Through A Dark Mist Part 13

Servanne flinched as if it were a hot coal being extended toward her instead of a hand. "Certainly not!"

"No? Do I still frighten you, my lady?" he asked with mocking indulgence.

"Not by half so much as your incredible arrogance would lead you to believe, wolf's head," she retorted.

"My arrogance?" he laughed softly. He turned away, leading Servanne to believe she had emerged from the fray unscathed, but in the next gasped breath, she felt her hand firmly grasped in his, her arm stretched nearly out of its socket, and her wimple flung end over end to blind her as she was lifted like a sack of grain and slung over his shoulder. arrogance?" he laughed softly. He turned away, leading Servanne to believe she had emerged from the fray unscathed, but in the next gasped breath, she felt her hand firmly grasped in his, her arm stretched nearly out of its socket, and her wimple flung end over end to blind her as she was lifted like a sack of grain and slung over his shoulder.

Shrieking with indignation, she was carried across the courtyard, her hands beating against his back, her feet kicking and her limbs wriggling in outraged mortification. Biddy's screams echoed her own for a moment or two, along with her rushing footsteps, but both were silenced under a round of hearty laughter.

Upended in this inglorious manner, Servanne was bounced, jostled, and manhandled perfunctorily through the garden and out the breach in the wall. She knew they were walking through the forest by the crunching underfoot and the saplings that snagged the folds of her wimple. She surmised they were skirting the bank of the Silent Pool when she rode out the sickening descent along the crumbled embankment.

He did not stop there as she expected, but kept walking, entering deep thick brush again and lurching down yet another, steeper incline. The bright sunlight they pa.s.sed through at the pool disappeared, smothered under a dark, damp blanket of shadow. The muscles across his shoulder and back tensed as he used his falchion to hack a path through the underbrush, but by then, so much blood had rushed to fill her head, there was no room for questions, fears, or recriminations. Servanne's body went limp. Her hands lost their frenzied grip on his shirttails and started to slip down, hanging as forlornly as the folds of the linen wimple.

The lapse was temporary, ending abruptly with the jolt that set her upright on her feet again. Someone-not her- resettled the flowing ends of her wimple, smoothing it back over her shoulders so that she could see, but since she had no idea where she was, she needed several astonished seconds to realize what she was looking at.

He had brought her into a grotto of sorts, a low-ceilinged, elongated cavern hewn out of the solid rock. The mist of fright and anger she had supposed was blurring her vision proved to be clouds of steam rising off the surface of a small pool. It was fed from beneath the ground rather than above, and was obviously heated by nature's grace, from some unknown source far below the surface of the rock. The basin of the pool was no wider than two tall men stretched head to heel, and was as clear as gla.s.s, with a bottom of fine white sand. At the very centre, at a depth of perhaps three feet, the sand was molded in the shape of a small volcano with occasional featherings around the rim of the crater to suggest erupting jets of hot water.

Overhead the rock glistened wetly. Drops of water fell like dew from the short, pointed stalact.i.tes hanging from the ceiling. The domed shape of the cavern trapped the heat and the steam, while the open end was curtained by a thick wall of ivy and ropes of fragrant honeysuckle. What hint there was of the dazzling sunlight beyond the wall was muted and filtered by the leaves, only to be refracted in the million tiny fragments of phosph.o.r.escent sand embedded in the rock.

"What is this place?" she asked in a tremulous voice. "Where have you brought me?"

"You questioned the existence of a hot bath," the Wolf replied matter-of-factly. "And since you claim to have no apprehensions about myths or superst.i.tions, it should not trouble you to know the druids who were said to inhabit this forest long ago, used the waters of this particular well to purify their sacrificial offerings."

Servanne looked at him aghast. She had never said she was not superst.i.tious, and jesting about druids and sacrificial offerings was a sure call for doom.

She swallowed hard. "Very well, I have seen your bath. I would like to go back to the abbey now."

"Without taking advantage of the hot water and obliging hands? You said yourself you craved the pleasure of a scrub -here is your opportunity, and here am I to a.s.sist."

