Charming the Prince Part 14

Eighteen Willow gazed at Bannor in disbelief, not sure whether she should laugh, or s.n.a.t.c.h one of his shields down from the wall to protect herself. The wild glint in his eye made him look even more dangerous than the grim determination etched on his features.

She took a tentative step forward. Bannor took a step backward, as if even the two and a half feet of icy steel that lay between his hand and her heart was an inadequate defense.

"Have you declared an end to our truce, my lord?" she asked softly, taking another step toward him.

"No, you have," he ground out from between his clenched teeth. "By plotting this diabolical ambush."

She took another step, daring to rest her fingertips lightly on the tip of his blade. "On the contrary. I've come here to lay down my arms. Why don't you do the same?"

Bannor glowered at her from beneath the sooty sweep of his lashes as she traced the shimmering length of steel down to his clenched fist. If it hadn't been for the heated whisper of his breath in her hair, she would have sworn he'd been forged from the same immutable metal. But his rigid fingers unfolded at her touch, allowing her to disarm him with surprising ease.

Before she could drop the heavy weapon, Bannor caught it in one hand and returned it to its pegs on the wall. "I should have known a sword wouldn't be enough to deter you. Perhaps I should send to the chapel for a crucifix and a rope of garlic."

His expression was so grim that Willow could not help laughing. "That won't be necessary. I can a.s.sure you that I'm quite harmless."

"Isn't that what the serpent said just before he coaxed Eve into eating that nice shiny apple?"

Bannor strode to the cupboard and flung open the door. He spent several minutes pawing through its contents and swearing beneath his breath, giving Willow ample time to retrieve the flagon of ale he was searching for from the hearthstones where it had been warming. When he slammed the cupboard door and wheeled around, she was already holding out a goblet br.i.m.m.i.n.g with the amber brew, an inviting smile curving her lips.

Their fingers brushed as he reluctantly accepted her offering and took a long, thirsty swig. "I thought I granted you your freedom. Why are you still here?"

"You granted me my freedom only if I so desired it. Perhaps I don't."

He paced to the far side of the tower, positioning the table as a barricade between them. "Just what do you desire, my lady? To invade my every refuge? To leave me no haven where I can escape your smile, your scent?" His voice softened as he fingered the velvet ribbon binding one of the scrolls. "Your touch?"

A tingling warmth crept through Willow. "Perhaps when you hear what I have to say, you won't be so eager to escape. I believe I know what ails you, my lord. And I believe I may have found the cure." He eyed her warily as she approached the table. Mustering all of her courage, she blurted out, "Did you know that there are ways a woman can prevent a man from getting her with child?"

"Such as forcing him to spend a day in the company of his children?"

Willow gave him an exasperated look.

Bannor sank into a chair and propped his boots on the table, heaving a defeated sigh. "Of course I know of such tricks. I'm not some callow lad. But I also know 'twould be a sin for you and me to practice them."

Willow frowned. "Why would such a thing displease G.o.d?"

"Because He created the marriage bed for procreation, not pleasure."

Given her husband's history, she could not quite let that pa.s.s without challenge. "And if a man should choose to seek his pleasure outside of the marriage bed? Isn't that a sin as well?"

Bannor's expression was as bland and innocent as an angel's. "Fornication is a venial sin, preventing conception a mortal one."

Willow blinked at him. "I'm beginning to understand why you have a dozen children."

He drained the rest of the ale and averted his eyes, the gesture curiously furtive in such a forthright man.

Willow paced back and forth in front of the table, deep in thought. "If we don't actually consummate our union, we can hardly be accused of defiling the marriage bed."

"Go on ..." Bannor murmured, bringing the empty goblet to his lips.

"Therefore, we shall remain sinless in the eyes of G.o.d," she finished brightly, planting her palms on the table.

Bannor cleared his throat. He seemed to be having great difficulty choosing his words. "I trust 'twas not Father Humphries's counsel you sought to come to this conclusion."

