The Irish Devil Page 8

  “Will you be a fair husband?”

  “I will be a good husband.”

  “Then I will be a good wife.”

  “Then you will be obedient.”

  She laughed softly. “Do you always have your way?”

  “Always,” he answered as if in gentle warning and his finger slowly stroked her bottom lip.

  Faith hesitantly moved back, his hand falling away from her lip. “I do not know you well.”

  “It is not necessary that you do. Trust me, all will go well.”

  “You are a stranger.”

  “I am your husband.”

  “Still, a stranger.”

  “Who made you climax in the woods today?”

  Her cheeks rushed to a soft red. “I have never known—”

  “Pleasure?”

  “A man,” she finished softly, almost on a whisper.

  “Do you fear me?” he asked.

  Her answer was quick and honest, “No. When first we met I admit that you did frighten me. But now you make me tremble and it is not from fear.”

  He smiled and held his hand out to her. She slipped hers into his and his large, warm fingers locked around hers squeezing gently, reassuringly.

  “We will do well together, dear wife, if you remember but one thing.”

  She waited, his large hand swallowing up her delicate fingers.

  “Be honest with me and I will forever protect you. Be deceitful and I will show you no mercy.”

  At that moment Faith was tempted to tell him the truth and allow him a choice. They had yet to fulfill their marital duties so officially their vows were not complete. He could return her to her family and demand retribution. But what would be the consequences? What would her stepmother and father do to her? How would they make her suffer for betraying them? But then how would the Irish devil deal with her betrayal?”

  “Lord Eric,” Borg called out from outside the tent.

  Eric responded with a curt, “Enter.”

  Borg stood just at the entrance, his head bent and his hand holding the tent flap back. He was soaked and looked exhausted. “I am sorry to disturb you, my lord, but two of the tents have collapsed and the women are growing chilled and wet. We are working hard to repair them but the ground is nothing but mud and is proving to be a mighty adversary.”

  “Is Bridget all right?” Faith asked, concerned for her servant since she had been sneezing.

  “Chilled to the bone,” Borg answered with a worried glance at Eric.

  Faith held back her smile. It was obvious what the large man wanted from his lord. He wanted permission to shelter the women in this tent until the repairs were completed. She waited and wondered if her husband would once again relinquish bedding his wife to assist another in need.

  His response was what she thought it would be and made him all the more appealing to her.

  “Bring the women here,” he ordered sharply and stood. “I will come help the men with the tents.”

  Borg nodded and immediately left to carry out his orders.

  Eric walked over to where his wife sat, cupped her chin and leaned down to steal a much longed for kiss.

  His lips were gentle, probing slowly, easy along hers, but his tenderness was brief, his hunger strong. His kiss demanded what his body ached for and his hands yanked her up off the chair, slamming her against him with an urgent passion that startled her.

  He was hard against her and she yielded willingly to him.

  “Soon,” he whispered against her mouth. “Soon or I shall go mad.”

  He released her so swiftly that she stumbled and Rook lifted his head, his eyes alert.

  “Go to sleep,” Eric snapped at the startled dog as he yanked the flap aside and marched out of the tent.

  After regaining her senses and her balance she walked over to where Rook lay and scratched behind his ear. She lifted the flap and stared out into the dark night, the torrential rain making visibility almost impossible. But nonetheless she saw her husband’s shadowed figure, not huddled or frightened by the storm, but defiant. His head was held high, his strides filled with confidence, his voice boomed with orders causing men to scurry. Even the rain seemed to bow to his commanding presence and fell with less fervor.

  She sighed, released the flap and sat down beside Rook, the big dog’s head falling directly to rest on her lap. “What do I do?”

  Rook moaned in empathy.

  “Strangely enough, I admire my new husband. I believe I even like him, maybe care for him and if all goes well perhaps I could even love him. In time, that is. Given time anything is possible, right, Rook?”

  The big dog moaned in response, though Faith had no doubt it was from being rubbed behind his ear, a favorite spot of his. But it did not matter. What did matter to her was that she had a chance at a good life, with a man who would care for her and protect her from harm. She wanted that chance. She wanted that man.

  Now all she needed was a miracle.

  Faith helped the four women, including Bridget, arrange their bedding and settle down for the night. Bridget was the only one not startled by the generous actions of Lord Eric. The other three women repeatedly thanked Faith for her thoughtfulness. It was late in the night, Faith sleeping soundly and alone on the bedding meant for her and her husband when Eric finally returned. He quietly stepped over the sleeping women and after replacing his wet garments with dry ones he joined his wife beneath the wool blanket.

  She shivered when his chilled body wrapped around her warm one.

  “Eric?”

  “Go back to sleep, it is near morning,” he ordered in a whisper.

  She turned toward him, slipping her arms around his chest, snuggling her warm body against his cold one. “I will keep you warm,” she said and kissed the crook of his neck where her head nestled.

  He groaned, her warm lips so soft and gentle, so sincere and so potent. He sprang instantly to life.

  Her lips once again nibbled at his neck while her hand explored his chest. “Warm. Are you warm?”