"a.s.sist! I would sooner trust the a.s.sistance of a wh.o.r.e-master!"

He looked wounded. "Why, you act as if I want more from you than to exchange a simple courtesy. In truth, I ask only for a bath. A request for anything else must needs come from you."

Her mouth dropped open in shock.

"Take me back," she insisted shrilly. "Take me back at once, do you hear?"

He ignored her and pulled the sweat-soaked tails of his shirt over his shoulders and flung it aside. Servanne pressed as far back into the shadows as she could go, her feet slipping on the lush carpet of thick green moss, her hands finding nothing to to support her on the smooth, wet walls. support her on the smooth, wet walls.

Under her horrified stare, the Wolf casually unfastened the leather points that held his leggings taut about his hips. The deerhide was peeled down the solidly thewed thighs and discarded along with his boots, shirt, and stockings in a crumpled heap beside the pool.

Naked as a gladiator he stepped into the steaming water and waded to the centre of the basin.

"Ahh-" he sighed and sank down in a cloud of swirling mist. He stretched his arms out and let his head fall back, submerging himself below the surface of the water. He reappeared a few moments later, his long chestnut mane plastered sleekly to his head and shoulders, his bronzed torso streaming crystalline sheets.

Almost as an afterthought, the gray eyes returned to the shadows and he grinned.

"I await your convenience, my lady," he said, spreading his arms.

"You may wait until h.e.l.l freezes, milord! How dare you think ... presume presume you can treat me this way!" you can treat me this way!"

"What way is that?"

"Like a ... like a common tavern wench, or a ... a ..."

"Yes?"

Servanne saw the arrogant smile and squared her slender shoulders in defiance. "You treat me as though I were someone who should fawn at your knees, or at the very least faint with awe over this ... this paltry dividend of flesh you seem to hold in such vaunted esteem!"

Since she was pointing so disdainfully at his groin, he followed her gaze and noted, with wry alacrity, that he was indeed somewhat lacking in substance. But, having been addressed so personally, not to mention slandered, the object in question began to slowly, steadily rouse itself for a reb.u.t.tal.

Servanne's eyes widened in horror. Her throat worked to dislodge the lump that was steadfastly threatening to smother her, but to no effect. Disbelief, incredulity ... fear fear ... whatever kept her gaze fixed on the naked satyr also drew her hands upward to attempt to confine the wild beating within her breast. ... whatever kept her gaze fixed on the naked satyr also drew her hands upward to attempt to confine the wild beating within her breast.

The Wolf's smile faded. The jest was suddenly no longer a jest and he could feel the heat in his blood rising to match the heat of the water.

"Come into the pool, Servanne," he ordered quietly. "You know you want to."

Her eyes flicked up to his, filled with shame and anger. "No," she gasped. "No ... I want no such thing!"

With a m.u.f.fled sob of desperation she ran for the wall of ivy, but having been upside down and backwards when she was carried in, as well as dazed by too much blood pounding in her temples, Servanne could not immediately find the break in the vines that led to fresh air and freedom. She pushed and plucked and tore at the tangled greenery, all the while aware of splashing movement behind her.

The steamy air thickened perceptibly with the scent of his closeness and she knew without turning around that he was standing behind her.

"What will it take for you to learn that you cannot defy me?" he asked calmly, quietly. "And when will you realize that the source of your defiance is your own desire?"

"Let me go back," she gasped. "Please ... let me go back."

She heard him take a deep breath and release it slowly. "I think not, my lady. I think I would know what it was you did for Sir Hubert so gladly ... so willingly ... and with such great pleasure. And I think you have some curiosity to know if what he did in return was worth such a valiant defense of his memory."

"No," her voice was barely a whisper. "No, I have no such curiosity."

"You have no skill in telling lies either," he murmured.

The long, tanned fingers worked without seeking a.s.sent of any kind to unfasten the bands of her wimple and uncover the golden skeins of her hair. The fat, gleaming braids were uncoiled and the strands separated, combed into a rich spill of silk-soft curls by hands that worked reverently at their pleasure. Servanne stood motionless, frozen with shock. Her skin flamed outwardly, while inwardly her body pulsated with a sensation not unlike a million shards of icicles melting downward into the ground.