"Not precisely." It was Willow's turn to avert her eyes. "If you must know, I paid a visit to the village wh.o.r.e."

Bannor jerked his feet off the table and sat up straight. "You spoke with Netta?" For just an instant, Willow would have sworn he looked more guilty than she did.

"Aye, I did. And very forthcoming she was." Willow leaned across the table, lowering her voice to a whisper. "Did you know, for instance, that a man can give pleasure to a woman without ever taking his own?" When Bannor's expression didn't even flicker, she sighed ruefully. "No, I don't suppose you did."

An endearing flush began to creep up his throat." Tis not fitting that a husband and wife speak so frankly of such matters. I've certainly never done so before."

"Not even with Mary or Margaret?"

The notion seemed to horrify him. "Most certainly not with Mary or Margaret. Such things should only be dealt with in the most hushed of whispers." When Willow continued to look dubious, he added firmly, "In the dark. Beneath the blankets." He waved his hand in a vague motion. "A touch, a smile, a satisfied sigh should be utterance enough between any man and woman."

Willow shrugged, sighed, and turned away as if to take her leave. "Very well, my lord. 'Twas my intention to please you, not displease you."

Before she could quite reach the door, Bannor barked, "Just what else did this woman teach you?"

Willow slowly turned, struggling to hide a smile. "Netta claimed she didn't wish to overwhelm me on my first visit, so she chose to share only one of her tricks with me." Willow fumbled in her skirt pocket, drawing forth a shiny coin. She held it up for Bannor's perusal.

"A shilling?" he said, arching one dark brow. "And what do you plan to do with that? Make it disappear into your ear?"

Willow giggled. "Don't be ridiculous. Netta told me precisely where I could put this coin to prevent you from getting me with child. And it most certainly wasn't my ear."

Both of Bannor's eyebrows shot up as Willow sat down primly on the edge of the bed and began to lift her skirt. As her trim ankles came into view, followed by the shapely curves of her calves, the goblet rolled out of his fingers and hit the floor. She had to wiggle a bit to hike her skirt high enough to expose her knees. By then, Bannor's breathing had deepened to an audible rasp.

She slanted him a shy look. He was still staring, seemingly entranced by the deft motion of her fingers as she parted her legs and firmly tucked the coin...

... between her knees.

"There," she said, squeezing her knees together.

"Netta swore to me that no man has ever gotten a woman with child while she was holding a shilling between her knees."

All of Bannor's breath seemed to leave him in a mighty sigh. His eyes glittered with dry amus.e.m.e.nt. "This Netta must be a very wise woman indeed."

"Oh, she is! She told me you could do anything you wanted to me, as long as you took care not to dislodge the shilling."

"Anything?" If Bannor had been a wolf, his ears would have p.r.i.c.ked up. He rose and came around the table. He sauntered around the bed in a predatory half-circle, making the hairs on Willow's nape tingle. "Anything at all?"

"Within reason," she amended, eyeing him nervously.

Her trepidation mounted as he disappeared from her line of vision. The bed creaked beneath his weight as he climbed to his knees behind her, sinking deep into the feather mattress.

His husky whisper warmed her ear. "Then I suppose there would be no harm at all in my doing this."

He ran his hand beneath the curls at her nape, lifting them to expose her tingling flesh to the moist brush of his lips. Willow could not help but moan as all the tension melted from her body, leaving her as boneless as one of Mary Margaret's rag dolls.

The shilling clattered to the floor.

"Sorry," she muttered, scrambling to retrieve it. She stole a glance over her shoulder at Bannor as she wiggled back into place. "I have a feeling this is going to be much more difficult than it sounded."

"I certainly hope so," he murmured, nuzzling the sensitive sh.e.l.l of her ear.

Willow struggled to keep both her eyes and her knees clenched tightly shut as his lips tenderly traced the feather-soft hairs at her temple, the sleek plane of her cheekbone, the vulnerable curve of her jaw-finally coming to nestle against the pulse throbbing beneath the silky skin of her throat.

