A Wanton's Thief Page 12

  “Hello, Griz.” He dismounted and drew Salena down. The two women never took their narrowed eyes from one another. Though he’d normally have laughed it off, he knew this situation did not merit humor, at least not for the time being.

  “Falcon.” She said it tight and formal, her amber eyes glittering like a cat nonverbally making her territory known. “You’re late. I’d begun to worry over your welfare.”

  “Well, I had a bit of a delay.”

  Grizella crossed her arms under her ample bosom. “I see that,” she said through clenched teeth, one booted foot tapping in the snow.

  “Who is this woman?” Salena suddenly asked, whirling toward him. Would it be wrong, Falcon wondered, to glorify in the sharp tone of jealousy he heard in her voice?

  He sighed. “Lady Salena Tremayne, meet Grizella Kenrick, my…most trusted warrior.”

  “Pleased to make your acquaintance, lady.” Grizella thrust out a calloused hand daring Salena to take it.

  She accepted the offered hand and shook it with female gentleness, her mouth compressed into a firm line. “Likewise, Miss Kenrick.” She nodded, the ever-regal princess. Her composure did something to Falcon’s innards, twisting them with a vile combination of admiration and disappointment at the fact that she did not spit back.

  Finally, Griz swung her gaze up to snare him with her suppressed fury. “Shall I find her a place to bed down for the night, Falcon? Eh?”

  He winced. His stomach twisted in knots. “Well—”

  John suddenly materialized at Grizella’s left. “Falcon must guard her, Grizella. We have a…situation going on in which she must be protected at every moment of the night and day.”

  Ah, thank the gods for John’s quick thinking!

  Grizella whipped her head around and snared John with a mind-your-own-business look. “Who asked you, giant?”

  Now that he had his bearings a bit more straight, Falcon spoke with the assurance of a leader. “Griz, he speaks the truth. And you will cease with the sass and show John respect.”

  She blinked, her stare moving over all three of them, one at a time. The last victim was Falcon. “You’re sleeping with her, aren’t you?”

  Salena gasped. Her hand shot up to slap Grizella but Falcon caught her wrist just in time. “Enough! Out of both of you.”

  His charged spell-gaze moved to Grizella who stood with her hand on the hilt of her hunting knife. “You will go now, Grizella, with John and prepare for the coming raid.”

  Falcon glanced at Salena’s surprised expression when, by the command of his spell, Griz turned toward John, a glitter of anger simmering in her eyes. John put his arm across her shoulders and, together, they both disappeared into thin air.

  Salena blinked at the illusion, but Falcon was too wary to elaborate for her benefit. With her faced turned toward him now, he snared her with his controlling stare. “You will go with Gowain there—” he jutted his chin toward the young man who sprang into action, “—and he will show you my place of rest. And you will not ever attempt to lay a hand on that woman again.”

  Salena’s gaze narrowed and he thought at this moment she more resembled that spitting cat than Grizella had. “I loathe you,” she snarled under her breath as her body moved into action. He watched as she trailed off following Gowain, his gaze lingering on the vague sway of hip beneath fabric.

  “Ah, well, it seems you’ve captured the maiden’s heart. And she yours.”

  Falcon spun to see Lorcan sitting upon a low oak limb that jutted out parallel to the ground. Snow fell around him in a shower of white flakes yet it seemed not to touch him. He wore the usual black monk’s robe and his long silver hair and beard stood out stark against it. Around his neck he wore the usual Centaurus medallion. Its large blue, cat’s-eye-shaped stone glowed even by the dull light of the waning day, the silver chain dangling long to his breastbone.

  Falcon had been told it was the medallion that would one day be passed down to him.

  “Your jesting normally tickles my heart, old man. But alas, I see no humor in my dire situation.”

  Lorcan stabbed his crystal staff into the snow and leapt from the limb. The wizard, Falcon thought, was so much more agile than his feeble body appeared.

  “Eh, ‘tis not a situation, son. ‘Tis fate.”