Once her hair was freed and tumbling below her waist, the Wolf's hands sought the clasp that bound the wide girdle of intricate gold links around her slender hips. Servanne's hands fell, out of some last desperate attempt at salvation, and for a moment they did win the attention of the hard, lean fingers, but then they moved again and the girdle slipped to the ground, and Servanne's fingers were left trembling over empty air.

The laces binding the gown of sea-green velvet were unthreaded with deliberate care; the shoulders and sleeves peeled away and the skirt encouraged to crumple into the swirling eddies of mist. All that remained was the long, shapeless white silk sheath she wore as an undergarment, and the dextrous fingers indulged in a lengthy hesitation before riding lightly down the slippery outline of her hips and thighs.

Servanne's hands clutched at the vines of ivy as she felt him take up the hem of her sheath and raise it above her knees. Each stocking was painstakingly rolled from knee to ankle, then removed along with her dainty pointed slippers. By now, the liquid heat that had warmed her in the courtyard was all but paralyzing her. Her body was alive with coiling, shifting sensations. Her thighs trembled, the flesh bridging them grew achingly hot and throbbed with expectations that both mortified and thrilled her.

"When you are ready, my lady," he murmured. "Our bath awaits."

Servanne squeezed her eyes tightly shut, willing away the waves of sinful pleasure his voice evoked. It was not right. It was not possible. It was unthinkable unthinkable that she should turn around, turn away from the opening in the ivy she could see so clearly only a pace away ... that she should turn around, turn away from the opening in the ivy she could see so clearly only a pace away ...

The Wolf stretched out his hand. She stared at it, knowing that to touch him of her own accord would be to admit defeat, to be be defeated by the heat and flame, the pa.s.sion of desire that raged through her with such incomprehensible urgency. defeated by the heat and flame, the pa.s.sion of desire that raged through her with such incomprehensible urgency.

Servanne's hand shook where it was buried in the ivy. Her fingers released their grip and moved haltingly to where the thicker, stronger ones awaited with such infinite patience. She saw his hand close around hers and she could not stop the small sigh that escaped her lips.

It was was unthinkable to surrender to him, and yet Servanne did so, moving without the strength, the energy to resist any longer the lure of his male potency. She followed him into the clear, steaming water, and it was warm. So warm. And the sand was soft, enveloping her foot like a feather pillow. He drew her another step and the water was only slightly deeper, rising just above her ankle. Another brought the warm caress rippling around her calves, and with the next, the hem of her sheath floated out in a wide white circle midway up her thighs. The incredible wall of boldly sculpted muscle was in front of her, still as a statue, tall and terrifyingly virile in his nudity. The mist and shadow and eerie blue-green glitter of the cavern surrounded them like an unearthly spell. unthinkable to surrender to him, and yet Servanne did so, moving without the strength, the energy to resist any longer the lure of his male potency. She followed him into the clear, steaming water, and it was warm. So warm. And the sand was soft, enveloping her foot like a feather pillow. He drew her another step and the water was only slightly deeper, rising just above her ankle. Another brought the warm caress rippling around her calves, and with the next, the hem of her sheath floated out in a wide white circle midway up her thighs. The incredible wall of boldly sculpted muscle was in front of her, still as a statue, tall and terrifyingly virile in his nudity. The mist and shadow and eerie blue-green glitter of the cavern surrounded them like an unearthly spell.

Without speaking and with a carefully blank expression, absent of any hint of triumph, the Black Wolf turned and sank slowly to his knees in the water, presenting her with an agonizingly stark view of the scarred shoulders.

Deformed and maimed, capable of conjuring ghouls and grotesques, even elfin demons at the snap of a finger.

His words, mocking her.

Touch them, you would not burst into flame or see the bones turned to ash on a devil's curse.

