“Yes,” she breathed.
“He has not bedded you, not once?”
“No.”
He hauled her up against him, kissing her with hard, brutal passion. She resisted his onslaught instinctively, hands pressed against his shoulders, whimpering when he drove her roughly against the wall. He instantly lessened the pressure, his mouth becoming gentle, soft.
“Do not fight me,” he said hoarsely. “You are mine, Ceidre, mine.”
As he kissed her she could feel him controlling a fierce, brutal passion, she could feel it in the shaking of his big body. And the contradiction, the tenderness, the sensual stroking of his mouth, when he was so desperately ready, brought something forth in Ceidre, something shimmering and bright, more than just an answering passion. She clung to him, returning his kisses. He had already spread her thighs, and now he thrust abruptly into her. She was wet and ready, fueled by his explosive need. Moments later they cried out, one after the other, in the throes of hot, heady pleasure.
He held her tightly afterward. “You are mine, Ceidre, do you understand?”
She looked at him. She saw the ruthless, uncompromising look upon his face; his gaze was brilliantly hard, like diamonds. “Do you understand?”
She was frightened by his tone. “I am still Guy’s wife.”
“No one will touch you,” he said. “I will take care of Guy.” His gaze was piercing. “I am truly warning you, Ceidre; ’tis good you are afraid. If a man touches you, I will slice off his hands with my sword—do you understand?”
She nodded, breathless and trembling. “And if another fucks you, I will kill him with my own hand—while you watch. Do you understand?” “Yes.”
“Good.” He smiled a hard smile. “I do not share what belongs to me, and from this day forward you are mine.”
She, was appalled, she was also exhilarated. Unthinking, she touched his cheek gently. The hard brilliant look in his eyes—the look of a ruthless conqueror —began to soften. “I do not want another, my lord,” she said.
The melting in his gaze was rapid. “You speak the truth?”
“I swear it.”
There was no hardness left in his regard, none at all. His smile was unrestrained. “You unman me, Ceidre.”
“You are not unmanned to feel happy, my lord.”
“No? What is happiness? A commander has no place in his life for such emotions.”
“Wrongly said, my lord.” She touched his cheek again, cupping his face. “A man has room for all emotions.”
“A man who caters to all humors ceases to be a man, Ceidre. He cannot function as he should.”
“You are happy with me, yet you function well.” She smiled lasciviously. “More than well—superlatively.”
He laughed, a warm, rich, bold sound that shook her with surprise. “’Tis not that kind of functioning I am talking about, and you know it.” His arm, which was holding her, squeezed her in what was almost a hug.
“Oh, my lord, ’tis good to hear you laugh,” Ceidre breathed, hugging him back, hard.
His mirth died as he gazed at her. “I have never laughed with a woman before,” he said.
She smiled impishly. “No? I am most flattered. Mayhap I can make you laugh again?”
His mouth quirked. “There are other humors I would rather feel.”
She snorted. “Of course, if I catered to you as you would, there is only one humor you would cherish, only one you would have me feel, and it is hanging there between your legs.”
“You may feel that humor anytime, Ceidre, even now.” He pulled her hand toward his belly, she jerked it away.
“That humor does not need more humoring this night.”
“But you said you would humor me.” He was grinning.