  Falcon strode to a fallen tree trunk and sat. He spoke while studying the busy activities of his many loyal men as they prepared for nightfall. Some set up watch in designated trees, others formed snug beds into the recesses of the cliff they’d claimed as a protective wall. Others still, fashioned tents by arranging blankets over tree limbs close to the toasty fire. The hog was nearly done roasting and would feed his Merry Men upon waking with voracious appetites and a hunger to raid.

  “Please, Lorcan,” he said on a sigh. “Do not go babbling in your usual cryptic fashion. Come right out with it, for I am weary due to this unusual journey I’ve experienced in days past.”

  Lorcan perched beside Falcon and gripped the staff with gnarled hands. “Your lady. You must know I’ve seen into the future, I’ve seen her as your intended. And though Grizella is not yet aware of it, it has been her role in this fate to force Lady Salena to see her heart more clearly where you are concerned.”

  It didn’t surprise Falcon in the least. From the first moment he’d laid eyes on Salena, he’d felt a connection to her. In the back of his mind, he’d yearned to arrive here, longing for such words from this prophetic seer. There existed an undeniable bond between him and Salena that far surpassed all he’d experienced with anyone since coming into being eons ago. Now he knew it had been more than her beauty that had drawn him to her, more than her sensual charms.

  Yet things did not add up.

  “But she is mortal.”

  Lorcan nodded and turned, puffs of white pluming from his nose and mouth. Falcon never failed to be startled by those eyes…all white. Save for the lone black pupils in the centers, they contained not one speck of color within them. He began to hum in that ancient Gaelic tune. “Mortal, aye. And I warn you…there is much unrest and possible danger ahead!” Lorcan suddenly groaned. “‘Tis all in how you handle it…”

  Falcon set his hand upon the quivering leg, thin and bony even through the thickness of the woolen robe. The gesture always calmed Lorcan in these rare outbursts, but he seemed not to notice this time. Instead, he rose and jutted the staff toward the dark snow clouds, the other hand fisted. Lorcan tipped his face upward and energy swirled above him. With the movement, snow came down harder as the winds whipped up and fluttered his garment.

  “Oh gods of Fate, hear my plea. Lover and vigilante, set him free!”

  Falcon stood and stepped toward him, suddenly fearing for the old man’s existence. He’d never seen him quite this agitated before. “Lorcan, what—”

  But the winds died down almost as quickly as they’d whipped up. The snowfall slowed and began to fall more gentle and serene, fluttering to the ground weightlessly.

  “You shall find the way,” Lorcan roared as he stroked the medallion. He nodded vigorously and gradually lowered his head so that Falcon could peer into his mysterious eyes once again. And he could have sworn he saw tears glistening in the white orbs.

  “Wizard, please, what ails you?”

  “You shall find the way, I say.”

  “What? To become mortal myself and finally die with this woman I may grow to love? Ah, if only…” Falcon pushed up from the seat and paced before the fire. “But if I must endure the pain again—such as with Marion—of watching her die of old age after possibly loving her for decades…nay, then I’d prefer not to love at all. Lorcan, do you hear me? You cannot allow me to love if—”

  He turned then, cutting himself off. The old sorcerer was gone and in his place a cloud of lavender smoke whirled and gradually dissipated. As usual, when he’d completed his performance and had his say, there was, in Lorcan’s view, nothing more to say.

  But Falcon had plenty more questions. Though he knew Lo
rcan would continue to speak in puzzling riddles. It was just, as always, up to Falcon to figure it out.

  * * * * *

  “You may rest in here,” Gowain said, gesturing to the low-ceilinged space. They were both hunched, though Gowain far more than Salena. His tall, lanky frame had towered over her out-of-doors, yet now, they both stooped, their eyes level by necessity.

  She glanced around and took in the hard rock floor, and the small fire that crackled in the center, a curl of smoke wafting up through a hole in the cave’s ceiling. Looking up through the gap, she could see the darkening sky beyond the overhang of firs. Every so often, a stray flake of snow would waft down and make the flames crackle and spit. Along with the burning wood, the scent of pine needles filled her nostrils. Off against one low wall, she could see where the aroma originated. A bed had been prepared with the needles, a bear’s pelt thrown over the thick pile for comfort.

  John. She instantly knew it must have been he who’d readied Falcon’s resting area. Salena shuddered, attempting to tamp down the excitement that suddenly hurdled through her body. Had he also had himself in mind to share this brigand’s lair?