Her fingertips barely creased the surface of the water and she raised them with a curious detachment, watching the droplets fall brightly back onto the gla.s.sy surface. She dipped and raised them again, this time lifting a cupped handful of the steaming stuff and observing the glistening path it left on the hard-surfaced flesh. With the scantest tip of a finger, she traced a wet curl of chestnut hair from the base of his neck to the solid ridge of his shoulder. She lifted more water, smoothing it in with long, circular motions that tempted her hands down the plated knuckles of his spine, then up and over the wide, hard slabs of muscle that armoured his shoulder blades.

Despite the moistness in the air, her throat was dry and her mouth felt stuffed with raw, unspun fleece. The skin across her b.r.e.a.s.t.s was stretched so taut it felt brittle; the slightest abrasion from the silk sheath sent shivers of icy pleasure into her nipples until they were puckered tight, straining with impatience.

The Wolf had not moved; he did not move now as she waded from the side to the front and stood before him, the black centres of her eyes dilated, the surrounding rim of blue shimmering with the weakness that throbbed and vibrated through every vein and nerve in her body. The broad expanse of his chest filled her gaze; it lured her hands like the sin of untold riches, and she did not even use the feint of bathwater as an excuse to lay her palms against the bulge of muscles, or to drag her fingers through the crisp, lush pelt of curls. They climbed slowly to his shoulders, then to the broad base of his neck. Of their own accord, her fingers buried themselves in the thicker, lusher waves of his hair.

Servanne's lips trembled apart. She did not know what to say, or how to ask. She did not even know what she was asking for, but the Wolf knew, and his hands rose up from the water, caressing her skin, moulding to the narrow indent of her waist. He drew her forward against the incredible heat of his chest and his mouth was there to smother her gasp. His lips moved forcefully, possessively over hers, his tongue barely waiting to reacquaint itself with the supple outer contours of her mouth before it was delving boldly, deeply, hungrily for sweeter rewards within.

Servanne's cry went unheeded when, with brutal disregard for her sanity, her mouth was left gaping and abandoned while his lips plundered the swanlike arch of her throat. He sent her senses reeling on waves of carnal promises as he blazed a fiery path from the tender underside of her chin to the silk-encased tautness of her breast. She gasped without sound as the moist, suckling heat closed around her nipple. A curse and the sigh of tearing silk brought the heat closer, gave bolder texture to the rolling, kneading thrust of his tongue. She shook her head as if to deny the shock and the pleasure, but her own voice betrayed her. Pleas and clawing fingers guided him with shallow, urgent cries of a.s.sent when he lifted his mouth from one trembling peak and gallantly went in search of the other.

He also seemed to know the exact moment when her legs could no longer support her. With the ghostly vapours of steam cushioning her descent, the Wolf drew her down beside him, to where the water was a thin, warm sheet over the fine sand, and the sweet green moss was the perfect pillow for her head. Half in, half out of the water, he lowered his mouth to her body again, his hands raking into the golden ma.s.s of her hair, spreading it beneath them with a reverence that caused his arms to tremble.

A gust of hoa.r.s.e incredulity acknowledged the l.u.s.ty imprint of his flesh where it intruded, swollen and impatient between her thighs. Her limbs were coaxed wide by a body that had difficulty disguising its eagerness, and she gasped again, clutching frantically at the muscles that tensed across his back as his weight bore down over hers.

There was none of the gentle, apologetic hesitation which had marked Sir Hubert's couplings. The prideful thrust of the Wolf's flesh was like the man himself-wild, savage, primitive, unyielding. It breached her hard and fast, stretching, swelling, filling her to the bounds of reason, then surging even deeper, deeper, until she could feel him touch upon the very depths of her soul. And when he moved within her ... dear G.o.d, when he moved within her, she had no more thoughts to waste on pride or shame, only the desire, the need to clasp her arms, her limbs tighter around him so that she might know the glory of total possession.

The Wolf heard her cries of awe and was conscious of his own astonishment as he felt her lithe young body strain and arch to accommodate him. The velvety fist of her womanhood closed around him without guile or avarice, and for the first time since he had vowed to close his heart and mind to any soft intrusions, he felt the formidable barriers of ice and steel threatened. The loner, the renegade, the black knight within him fought the encroachment with as valiant an effort as any he had put forth in the lists, knowing the dangers of falling blindly into the chasms of emotion. The man in him, the ardent lover of so many years ago, succ.u.mbed to the heat and the drenching oblivion, he stumbled and fell headlong into the misty well of imploring cries and pa.s.sion-haunted eyes.