  Warm? He was hot and lusting like a young boy who had just discovered the joys of sex. He managed to assure her he was now warm to calm her wandering hands. And he swore a silent and not at all proper oath that by tomorrow night his wife would no longer possess her virginity.

  Chapter Seven

  The heavy rain turned to a light drizzle before sunrise. The camp was dismantled with quick efficiency and they were soon on the way, Eric issuing orders that they would continue through noon to make up for lost time.

  It was apparent that he was anxious to get home and so was his men since none protested his command. The women seemed in agreement as well, busy cutting bread and cheese to disperse to the men along route.

  Eric ordered Faith to ride with him. She did not protest and smiled at Borg as he lifted her up to Eric. Before she could nestle herself comfortably across him, he grasped her waist and positioned her as he wished, her backside resting against his thick thigh. He then wrapped a dark red cloak around them both, circled his arm around her back beneath the wrap and took hold of the reins in his hand. With his free hand he signaled his men to take leave.

  “Are you warm enough?” he asked as he maneuvered the stallion along the muddy path.

  “Yes, and most comfortable,” she admitted with snuggling against his chest.

  He did not smile though his blue eyes were blatantly honest in their desire and her body trembled in nervous anticipation.

  “I will not ravish you on my horse though I am sorely tempted. I wish you to ride with me so that we may become better acquainted.”

  Faith immediately smiled and said, “Tell me about the first time you went fishing when a mere lad.”

  Eric could not prevent himself from smiling and Faith was amazed at how the soft crook of his mouth made him all the more handsome.

  “Borg has filled your head with nonsense.”

  “He insisted you were so obstinate about holding onto your fish that you almost dr
owned.”

  His fingers tightened at her waist. “I keep what is mine.”

  “Perhaps the fish had a different idea,” she teased.

  He shook his head. “Once I lay claim, it is useless for anyone to oppose me.”

  “And you wanted that fish?”

  He laughed. Faith felt the rumble deep in his chest and it felt good.

  “I was hungry.”

  Faith pursued her interest in her husband. “You and Borg grew up together.”

  Eric quirked a brow. “Borg’s tongue has loosened lately.”

  Faith hurried to assure him otherwise. “No, I ask many questions, he gives me few answers and I piece together the rest.”

  “What have you pieced together about me?”

  “That you and Borg were childhood friends, almost like brothers.”

  “We are half brothers. We have the same father.”

  She was not surprised to learn this. While Borg gave Eric the respect entitled a lord, there remained between the two men a unique bond. And when Borg thought it necessary he spoke to Eric more as a kinsman than as a warrior. One would truly have to be blind to fail to notice. “And you are close.”

  “Yes, we are,” Eric admitted with an emotional sincerity that Faith realized he rarely demonstrated. “But it is your turn to tell me something of yourself. Who do you care for?”

  Again his question caught her off guard, though her answer came easily. “Rook.”

  “That ugly monster of a dog,” he said, casting an eye at the animal that trotted beside the horse with ease.

  “He is not ugly,” Faith said in defense of her friend. “He is quite handsome and most intelligent. And he protects me.”

  “From whom does he protect you?”

  Faith felt the panic rise within her, racing her heart and parching her throat, but she kept her fear well concealed. “From strangers, shadows and . . .”

  She stopped, almost having added “shame.”

  Eric lifted her chin that had dropped slightly as her words trailed off. Sadness filled her voice, sorrow pooled in her eyes and her smile faded like a fresh bloom denied sunshine.

  “Tell me,” he ordered, angry that her joy had withered before his eyes and not understanding the cause, but knowing she had suffered a deep hurt.

  Faith thought quickly, realizing that the devil would not be denied an answer. “I but envy you your closeness with Borg. I have three stepsisters and none, can I say, was ever a friend to me.”

  “Borg is your friend now and Colin as well, and you will grow to know all at the keep and have many friends. And besides,” he said with annoyance, “your half sisters were too jealous of you ever to be true friends.”

  “Jealous?” Faith asked incredulously. “Why would they ever he jealous of me?”

  “You are beautiful and they are not. You are caring and they are callous. You have me and they do not.”

  She laughed, thinking he but jested with her. “Perhaps they did not want you.”

  “Perhaps I did not want them.”

  He was serious, she could tell by the firm set of his mouth and the intensity of his glance upon her. Did he truly want her? Had his choice been of free will? She found the idea hard to grasp, to believe. Since the attack no one had spared her a thought, she simply was not worthy enough. If truth be told, would he still feel the same? Or having become acquainted with her, would he judge her differently? It mattered not at the moment for she suddenly felt compelled to reach out to him. To touch him. To be close with him. To know him and allow him to know her.

  She slipped her hand from beneath the cloak and reached out to stroke his lips tentatively. “I want you” —her pause was brief as if she thought to change her mind, but then she hurried on— “to kiss me.”

  He looked at her for a mere moment, his intense gaze hinting at the devil within him. His scalding look instantly heated her flesh and shivered her to the soul. And left no doubt, even to a novice, that his passion for her bordered on the verge of igniting.

