seeing that bright display of even teeth, her expression full of nothing but good-will, eased his heart.
His own need for her grew. He was hard beneath his leathers, stiff with desire. Who was she that she could bring forth his frequency?
He removed the long leather, sleeveless coat. She took it from him and hung it on a peg next to her gown, as well as the shoulder strap.
She waved him to the stool. He sat down. She drew the rug close and knelt before him. She unbuckled his boots, another kindness. She leaned back and he slid them off, along with the thick socks. She took them from him and set them beneath his coat.
He unbuttoned the dozen small buttons that held the soft woven shirt together. He pulled the shirttails from the pants and let the garment slide from his shoulders.
Though he extended the shirt toward her, she stood staring at him. Of course she would never have seen him like this before and his pecs tightened and swelled, his shoulders and biceps flexed. He drew his stomach in tight. He was what the humans called ‘built’, muscled as all Guardsmen were.
Her pupils had dilated and through her slip he could see the taut beads of her nipples. She shared his desire.
She blinked a couple of times as though clearing her thoughts, then said, “You may remove your fighting leathers.” She knew that was what they were called. He almost smiled.
He met her gaze as he took them off. He was naked as he handed them to her. She folded them up but in so doing, some of the dried blood, and some not so dry from the nicks he had received, ended up on her arms and hands. Fortunately, he healed quickly and the various cuts were long gone.
She gasped, just a little, then squared her shoulders. She folded the pants and settled them beside the boots.
When he stood there, now fully aroused in front of a woman he desired, her gaze dipped to his erection then back to his eyes. She gestured to the tub and smiled. “Get in, Gerrod. And when you can tolerate it, sink beneath the water. I mean to wash your hair.”
He was sore from battling and very tired. He was also weak from blood starvation. He stumbled getting in, but righted himself only to find her hand on his back as if to steady him. The gesture moved something in his heart and suddenly he hurt so deep that he wished her gone, wished he had never met her, wished she had kept her kindnesses to herself.
How long had it been since he had known such attention and care? Yes, his people were good to him and showed him many respectful tender gestures. But he never let anyone get this close that after a battle, he might be soothed.
He sank into the water, pulling the woven clasp from his hair and let it drop to the stone floor. “The temperature is perfect,” he said. He didn’t look at her until she leaned over and slid her hands in the water as well and began rinsing the blood from her arms. Then she drew close, hovering above his lips. He leaned up slightly, which encouraged her so that she came down to him the rest of the way and kissed him, a soft warm pressure, and so very welcome.
He sighed when she drew back. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because I have seen how you care for your people and I appreciate what you do. I have known you long enough, Gerrod, to understand that there is no one to comfort you. So I thought, just this once, I would do what I could, with no plan in mind other than to give you what I can this dawn, maybe to comfort you, if I could. But please don’t worry. I have no purpose other than that, no hopes or intention for sharing a future with you. Rest assured, there is no obligation here except to enjoy the moment.”
He nodded, closed his eyes and sank beneath the water, a sort of baptism. When he came up, she had moved behind him, having taken the stool with her. She washed his hair and it was one of the finest sensations he had ever known, her fingers scrubbing his scalp and working the soap through the difficult length. He rinsed by dipping again, but before she could apply a most necessary crème rinse, he rose up out of the bath and gestured to the shower. “This is my preference, but the bath was perfection.”
She smiled. He began making his way to his shower and turned on all three shower heads. He stepped inside and shifted, only to find, much to his shock, that she had dispensed with her slip and her bra and was now stepping out of what looked like a beautiful black lace thong.
His body responded once more. Couldn’t be helped on so many levels. He’d been in battle. A woman was what he wanted.
She didn’t join him right away, however. Instead, she went to the sink and was busy there for about a minute. Curious, he watched her, as the vertical jets powered against the sore muscles of his back. She had a now damp thong in hand and hung it between two of the pegs on the wall where her gown and his coat hung.
His chest tightened. There was only one reason she would have done so, that she meant to spend the day in his bed. It was such a practical, womanly thing to do, the way a woman who ran a successful business would always be thinking one step ahead, what needed to be done next.
