For Love Of Rory - Barbara Leigh

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tell me nothing I don’t already know,” she said as she extricated herself. “My man’s been on crusade before, and I find myself more pleased to see him each time he returns. However, should you decide to persist, Sir Knight, I’m sure he would be happy to take time from showing me his newly learned arts of love to showing you his well-earned reputation as a soldier to be reckoned with.” She smiled as she said the words, but the threat was there, loud and clear for all to hear.

      They all laughed together, but the spurned knight’s eyes narrowed spitefully as he moved away with his companions. “Country wench,” he sneered. “She’ll wish she’d considered my proposition before I’m finished with her and her brave, Celt-loving lady.”

      He motioned to his companions. “Come, lads! We have an appointment to meet with Lord Baneford. Unless I miss my guess, he’ll pay good coin to learn that there is a Celt lurking around his lands.”

      The men swung off through the village, almost colliding with the one-eyed crone who stood at the side of the road.

      * * *

      To heal, one must spend a great deal of time abed, and, although Rory healed far more quickly than he was willing to let on, he whiled away his empty hours by watching Serine as she went about her duties.

      It occurred to him that she was not a great beauty, and had no outstanding feature on which to base her attractiveness. Yet there was a graceful loveliness about the woman that would not be denied. The more he watched, the more he wanted. The stronger he became, the more the demands of the flesh tortured him until he reached the place where he actually welcomed the appearance of Old Ethyl.

      In truth, Rory had not responded to a woman as he did to Serine since the plague had taken his wife from him, and had not thought to again. Still, the sound of Serine’s husky voice sent currents of pleasure through his body, and the touch of her hand was enough to send him into a fever.

      She talked of little other than the return of her son, and he wondered how she would react if she suspected the plan he had devised to take her to his village and hold her there through her love for her child.

      Surely once she became accustomed to Corvus Croft she would learn to love it. It was a beautiful place with lush green fields and sparkling blue streams. He doubted not that the children the Celts had spirited away had already fallen in love with their new home. It took very little time to change one’s allegiance, for in all honesty, Rory was more than a little in love with Serine. He watched her closely. Her movements were graceful but positive. There was no room for doubt within her. And he wondered, once again, what she felt when she thought of him.

      He knew that there were times her heart quickened when she caught him watching her. He could see the color that tinted her cheeks and the pulse pounding in her throat. How he longed to press his lips to that pulsing point. To feel it pound beneath his lips as he drank in her scent, her warmth, her sweetness.

      As if in answer to his silent supplication, she passed his cot, reaching out to touch his forehead in her journey. When she hesitated, as though reluctant to release the gentle contact with his face, Rory reached up and removed her hand. He inhaled the scent of marigolds that was uniquely her own and brushed her hand across his cheek. Without conscious volition, he pressed his lips against her palm and buried his mouth in the softness. Then, with a groan, he swept the salty moistness with his tongue.

      His fingers held her wrist and he felt her pulse jump and quicken. She did care! She responded to him just as he did to her.

      He felt her other hand move into his hair, and tensed himself should he have misread her and she decided to pull him away. Her hand clenched, then lost itself in his thick locks. He pulled her to him as he gave in to his desires and sought out the pulse beat hammering in her throat. With a deep moan he closed his mouth over it and felt it drum against his tongue. He knew his time was limited. Serine had given in to the madness of the moment and he had taken her completely off guard. It was only a matter of seconds before she would realize what was taking place and put up her defenses. But one moment of heaven was worth a lifetime of darkness.

      Without giving propriety another thought, Rory cradled her in his arms and gently, gently covered her lips with his as he drew out her sweetness, inhaling her, tasting her, luxuriating in the touch of her body, warm and soft against his naked chest.

      Then Serine’s hands drew him closer, demanding that he give all that his kisses promised. He felt her open to him and was lost in the depths of her mouth. He barely restrained himself from crying out at the overwhelming passion, so long denied, that surged forth and blossomed in all its frightening glory in the arms of this beautiful, determined woman, who could never belong to the likes of a Celt.

      The world swam as Rory’s kiss demanded all that Serine could give and promised even more. It mattered not that this man was her avowed enemy. That he had stolen her child and would not tell where he had been taken. All that mattered was the touch of his lips, the caress of his hands and the burning heat of his body against hers. All that mattered was that she had waited for this moment, for this kiss throughout all the watchful days and sleepless nights. Longed for this moment throughout her life without knowing for what she longed. And now that it had come, she had not the strength, nor the will, to push either the man or the moment from her embrace. His kiss was all she had dreamed it would be and though she burned through eternity for this moment of weakness it was beyond her ability to care.

      A soft cry escaped her lips as he buried his face in the soft fragrance of her breasts. A surge of desire shot through her body as swift and true as one of Old Ethyl’s arrows, and most likely as deadly. For Serine felt that she could not live without experiencing the wonder of Rory’s love, of his beautiful, masculine body, his sensual lips and his unquenchable passion.

      Incapable of denying him or herself the love they so greatly desired, Serine was swept to the boundaries of surrender. Unknowing, uncaring of anything other than the man in whose arms she lay. She seemed to be spiraling upward toward the bright light of fulfillment when Rory withdrew his lips, holding her close for several minutes until their breathing assumed some semblance of normalcy before he let her go.

      She moved from the haven of his arms and stood before him, slightly disheveled and very disappointed.

      “Forgive me,” he said, unable to keep his eyes from the pleasures he had so briefly known. “I did not mean to force myself on you.”

      Serine opened her mouth several times before she found her voice. “Then why did you do so?” And why did you not continue? she wanted to ask.

      “I lost my head, and in the heat of the moment forgot that there are two situations that stand sentry between us.”

      “Those are?” She knew, but she must hear him say the words. The words that would both damn and free her.

      “You have a husband, and I have your son. As long as it remains so, there can be nothing but lust between us. And I want more than a fleeting moment of passion from you, Serine. I want your love, just as, I believe, you want mine. But love should give happiness, and between us we can offer each other naught but pain. For this ill-favored love we have found for each other is indeed a bitter brew.”

      She turned away, unable to hold back a trite comment of her own. “Sometimes the more bitter the brew, the greater the benefit.”

      Chapter Five

      The kisses they had shared could not be forgotten. Each time their eyes met they both reacted as though struck a blow. No matter how hard either of them tried, it was impossible to pretend nothing had happened, any more than it was possible to allow another such encounter to happen again.

      Serine was a woman wed. She had never so much as thought of betraying her husband’s trust by giving herself to another man. Nor had she ever met a man she would have considered interesting enough to be worth the anguish that would result in such a betrayal. Now her mind slipped a hundred times a day into thoughts of Rory’s strong young arms encircling her body. His lips searching out the sensitive places in her hands and neck. The

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