He slid trembling hands beneath her hips to raise her, brace her as he felt the tide of pleasure begin to swell and burst in scalding founts of ecstasy. Servanne's head thrashed against the moss, her eyes wide and staring as she soared through peak after peak of rapture, each one higher, sharper, brighter, hotter than the one before. She thought she heard someone screaming, the sound as shivered and splintered as the shafts of fiery consummation that ravaged her body with unending spirals of flame.

The Wolf groaned and rolled onto his back, carrying her wet and streaming body with him, seeking to hold her steady until he could collect his wits and will about him again. But she was already far beyond the authority of his hands and, challenging his efforts to hold her still, she curled her hips forward and slid them back, forward and back, shamelessly triumphant to discover she was not dependent upon his permission to exploit the deep, throbbing friction within her. The rough, calloused hands were clamped rigidly around her waist, but they could no more resist the succulent temptation of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, than her hips, once free to obey her instincts, could fail to quicken to a blur as their ecstasy reached another shuddering crescendo ... and another.

It had been his intention to brand himself on her mind and body forever, but in the end, clinging to her as desperately as she clung to him, he feared she would be the one seared into every nerve and fibre of his being until he drew his last breath.

13.

Servanne opened her eyes slowly, the lids heavy beyond belief. Her head was still pillowed on the bank of fragrant green moss, her body as yet suspended on several inches of warm, lapping water. The sand beneath her had been hollowed and contoured to lit the shape of her body, and enfolded her more snugly than the heated ticking of a feather-filled mattress.

She uttered a tiny gasp of dismay and allowed her lashes to flutter closed again. She knew she dared not look down to where the dark crown of his head was moving slowly, languidly between her thighs. She could feel the hungry insistence of his mouth and tongue and that was bad enough. To acknowledge she had regained the full use of her senses, or that she might have found enough strength to deter or dissuade him, would only make matters worse.

Worse? What could possibly be worse than lying helpless and vulnerable to a pa.s.sion she had not known she was capable of feeling? What could be worse than permitting his hands and his lips free access to her body, or to respond to each deliberately provocative thrust of his tongue with soft cries and indelicate shudders that only invited and encouraged more unthinkable wickedness?

Her teeth tore at her lower lip to keep her from groaning aloud as she felt his hands skim up the gleaming litheness of her body. She halfheartedly cursed the knowledge in his dancing fingertips as he curled them around the straining flesh of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and, finding the nipples flushed with antic.i.p.ation, he pulled them gently, abrading them with the calloused pads of his thumbs.

She stretched her own hands wide on either side of her, searching for something solid to grasp hold of. There was only water and sand on the one side, moss and slippery lichen on the other, and with a groan of resignation, she reached down and threaded her fingers tightly into his chestnut mane. She dug her heels deeper into the fine silt, aware of the water beginning to splash more violently over her hips and belly. Her arms tautened and her head pressed back into the moss. The heat leaped and flickered within her like a candle flame, the blue-white core burning in her loins, the orange and red sparks flaring and bursting behind her tightly squeezed eyelids.

Her gasped sobs of pleasure echoed wetly off the damp walls and ceiling of the cavern. Her shivers and shudders vibrated the steamy fingers of mist, causing them to thicken, she was certain, where the heat was becoming almost unbearable.

The Wolf's mouth relented and his hands clasped her waist, drawing her down to where he knelt in deeper water. Servanne felt the urgency in his grip as he lifted her, held her against the incredible splendour of his chest, then slowly lowered her down over his turgid flesh. His dark eyes locked mercilessly to hers and there was nothing to be gained or lost by trying to deny the instant and violent spasms of pleasure that welcomed the solid, sliding penetration. There was nothing she could do but curl her arms more frantically around his neck and weather the same storm of pulsating contractions that forced him to pause and press a m.u.f.fled groan into the curve of her neck.