If he’d had any doubts about the scope of her intentions, they disappeared as she moved toward the shower, her chin high and her nipples peaked.
What rose to the surface of his mind was simple. He had wanted her from the first moment he’d laid eyes on her and caught her delicate rosemary scent. He’d wanted her with a fervor that was even now beyond his comprehension.
He didn’t try to hide how aroused he was. But he was a big man so he supported all that purposeful weight as she stepped in beside him.
He gave her room so that she could dip beneath the spray. All her pretty curls had already given way to the difficulties of the night and now her makeup, too, drifted in the direction of the drain.
He moved away from her and took his time memorizing each curve, the shape of her breasts, the exact pinkish hue of her areola, that her belly button seemed to collect the water before allowing it to flow down her abdomen and into the crease of her tender flesh. Her skin was milky, her legs shapely and long. Even her feet were pretty and he had a sudden desire to kiss them.
If he was to have only one night with her, then he would make the most of it.
She emerged from the spray and turned. She shampooed her hair and rinsed. He watched the bubbles float over her shoulders and down her arms. He became fascinated with how her breasts moved and what they looked like when she lifted her arms to squeeze the water from her hair, to shake her locks with her fingers trying to get the soap out.
When she was satisfied, she reached for the crème rinse. She applied it to her hair and once it had reached the tips, she turned to him and smiled. “You’ll have to bend down a little. I’m not a short woman, but you’re damn tall.”
He smiled. My God, when was the last time he had smiled. His heart felt lighter. When had his heart ever felt lighter after a battle?
He had a sudden profound desire to find some place in the castle to keep her, to chain her up perhaps, so that whenever he needed to feel the weight of his responsibilities lift from his shoulders, he could go to her and she would make him smile.
He leaned over and she poured the crème rinse on his hair and worked it through every strand all the way to the ends as she had done her own hair.
He wanted to touch her, but she was all business. She rinsed her hair, then without a word, she left the shower. She dried off and wrapped her hair up, then simply padded from the bathroom, her bottom moving in the most exotic way as she disappeared from view.
Realizing he could no longer see her, that she had somehow escaped his touch, he felt panicky, afraid on some level that she would vanish. He almost stumbled from the shower and toweled off. He was still a bit damp in parts when he went into the bedroom.
He paused on the threshold. She was on the bed, the covers turned all the way back to the footboard, and still very naked. She was kneeling but sitting back on her heels. I
n front of her was a tray of fruit and cheese and two small glasses of white wine.
She had provided him an elegant feast. Did she understand what she was doing? What it meant to a man to have a woman feed him? Of course, she did own a bakery, so perhaps on a very intuitive level, she understood how critical it was to provide food to the community, even a realm community.
“Please, Gerrod, come and make yourself comfortable. If you don’t want to eat, you don’t have to, although there are other things besides these fruits and cheeses that might be equally palatable to you.”
He had lived a long time.
He had heard double entendres in every form imaginable.
Maybe it was because she was naked, or that she had brought him food to eat, but these words pleased him to no end, and once more brought him to attention.
Her gaze fell. He had to support himself as he walked. He thumbed the tip of his cock and watched her eyes widen.
“I would feed you as well, Abigail, if it would please you.”
Her nipples had become hard pebbles once more and a flush covered her cheeks. “I am very torn,” she said. “For these figs look wonderful. But on the other hand, I want nothing more than to be fed.” She unwound the towel from her damp curls and let it fall behind her.
“And so you shall be.” He crawled across the bed, careful not to disturb the tray. He drew up beside her on his knees.
She turned her shoulder into him and planted her hand on his thigh. She leaned just a little and parted her lips.
He tilted his pelvis and slipped his cock into her mouth. He fed her slowly, one inch at a time. She didn’t suck but held her tongue beneath him and moved in a little erotic ripple. He groaned. He pulled out then pushed in again slowly. He met her gaze as she looked up at him.
I feel your vibration, she said, tapping his telepathic frequency.
How does it feel?
Wonderful. It’s made my lips and tongue tingle.
Her mouth began to close around him and this time when he withdrew she suckled him. His back arched and he almost came.
He withdrew and took a series of strong breaths.