He turned back to her, and she looked so lovely in the starlight, so innocent and pure, that he damned his wicked thoughts of taking her right then and there. By rights he could do so. He was the baron. He could force himself upon her despite her protests. He could claim her in that most primitive of ways. But he had never taken a woman by savage means, and he was certain that Morgana wouldn’t fight him. No, she would willingly lie with him just to rid herself of the shackles of marriage to Strahan. He could see it in her eyes — a flicker of something akin to desire. So why not?
He reached forward slowly. Twining his fingers in that thick mane of black hair, he drew her head back. She didn’t protest. He sampled further, pressing his lips against the curve of her throat. Her skin was cool, and she quivered. From fear or passion? Or both?
The hardness beneath his breeches strained to life. Slowly, he licked her throat, starting at her jaw and moving with deliberation, tasting every inch of her, his tongue sliding down the satin smoothness of her skin to the fragile circle of bones at her throat, her pulse jumping wildly within that delicate ring.
“You want me, too,” he said in a voice raw with lust. His tongue dipped lower, past the neckline of her tunic, near the ribbon that laced her bodice together.
“I — I want no man,” she whispered, but he didn’t believe her. His knees buckled, and he dragged her to the damp earth with him.
She didn’t protest, and he kissed her, long and full on the mouth, feeling her open to him as a flower might open to the sun. His tongue rimmed her teeth and found its mate, glorying in the sweet, soft pleasure of her mouth.
Slowly he untied the ribbon that held her tunic together, exposing more of her skin. He kissed her lips again, and when the fabric gaped he moved lower, his lips teasing and tasting as he slid against her body, letting her feel the need that was hot and hard between his legs.
“’Tis wrong,” she whispered, though she didn’t resist, but seemed to yield even more to the gentle pleasure of his body against hers. Her eyelids fluttered down, and she gave herself to him, body and soul. As surely as the wind rustled in the leaves overhead, she let go of her doubts.
He closed his eyes, bent on releasing her, but he couldn’t stop himself. The smell and feel and taste of her were too inviting. He pressed his face against her soft flesh and kissed the top of each rounded breast.
She moaned low in her throat and arched a bit, though her hands had moved to his shoulders and her fingers dug into the muscles of his arms.
“Garrick, please,” she cried as he slipped the tunic off her shoulder and her breast, bou
nd only by her chemise, spilled into the night, white and full, peaked with a round button of darker skin that begged him to kiss her, to taste of her, to suckle like a newborn babe. He kissed her through the soft fabric, his tongue wetting the lace, and she quivered in his arms, growing warm and impatient.
“So you do want me?” he said in wonder, and when she didn’t deny her desire, he kissed her again, his lips melding with hers while one hand found her breast, touching the nubile flesh, teasing her nipple to a proud point that begged him to suckle again.
“M’lord?” a voice remotely familiar in Garrick’s dazed mind, called through the trees and cut into his fevered thoughts. His desire cooled instantly, and he scrambled to his feet.
“Get up,” he ordered, through tightly clenched teeth. He yanked her to her feet and helped her smooth the wrinkles from her tunic.
“Lord Garrick?” The voice inquired again. Hunter’s voice, Garrick now realized.
“Over here, near the stream,” Garrick yelled, straightening his clothes and feeling a deep flush burn its way up his neck.
With a crashing of branches Hunter joined them and came up short when he saw Morgana. “Oh, I … uh, I didn’t mean to disturb—”
“You disturbed naught. Morgana was just showing me what her sketches in the earth mean.”
Hunter’s gaze dropped to the smudged rune, only partially visible in the darkness, but he didn’t comment on it. Nor did he say anything about the untied ribbon at Morgana’s neckline or the glimpse of breast he no doubt caught. But he seemed disappointed. “Just letting you know that Giles is opening the mead and Fulton’s killed a buck. We’ll be eating well tonight.” Then, as if he knew he was intruding, Hunter returned down the path from which he’d come.
“Come,” Garrick said, nettled at the intrusion and wishing to God that his desire for Morgana would just go away. “Our absence will be noticed.”
“And that bothers you?” she asked.
“Among other things.” He looked meaningfully at her partly exposed breasts and felt a little pang of pleasure at her response. Her mouth grew round, and she had the good grace to seem embarrassed as her fingers fumbled with the ties. He pointed impatiently at the ground. “I don’t see that your sketches are doing anything to help us find Logan.”
“And nearly bedding me did?” she threw back, unable to hold her tongue. Brushing a twig from her hair, she glared at him, waiting for a response.
His jaw grew hard. “Why do you mock me?”
“Because you mock me. Do not make light of my gift just because you are as angry as a boar that wants to rut and cannot. I’m only trying to help you, m’lord, and the way I see it, we need all the help we can get, be it from God himself or from magic.”
“You talk in circles!” Garrick scowled darkly. In truth it wasn’t the silly lines in the dirt that bothered him; it was the woman. He couldn’t get her out of his mind, or his heart. He wanted her, and he’d nearly taken her right here and now. He was a man who was used to taking what he wanted. The fact that she felt desire for him only made self-restraint more intolerable. Even now, seeing the embers of anger in her sea green eyes caused his gut to tighten. His gaze dropped from her face to the swell of her breasts and the curve of his waist. He imagined what it would feel like to span that small waist with his hands and plunge into her velvet warmth. Closing his mind to such willful and sinfully luscious thoughts, he grabbed her hand and drew her roughly through the trees and into the circle of reddish light cast by the fire. He couldn’t consider her charms. He had to concentrate on finding his son.
Morgana yanked her hand away from his touch and held her head at a defiant angle as she half ran to keep up with his long strides, but Garrick tried to take no notice of her. God’s teeth, she was more trouble than he’d bargained for when he rode to Wenlock to fetch her for Strahan’s bride.
That thought curdled like bad milk in his stomach. Strahan’s bride indeed! Christ, he was a fool.
Garrick tried to hide his irritation with Morgana. Already some of the men were gathered about the fire, sampling the mead, joking together, their stomachs growling as the buck roasted and sizzled over the coals. A few of the braver soldiers cast knowing glances toward Garrick, but no one commented on his whereabouts. Only Randolph seemed to smirk at Morgana, while Hunter, obviously embarrassed, avoided her gaze. No doubt the poor knight, too, had fallen for her charms, though seeing her half-undressed while she was alone with Garrick had probably destroyed his fantasies about having her for himself. Even if Hunter’s lips remained sealed, word would no doubt get back to Strahan that Garrick had been found with her and she’d been half-undressed. Damn and double damn. Garrick shoved the hair from his eyes and only hoped to talk to his cousin first. Obviously Strahan wouldn’t marry Morgana now. Bah, what a mess! True, she was still a virgin, or so she seemed, but she’d been willing, willing to give her virginity to him.