He gathered her close, crushing her against the hard breadth of his chest, his powerful muscles bunching under the deluge of moist shivers that urged him deeper into her silken body. He was loathe to move too soon. The pleasure of holding her, of feeling the heat of her pour over and around him was almost pain-indeed, it was an agony demanding to be a.s.suaged with each breath torn from his chest.

The Wolf rose off his haunches, carrying her with him, the wet skeins of her hair dragging through the water like spilled honey. He laid her back against the shifting mattress of sand and swallowed her cries as his thrusting body brought them both to a swift, savage release. Once, twice, Servanne's hands tore at the bulging muscles across his back. Thrice she gasped and sent the feverishly gouging fingers to his flanks to ride the plunging motion of his hips.

Flung through one shattering wave of ecstasy after another, Servanne strained and writhed to a stunning climax beneath him. Even after their bodies ground to a dazed, reeling halt, the pleasure of his heat and presence within her continued to send tiny little spirals of sensation whorling outward from her loins to the farthest tips of her toes and fingers.

Worse, and worse again.

She should have heeded Biddy's warning and stayed well clear of this creature of the forest. She never should have given way to her curiosity, never touched a hand to the hard, virile promise in his body, and never, never opened herself so greedily, so wantonly to the desires he roused in her. She should, by all rules of sanity and logic, be longing to see the last of him. Instead, she longed only to feel his hands roving hungrily over her body. She longed only to lie here in the steaming, mystic peace of the grotto, his hard body joined to hers, the texture of belly, hips, and thighs imprinted vividly on her flesh.

Moreover, she longed never to have to move from this place, never to have to discover any truths other than what she knew and felt to be irrefutable now and to her mind, forever.

But of course the dark head moved, as she knew it must, and the Wolf's somber gaze sought hers through the glowing phosph.o.r.escence. He said nothing. In truth, he had said nothing-neither of them had-since she had taken her first tentative steps into the heated pool.

She suffered another mildly disconcerting shock as he bent his lips to hers and kissed her with tender thoroughness. When he released her, he did so on a sigh of feigned consternation.

"What am I to do with you now?" he asked quietly.

"Do?" she whispered, her eyes growing rounder and darker with alarm. "What more could you possibly do that you have not done already?"

The Wolf would have laughed if not for the suffocating pressure her words placed around his heart. He raised himself on his elbows and stared down at the bruised lushness of her mouth. Swollen and pink from his attentions, the sight was not kind on his composure. Nor was the d.a.m.ning residue of tears on her lashes, or the softly mottled flush that warmed the delectable plumpness of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. And the mere thought of the fine golden hairs meshed with the coa.r.s.er, blacker ones at his groin made it painfully clear there was little hope of regaining the cool indifference that had served him in their dealings thus far.

"Why is it I am left with the distinct impression you were a virgin in all but the strictest sense of the word?"

Servanne reddened, as much from the directness of the query as from the shivered response his voice triggered in her body.

"I ... was not not a virgin," she insisted lamely. a virgin," she insisted lamely.

"You were no longer in possession of your maidenhead," he agreed, "But you were a virgin nonetheless."

Servanne attempted to avert her head so she would not be forced to endure his mocking humour, but a resolute thumb tilted her chin back with ridiculous ease.

"Sir Hubert never bedded you?"

It was not so much a question as it was an expression of puzzled disbelief, and she could feel fresh tears welling along her lashes.

"He ... never bedded me ... like this," she admitted haltingly.

Her words, and the ravaged emotions behind them, prompted the gray eyes to narrow and the Wolf to regard her in a new and disturbing light. Their bodies were so motionless, the surface of the water calmed to molten silver and the mist dared to venture close again, enveloping them in a creamy white veil.

"I did not miss the attention," she explained in a rush, thinking his silence a request for such. "He was very kind and very good to me. A gentle, loving, and considerate husband in every other way. But ... he was old, and ... tired very easily. And ... since I had no way of knowing ... I mean, no way of judging ... well, I did not know enough not not to be content." to be content."

"A woman's logic," he mused. "And you will have to forgive my ill-mannered curiosity for asking, but why did he not make other private arrangements for you?"