  His whispered response caught on her lips. “My pleasure.” He sampled her like rare nectar that was meant to be enjoyed. “I love the taste of you,” he murmured, his lips brushing over hers, claiming them with a gentle fervor that stole her breath.

  He took and she surrendered, his mouth feasting, his hands roaming and his heart pounding in his chest. She felt the heavy rhythm against her breast, beating wildly, maddeningly, and knowing that she was the cause made her willingly submit all the more.

  When his hand moved to cup her breast and pinch her nipple she moaned and completely lost herself to him.

  He brought their kiss to an end, reluctantly denying her, placing brief quick pecks along her mouth and over her chin. His hand remained firm on her breast but his fingers ceased their tormenting, though her nipple remained hard and aching.

  “You truly like the taste of me?” Faith asked when she could finally speak.

  “I would not lie to you,” he said firmly and softly kissed her lips. “Your sweet minty taste pleases me. And does my taste please you?”

  A smile ran over her face and she laughed lightly. “Bold and quite intoxicating.”

  He smiled himself. “I like your honesty.”

  That word again. Would it forever haunt her?

  His hand moved to settle at her waist. “You are slim.”

  Her face shadowed with doubt.

  He explained. “I but wonder if you will have difficulty birthing a babe.”

  A babe. She had so wanted children. She loved delivering the newborns, so wrinkled and crunched and yet when they took their first breath, their whole little bodies expanded with life. She wanted to see her own babe’s body quake to life.

  “I see no reason why I could not deliver you a babe,” she said, hoping to alleviate his concern that she would not be able to present him with a child.

  He shook his head, as if her answer did not satisfy him. “But would it be a difficult birth?”

  She answered honestly. “Births and babes are unpredictable. There is no telling how a birth will go until delivery begins and even then it is best to be prepared for surprises.”

  “You do not fear the birthing process?”

  “Why should I?”

  “You see pain and suffering.”

  “I see miracles,” she said with excitement. “Every time a newborn babe slips into my hands and breathes his first breath, it is a miracle.”

  His taut features softened and his eyes took on a gentle longing, but it was his words that most surprised her. “We will make a miracle together and I will not allow you to suffer the birth of our babe alone. I will suffer along with you.”

  She could easily love this man and that thought brought with it a rush of fear. Could he love her?

  “A thoughtful and rare act for a husband,” she said.

  His eyes drifted ahead to where his men were grouped in discussion, but he returned his glance to her when he spoke. “I take care of what is mine. You are mine and I will see to your care and protection.”

  “Yes, my lord,” she said on a sigh and a turn of her head. She realized she was but his property and nothing more. She was being foolish, as foolish as a young girl who thought herself in love. The dark lord simply did not love.

  He hooked her chin with his finger and forced her to look at him. “You are mine, Faith. Do you understand? Mine.”

  Colin approached and Eric immediately turned his attention to him.

  “A problem. One of the men was injured while helping to move a fallen tree. He took a severe gash to the leg.”

  “I will see to him,” Faith said, sorry for the wounded man but relieved by the timely interruption.

  Colin looked to Eric and Faith realized she had failed to request her husband’s permission. Her freedom had been severely restricted by this marriage and it would take getting used to.

  “I am sorry, my lord,” she said, “with your permission I will see to the wounded man.”

 
He nodded to her and to Colin he said, “We will be right along.”

  Colin rode off and Faith remained silent.

  “Faith.”

  She raised cautious eyes to him.

  His blue eyes, so hypnotic and seductive, remained fixed upon her and he slowly lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her persuasively, purposely and potently.

  And as they rode off after Colin, Eric whispered harshly in her ear. “Mine.”

  o0o

  The delay in their journey annoyed Eric. He wanted to reach Shanekill Keep as quickly as possible. He had lived too long on the road, in tents, on the ground, rained upon and heated from battle. He wanted permanence in his life. And that began with his land and now included his wife.

  He stood nearby, watching her as she worked with skilled fingers, stitching the open wound of the injured man. When he first saw it he thought she might faint from the sight of such a ghastly injury. But she set to work immediately, her hands tender and her manner calm and reassuring.

  He was grateful the rain had finally stopped and the clouds had disappeared, making way for the sun. It would take at least another day or two for the land to dry sufficiently enough to make their journey less difficult, which meant a possible further delay. And while this time provided him with an opportunity to become better acquainted with his wife, it also severely limited their time alone.

  Time alone.

  He had never given thought to spending much time alone with his wife; for them to share intimacy, yes, but for the sole purpose of just spending time together?

  He found himself shaking his head. He slowly circled the area where his wife sat on the ground beside the injured man, finishing up the last of the many stitches. She paid no heed to her audience. Many of his men watched her as she worked and their faces betrayed their curiosity and amazement. The wound had been wide, the flesh badly torn, and yet Faith had seemed to work a miracle. Her stitching had drawn the torn flesh completely together, leaving no gaping holes. His men were impressed and he was proud of his new wife.

  He had hoped for a good match, never expecting to find a woman he actually enjoyed talking with or looking upon and least of all admiring. She was truly a special woman—skilled, intelligent and beautiful.