Читать книгу Forbidden Night With The Warrior - Michelle Willingham - Страница 12

Chapter Four

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 one arm, to keep her still.

Rosamund shook her head. ‘I feel as if you are the only man in the world for me. And it breaks my heart to know that my father chose differently.’

She closed her eyes, and he saw the shadow of pain. Though he wasn’t surprised at the betrothal, it was her response that startled him. She genuinely appeared upset.

He held her close, breathing in the scent of this woman. Nothing in the world would please him more than to have Rosamund de Beaufort at his side. He would have slain a thousand demons if it meant awakening beside her each day.

But he lacked everything her father wanted. He was not the heir, and though he was of noble birth, his wealth paled beside a man like Alan de Courcy.

Her green eyes held dismay, but he leaned in and kissed her. ‘I would want nothing more than to marry you, Rosamund.’

But both of them knew it was impossible.

He tasted the salt of her tears, and she kissed him as if she never wanted it to end. The embrace shifted until he couldn’t stop his own response. He needed to be closer to this woman, and he pulled her onto his lap with her legs around him. She let out a soft moan, trembling in his arms.

‘Warrick,’ she whispered. And then she moved herself against him, mimicking the sexual act. She let out a soft gasp, and her fingers dug into his arms.

He gritted his teeth, trying to hold back his body’s needs. This was about her, about pleasuring this woman and stealing a forbidden moment.