Willow's appet.i.te was whetted by the delicious sensation of his mouth against her flesh. She turned her head, blindly seeking a taste of him. But he would kiss only the very corner of her mouth, lightly flicking it with the tongue she longed to draw deep inside of her. The gentle press of his hands on her shoulders held her captive to that delectable torment, until they began to glide downward, his broad thumbs lingering against the fluted arch of her collarbone, then hooking in the bodice of her kirtle.

Willow's eyes flew open. "What are you doing?" she demanded, both frightened and stirred by the inexorable descent of those hands.

"Only what you gave me leave to, my sweet lady," he whispered. "Anything. Anything at all."

He leaned over her shoulder, pressing his cheek to hers. Raw excitement flickered through her, its pulsing flame fed by the beguiling p.r.i.c.kle of his beard stubble, the intoxicating spice of the ale on his breath, the ragged pounding of his heart against her back. Both of their hearts seemed to skip a beat as Bannor peeled down her bodice in one smooth motion, leaving her naked to the waist.

Nothing could have prepared Willow for the icy flush that heated her skin as her b.r.e.a.s.t.s were exposed to the firelight and to his gaze for the very first time.

For a timeless eternity, it seemed as if he would be content only to look, to drink his fill of her with his smoldering eyes.

Then he curled his palms around her, filling them as if with the most bountiful of treasures. As his knuckles grazed their pebbled tips, his groan of pleasure mingled with her gasp of delight.

Willow wanted to close her eyes, but she could not drag her gaze away from the sight of Bannor's callused fingers tugging gently, but firmly, at her distended nipples. A greedy mewling welled up from deep within her throat. She clenched her legs together even tighter, not to hold fast the shilling, but in a vain attempt to a.s.suage the sweet sting between them.

It was the same dart of lightning she had felt in her belly the first time their eyes had met, a white-hot flame that licked lower and hotter with each deft squeeze of Bannor's fingertips, threatening to engulf everything in its path.

When Willow could no longer bear its fevered kiss, she pressed her small hands to the backs of his, molding both of their hands to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. She never dreamed that he would take her unspoken plea as an invitation to slide his hand out from beneath hers and slip it beneath her skirt. And not even when his hand drifted gently up her thigh did she guess he would be so bold as to seek to soothe that sting himself.

Which only rendered the shock of his big, blunt forefinger raking through her silky nether curls that much greater. A shudder of pure reaction seized her as he slid his finger into the throbbing cleft between her legs, burrowing as deep as he dared.

"The shilling, Willow," he reminded her, his voice resonating with the same urgency that was mounting deep within her. "Remember the shilling."

It was an exquisite torture to squeeze her legs together when her every instinct was begging her to let them fall apart, entreating her to let him dabble his fingers in the warm honey melting from the feminine heart of her.

The shilling might prevent him from reaching that overflowing cup, but it could not stop him from finding the glowing ember nestled in her damp curls. He stroked it to raw flame using nothing more than the supple twist of his finger. Willow bucked and writhed, but there was no escape from the sweet madness pulsing through her womb.

She clung to his powerful forearms as pleasure began to spill through her, culminating in a surge of rapture so deep and hard she never even heard her own wail, or the musical tinkle of the shilling striking the floor. Bannor's hand slid down, cupping her so hard she had no choice but to ride another wave of pleasure to its soul-shattering crest.

She was still being rocked by lingering tremors of delight when he drew her hard against him, burying his lips in her hair.

"Oh, my!" she gasped, her breath coming in convulsive little pants. "I never... I never ever... I never even dreamed . . ." Clutching her bodice to her heaving b.r.e.a.s.t.s, she twisted around to give him a fierce scowl. "You miserable knave! You did too know it was possible to give a woman pleasure without taking your own!"

Bannor smoothed a sweat-dampened tendril of hair from her cheek, a crooked smile quirking his lips. "Indulging you, my lady, was one of the greatest pleasures I've ever known."