  No, Salena, you mustn’t think such depraved thoughts.

  But she couldn’t separate those thoughts from what lay before her. The space warmed her chilled bones…just as the hot spring pool had.

  “Here,” Gowain said with a boyish grin, crouch-stepping to the opposite wall, “is the private corner, or you may refer to it as the chamber pot.”

  Here eyes located another hole, this time in the floor of the cave. “That?” From above, a small stream trickled down the wall and through the hole’s opening. “But I…”

  “The water will carry the…waste down and out, away from camp.”

  “Amazing.” She’d never heard of such a thing!

  “Aye,” he said, his hazel eyes alight as he made his way to the cave’s narrow exit. “One of nature’s true wonders. Either that or…Falcon’s magical doing.”

  “Please, do not remind me.”

  He chuckled, straightening as he made his way outside. Gowain turned back and lowered his head, peering in at her. “Begging your pardon, milady, but…”

  She arched a brow. “Yes?”

  “When the spell is not upon you, I feel it my duty to advise you for your safety to stay right where you are. Unless Falcon gives you permission otherwise, that is.”

  “Gowain, with all due respect, I truly appreciate your concern. But know this. Unless your master’s black magic you so proudly speak of is used, I take orders from no one. I do as I bloody well please. Therefore, I advise you to mind your own affairs.”

  He blinked, clearly startled by her reply. “Then, with all do respect in return, Lady Tremayne, I must warn you, you will be watched with the sharp eye of a hawk. That would be, rather, well over sevenscore hawks’ eyes, by the way.”

  Falcon came into view then. She would recognize those braies anywhere…and what bulged within them. He hunched down clearing the cave’s opening, and slid her a look of victory at his man’s support. Despite the taunt, every pulse point in her body palpitated. She could swear her heart burst in her chest. She likened the sight of him after only a few moments of absence—their first separation since he’d abducted her—to a lifetime without water. Salena thirsted for him, in spite of the woman Grizella—nay, because of her. Jealousy raged through her system like a poison, driving her to him rather than away.

  And beneath all that covetousness, it infuriated her immensely that the unfamiliar emotion even existed in her heart.

  “Gowain, I am pleased by your loyalty as always, son. Please, go and check with Little John. He will compensate you well for your hard work and allegiance these past weeks. Your family is in dire need of food as we speak. On the morrow, make the short journey and ease their suffering.” He clapped him on the back. “Go now and get some rest in preparation for the night’s raid.”

  Gowain nodded with a beaming smile. He afforded Salena one quick, cautious jerk of the eye before sauntering off whistling a merry tune.

  Falcon tossed aside a linen-wrapped bundle and dropped to his knees, his head clearing the low ceiling. He crawled toward her, a predator’s gleam in his eyes. She noted that he’d removed the mask and it afforded her a full, dangerous view of his face. She was surprised to see that the slashing injury across his cheek and temple seemed strangely to have disappeared. The wound had lent him the dangerous look of a pirate, but now, without the disfigurement, the handsome look of him made her heart palpitate in her chest. Salena’s knees weakened and she felt the slight edges of a swoon coming on. How could she fight such a magnificent rogue as this?

  “Must I cut your tongue from that beautiful head of yours?”

  “You wouldn’t!” She backed away still hunched, and collapsed upon the bed. Soft fur cushioned her fall. The scent of pine needles and man overtook Salena. Excitement overwhelming her, she planted her elbows behind her, a trapped animal’s lame attempt at defense.

  “Nay,” he growled, climbing upon the bearskin. “I’ve not done such a thing to anyone—yet.” He kept advancing on the pelt until she had no choice but to lay back. He hovered above her, the firelight flickering over the planes and angles of his face. His breath warmed her lips, so close were their proximity. Those wolf-like eyes glittered and remained open, never leaving hers. They looked into hers with an intensity that stilled her breath.

  It seemed time wavered, as if they were held suspended together in a realm of their own. Somewhere off in the distance, the fire crackled, and the sounds of the camp settling in for the early evening faded away. Her body tingled with unleashed energy, though she could not move a muscle. He’d cast the spell for her to follow Gowain into the cave, but once she’d obeyed that order, her body had become her own. Yet she could not move. The moment became etched profound and indelible upon her brain.

