priest emerged from the shaggy boughs and planted himself in their path.
“Good eve, sir.” The pious intent of the man’s clasped hands was belied by the shrewd glint in his eyes. “I’ve come to hear my mistress’s eventide prayers. Tis a nightly ritual that gives her much comfort.”
Never one to be intimidated by the posturing of priests, Austyn nodded down at the cozy bundle in his arms. “As you can see, your mistress is quite comfortable as she is.” He continued forward, forcing the priest to scramble out of his way. Just before reaching the tent, he turned and said mildly, “Don’t trouble yourself after tonight, Brother. I’m her husband now. I’ll give her all the comfort she requires at eventide.”
Austyn ducked into the tent only to find himself the victim of another ambush. Damn Carey and his poefs soul anyway! His man-at-arms had used the scant time allotted him to transform the modest tent into a sensual bower fit for a sultan bent on deflowering a harem of twittering brides.
A single torch spilled forth a buttery puddle of light that stopped just short of illuminating the makeshift bed. Austyn wryly suspected Carey had created the effect less to achieve an air of mystery than to spare him the sight of his naked bride.
As he knelt to deposit her on the crimson drape cushioned by a generous layer of pine needles, he nearly groaned to discover his friend had gone to the trouble of scattering petals of wild heartsease across the cool samite. Their heady aroma mocked him. His heart had known little ease since pledging itself against his will to the beauty in the garden.
Had she been the woman in his arms this night, the tent would indeed have been an enchanted bower of delight until the dawn. He would have called a halt to their journey hours ago and loved her for the first time while the setting rays of the sun played pink and gold against the tent walls. He would have plucked the fragile petals of heartsease from her sweat-dampened skin with his teeth, tasting and caressing every succulent inch of the flesh beneath.
He would have captured her breathless cries of pleasure with his mouth, muffled them with his tongue. He would have wedged himself within her virgin’s body, thrusting deep and hard until he coaxed from her beautiful lips a vow that no other man would ever—
Austyn bit off a savage oath. What more potent reminder did he need that the sensual spell that enslaved him would have inevitably led to his destruction? Not even in his fantasies could he be free of the jealousy that gnawed his soul. As if sensing the sudden violence of his grip, his bride stirred in his arms, a fretful spasm passing over her puckish face.
Ruthlessly ignoring the demanding throb of his arousal, he laid her on the silken nest Her lips parted in a drowsy sigh of contentment Puzzled, Austyn leaned forward, sniffing the air. How was it that her breath could be so sweet when her teeth were so foul? He ran his tongue over the straight, blunt edge of his own teeth, wondering if she would be offended by a gift of a carved twig with which to clean them.
She looked terribly defenseless with her sparse lashes shadowing her blotched cheeks, her small fists curled as if to ward off some unseen attack. Their bit-ten-to-the-quick nails stirred his conscience, yet he could not resist the peculiar temptation of her hair. He stretched out his hand, then drew it back, surprised to find it unsteady.
“She’s your wife, you fool,” he muttered. “You have every right to touch her.”
Touch her he did, running his palm over the close-cropped contours of her skull only to learn that her hair felt less like the shorn fleece of a lamb than the downy fluff of a baby duck. Oddly charmed by the discovery, he chuckled, rubbing a feathery lock between thumb and forefinger.
A faint whimper of distress warned him. He slowly lowered his gaze to find his bride gaping up at him, trembling like a fawn beneath his guilty
“Good eve, sir.” The pious intent of the man’s clasped hands was belied by the shrewd glint in his eyes. “I’ve come to hear my mistress’s eventide prayers. Tis a nightly ritual that gives her much comfort.”
Never one to be intimidated by the posturing of priests, Austyn nodded down at the cozy bundle in his arms. “As you can see, your mistress is quite comfortable as she is.” He continued forward, forcing the priest to scramble out of his way. Just before reaching the tent, he turned and said mildly, “Don’t trouble yourself after tonight, Brother. I’m her husband now. I’ll give her all the comfort she requires at eventide.”
Austyn ducked into the tent only to find himself the victim of another ambush. Damn Carey and his poefs soul anyway! His man-at-arms had used the scant time allotted him to transform the modest tent into a sensual bower fit for a sultan bent on deflowering a harem of twittering brides.
A single torch spilled forth a buttery puddle of light that stopped just short of illuminating the makeshift bed. Austyn wryly suspected Carey had created the effect less to achieve an air of mystery than to spare him the sight of his naked bride.
As he knelt to deposit her on the crimson drape cushioned by a generous layer of pine needles, he nearly groaned to discover his friend had gone to the trouble of scattering petals of wild heartsease across the cool samite. Their heady aroma mocked him. His heart had known little ease since pledging itself against his will to the beauty in the garden.
Had she been the woman in his arms this night, the tent would indeed have been an enchanted bower of delight until the dawn. He would have called a halt to their journey hours ago and loved her for the first time while the setting rays of the sun played pink and gold against the tent walls. He would have plucked the fragile petals of heartsease from her sweat-dampened skin with his teeth, tasting and caressing every succulent inch of the flesh beneath.
He would have captured her breathless cries of pleasure with his mouth, muffled them with his tongue. He would have wedged himself within her virgin’s body, thrusting deep and hard until he coaxed from her beautiful lips a vow that no other man would ever—
Austyn bit off a savage oath. What more potent reminder did he need that the sensual spell that enslaved him would have inevitably led to his destruction? Not even in his fantasies could he be free of the jealousy that gnawed his soul. As if sensing the sudden violence of his grip, his bride stirred in his arms, a fretful spasm passing over her puckish face.
Ruthlessly ignoring the demanding throb of his arousal, he laid her on the silken nest Her lips parted in a drowsy sigh of contentment Puzzled, Austyn leaned forward, sniffing the air. How was it that her breath could be so sweet when her teeth were so foul? He ran his tongue over the straight, blunt edge of his own teeth, wondering if she would be offended by a gift of a carved twig with which to clean them.
She looked terribly defenseless with her sparse lashes shadowing her blotched cheeks, her small fists curled as if to ward off some unseen attack. Their bit-ten-to-the-quick nails stirred his conscience, yet he could not resist the peculiar temptation of her hair. He stretched out his hand, then drew it back, surprised to find it unsteady.
“She’s your wife, you fool,” he muttered. “You have every right to touch her.”
Touch her he did, running his palm over the close-cropped contours of her skull only to learn that her hair felt less like the shorn fleece of a lamb than the downy fluff of a baby duck. Oddly charmed by the discovery, he chuckled, rubbing a feathery lock between thumb and forefinger.
A faint whimper of distress warned him. He slowly lowered his gaze to find his bride gaping up at him, trembling like a fawn beneath his guilty
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