Page 63

I hold up the slim piece of metal, closing and locking the door behind me.

“I have the only key,” she says, sliding lower into the water.

“Not a key.” I toss it onto the floor, along with my belt. And sword. My robes come next.

“Aiken. What are you doing?”

Hair splayed behind her in a curtain of waves, Hilla’s hands jut out from the water to grip both ends of the cloth draped across her wooden tub.

“I am undressing,” I tell her, aware of the folly of me being here. Of what we are about to do. Again. Forming a deeper attachment to a woman I had so much difficulty leaving in Meria, after all that has happened on the voyage to Murwood . . .

I should not.

We should not.

And yet, here I am. In her bedchamber. Removing my clothing as quickly as if my life depended on such a deed. She ensured it so belowstairs, in the hall. I’d been resigned to stay away. One memory, and more kisses than I ever thought I’d share with her, have proven to me what I suspected well before we reached d’Almerita.

Our bond grows deeper and deeper each day. Which is precisely why I should be in my own chamber, asleep, waiting for the son of the King of Meria to contact us. Instead, I am stalking toward Hilla’s tub, completely nude now, and reaching my hand out to her.

I am impatient to see more of her, the fire and candlelight obscuring my view. Without a word, she takes my hand, and I pull her from the tub. Hilla’s wet body slams against me as I claim her mouth, her breasts pressed upon my chest, her backside cupped with my hands.

I’d been prepared to enter earlier when I saw the tub being carried in. But wishing to give her sufficient time to wash, I waited. The longest wait of my life. Pacing my own small bedchamber, I envisioned this. Us. Together again.

“I need you, Hilla,” I say, breaking apart from her. The words are a surprise to my own ears.

Her lips, swollen from my kiss, her arms draped around my neck, the Princess of Edingham responds by licking her lips. Tis too much. With one quick maneuver, she is in my arms. I carry her to the bed like a babe, but one fully grown. And more enticing than any woman in all the Isle.

“Aiken,” she breathes, but I do not give her a chance to finish the thought. My body covers hers, my hands dipping between her legs as our mouths meld together once more. My tongue matching the rhythm of my fingers, I do not relent as her hips move against my hand, more quickly with each thrust. I do not relent even as she begins to climax. Instead, I taste her and touch her with every bit of the desire I feel for this woman.

I will her to soar. When she does, I guide myself into her. Hilla’s wetness makes slipping inside easy, and natural. Groaning, I kiss her with even greater fervor, knowing I’ll not last long.

We move as one, our bodies more accustomed to each other than the first time. Knowing I must pull myself from her soon, I wait only for her to climax again. I hold fast, tensing as Hilla’s breathing begins to accelerate, but the moment she gasps, jerking with a powerful thrust of her hips, I withdraw.

Shifting us away from the evidence of my need for this woman, I take her in my arms, kiss her on the head, and attempt to regain my own breath. Sometime later, I finally apologize to her.

“I will fetch you my own bed coverings.”

Her laugh makes my chest swell, the sound, and the feel of her, simply too much to bear. I cannot leave. Not tonight.

Maybe not ever.

32

Hilla

I sit back on the bed, fully dressed, waiting for Aiken. He thought it best for me to have an escort to the hall, and after last eve, I am inclined to agree with him. There is a grittiness to the place, to Murwood End, that exists nowhere else on the Isle. Perhaps it is the dark-colored garments, the furs that are mostly absent back in Edingham except for during the height of the winter. Whatever the reason, tis a place like no other. The strength radiating from my new friend Aedre that was evident to me from the start . . . I understand it now having seen her home for the first time in years.

As it tends to do, my mind wanders back to the man who left my bed early this morn to his own bedchamber. Every day that passes, I think less and less of Whitley, of the insults and impending doom, such memories are replaced with new ones.

Replaced by thoughts of Aiken.

The feel of his lips on mine. Of how the muscles in his arms move under my fingertips as he makes love to me. Of him inside me. Of his tongue. His expression as he enters me. So many more enjoyable thoughts, including those of our quiet conversations.

I am falling in love with a man I know little about.

While he’s shared stories of his childhood, mostly of his earliest memories, there are so many gaps in his recollections. He holds back so much still. Aiken insists he is unable to tell me more. He speaks of a code, one that clearly holds more sway over him than anything else in his life. Because I see it in his eyes. As we dined last eve, he wanted to tell me more.

Although I admire the loyalty to a cause, I cannot help but get angry at times too. If he trusted me, as he claims he does, could he not just simply share his secret? As I shared mine with him? Cettina would never believe I’d done so. We agreed never to do such a thing. The knowledge could undermine her authority as queen. Could harm the very kingdom she so deftly rules, despite its many challenges.