  “Make love to me,” she suddenly whispered, her own words surprising her. But there was no mistaking the heat that pounded between her thighs. She could swear scalding-hot wax dribbled from her pussy. All it seemed to take, she finally accepted, was one smoldering look from him and she yearned for his erect cock to plunge into her depths. She did not know how it had happened in such a short time, but…she’d become addicted to her captor.

  He blinked in surprise at her request. “Ah, the lady has gotten a taste or two of the delights of the flesh. But is she aware the best is yet to come?”

  Yes, she suspected there would be more to his carnal web of surprises. She pressed a hand to his cheek. “Where—how did your wound mend so quickly?”

  He took her hand and kissed the palm causing flutters of heat to race to her breasts. “‘Tis John’s doing. He has the power within his touch to change, to alter, to heal.”

  “This John…he is turning out to be quite the mysterious man.”

  Falcon forced a look of envy into his eyes yet he smiled confidently. “You pine for another, milady?”

  “No, he merely fascinates me on a different level. As for this bandit who has abducted me and brought me to his den of desire?” she purred, tracing his lip with her fingertip. “I finally admit…I do pine for him.”

  He didn’t offer any reply. He merely looked at her with an indefinable emotion glazing his eyes. It made her long to reach for him, so she did. Gone was the need to suppress her silent longings. Why bother? He could sense her desires and read her thoughts anyway? And she no longer wished to deny herself another moment.

  She slid her arms around his neck and drew him down, opening her legs to accommodate his hips. His half-hard shaft pressed into her wetness. Even through all the layers of clothing, the move was potent and it made her growl deep in her throat. His dark magic seemed to diffuse over her, into her, right into her throbbing passage. But it wasn’t enough.

  “Take me, please. Despite the fact that I can loathe you at times, I also yearn for your…arrow to spear me, to bring me to that swift pinnacle.”

  �
��Salena…” It was all he needed to say. His mouth swooped down and claimed her lips. He must have sampled some wine since ordering her to go with Gowain, for he tasted of ambrosia. She hungered for more, her arms tightening around his neck and taut shoulders. Salena closed her eyes giving herself over to the thrill of wickedness. Her legs circled his hips, but he immediately untangled them before she could hook her ankles together.

  He tore his mouth from hers. “Nay, little filly, I need your legs free for this…”

  Her eyes fluttered open. Salena let out painful, short spurts of air. “For what, warlock? What black sorcery will you wield upon me this time? Aye, I am your prisoner, I now concede to that truth. But please do not make me beg for your charms.”

  Falcon traced her trembling lower lip with his finger. His gaze followed its path down over her jaw, her neck and collarbone, her heaving breasts. She could have sworn fire tipped his finger. A blaze ignited wherever he touched. Her hair stood on end, her heart beat erratically, her nipples tightened against the fabric of her gown.

  “You shall never have to beg me to do what my soul has hungered for since I laid eyes upon you at court. Now relax. Allow me to introduce some new charms to you.” And he smiled down at her, his expression tender yet wayward.

  She obeyed, though it was of her own free will. He moved lower, his finger tracing the outside of her garment. He pressed firm across her rib cage, spanned his hands over her waist.

  “Close your eyes and loosen every muscle in your body.”

  She inhaled and complied. It really was quite liberating, she discovered, to lie back and allow him to worship her. The touch of those large hands slid down over her pelvis, lower to her thighs and calves. He reached her boots and one by one, he removed them. Falcon took one bare foot in his palm and rubbed it between his hands. Blood pumped through her circulation warming everywhere he massaged. Salena sighed, the bliss of it sending a ripple of gooseflesh up her leg, over her torso to her scalp.

  When the soft and wet sensation of lips fluttered over her arch, she had to rein in the urge to yank her foot from his grasp. At first it did nothing but tickle. However, when he stuck his tongue out and dragged it from her heel to the ball of her foot, she nearly came off the bed with the surprising pleasure of it. Before she had time to acclimate herself to the shivering desire the move had produced, he drew her second toe into his mouth.