Willow's heart melted at his gallant declaration. She pressed her mouth to his, kissing him with pa.s.sionate fervor.

When he finally managed to disengage himself, the strangled note in his voice was unmistakable. "You mustn't forget the shilling, Willow. There's one more thing you must do to ensure its success."

She blinked at him, still drunk on the potent sweetness of his kiss. "And what would that be?"

"Leave," he said firmly.

"Leave?"

"Aye, leave. Now. This very moment."

Before she could gather her scattered wits or her shilling, Bannor had drawn her off the bed and to her feet. He tucked her back into her gown, his hands as matter-of-fact as if he were dressing one of his children, then hauled her to the door. He gave her a hot, hard kiss that left her weaving, then shoved her onto the landing and closed the door in her face.

Before she could stagger toward the stairs, it flew open again. "Oh, Willow?"

"Hmmm?" she murmured, bestowing a dreamy smile upon him.

Bannor leaned against the door frame, his tousled hair and heavy-lidded gaze making him look every bit as deliriously wicked as the satyr she had once believed him to be. "Come back tomorrow night. I've a few tricks of my own to show you."

Nineteen.

Hugging her cloak tight around her, Willow darted across the bailey, hoping she could make it to the drawbridge before the dozing guard awoke from his slumber. Even in her haste, she could not resist stealing a look at Bannor's tower. A smile touched her lips as she imagined him sprawled across the feather mattress, his hair rumpled, and his skin smelling of sleep. She hoped the embers of the fire she had kindled would still be glowing when he awoke, a smoldering reminder of what had pa.s.sed between them only a few short hours ago.

"M'lady! M'lady!"

Willow clapped a hand to her pounding heart as Fiona came lurching out of the dawn mist. "Good heavens, Fiona, I thought you were a haint."

The old woman certainly looked the part. Despite the morning chill, she wore naught but a ragged shawl draped over her white gown. Her tidy bun had unraveled, leaving her hair to hang in lank wisps around her face. Willow had never seen the little woman look quite so frazzled.

"Forgive me, m'lady. I saw ye from the nursery window and knew I'd have to make haste if I was to catch ye. Mags has taken the colic and sweet Peg here has hardly got a wink o' sleep all night. Every time the poor creature starts to drift off, Mags wakes up screamin' and there they both go, howlin' their wee heads off." Fiona thrust the basket dangling from her wizened arm at Willow. "I was hopin' ye wouldn't mind lookin' after the poor mite fer a spell?"

Willow took an involuntary step backward. "Oh, Fiona, I really don't think-"

"I'd ask one o' the maidservants to do it, but they just haven't got yer tender touch with the wee ones." The old woman's bottom lip quivered so piteously Willow feared she might burst into tears herself.

Willow sighed. "Very well. Give her over." She hooked the basket over her arm. "It's certainly not as if I've never had a baby foisted off on me before."

"May G.o.d bless ye, m'lady!" As a second baby's strident shriek pierced the morning hush, Fiona's toothless smile tightened to a wince. Muttering beneath her breath, she hastened back toward the castle, leaving Willow alone with her new charge.

Willow started to tighten the hood Fiona had fashioned, but some foreign impulse prompted her to peel back its folds and steal a look at the child's face. She expected the baby to be sleeping, not gazing up at her with a wide-eyed curiosity no less keen than her own.

"Well, h.e.l.lo there," she murmured, nonplussed by the babe's unwavering stare.

Peg's rosy cheeks had already began to ripen. She was becoming less puckered and more puckish, looking less like a wizened old man and more like a jolly elf. The head that had been bald only a fortnight ago was now covered with fuzzy blond down. Willow could not resist brushing her fingertips across it.

A bubble of laughter escaped the baby's lips, so merry and engaging that Willow was startled to find herself laughing.

"Aren't you a good-natured thing," she said, gently tweaking the creature's pug nose.