A Knight In Her Bed Read online

  “Wulfrich,” he said. “Lord Wulfrich. But they call me—”

  “Wolf.”

  Had she really spoken it aloud? The shock, of course. Normally she would have been more cautious.

  His silver eyes stared into hers for a long moment, and then a smile quirked his mouth on the good side. He was waiting for her to confess her secret to him but Juliet tightened her own lips and said nothing. She closed her eyes to block him out, and pretended to sleep. Soon she heard his soft snores and gave up pretending.

  Lying rigid at his side, Juliet waited a little longer and then she slipped out from under his arm and rolled away, off the bed, sitting with her knees folded and her chin resting upon them, staring across at him as if she expected him to jump up at any moment. She felt like a cornered animal; a frightened cornered animal.

  Juliet knew the name. Wolf. It was a name she had repeated to herself many times over the past months, since her friends the travelling minstrels had vanished from Kendall Keep. She’d sworn the day she found them gone that if she ever met with this man she would cut his throat and smile as his blood flowed. She’d been searching for him, circling him and getting closer and closer, and yet no one had said he had that scar, no one had said he would capture her senses and make her helpless with desire.

  No one had told her he would make her heart and body sing, and cause her to betray her friends so utterly and completely.

  The Wolf didn’t sleep long.

  Before dawn he was up, stretching, pausing a moment when he saw Juliet curled up on the cushions across the tent, her hair like dark tangled silk about her, her bare feet tucked up under her skirts. She could feel his gaze on her and held her breath, wondering if he meant to come and touch her, turn her over and begin the kisses and the caresses that had led to last night in his bed.

  She almost wanted him to. Despite knowing who he was, her body tingled and grew wet, readying itself for his lovemaking.

  But evidently he wasn’t in the mood. She heard him pad across to the tent opening and the low murmur of words exchanged with the guards outside. Soon there were heavier footsteps and the delicious smell of food. Juliet’s stomach growled and she decided it was time to wake up.

  Stirring and then stretching, she opened her eyes wide. The food was on the table before her, with a new jug of wine and this time two goblets. Juliet stood up, pushing her hair back over her shoulder, and grimacing at the aches in her muscles. The tent seemed empty, and she made a beeline for the food, reaching for a piece of the coarse bread and lathering it with the soft cheese. She took a huge bite, and snatched up an apple with the other hand, for later.

  “You slept well, Juliet?”

  His voice startled her and she jumped, swallowing the food painfully.

  He was behind her, near the wall of the tent, and she hadn’t known he was there. Or perhaps she was so focussed on the food she hadn’t realised. Juliet turned, trying on a smile, feeling it waver when she set eyes on him.

  He was stripped to the waist, and he was washing his chest with a cloth dripping with water from a bowl.

  And he was a sight to behold.

  The muscles on his chest and stomach made ridges under the skin, and there was a smattering of dark hairs that disappeared beneath the fastening of his breeches. As he wrung out the cloth, his biceps bulged. A tattoo like a Celtic cross wrapped around the right one, and there were scars here and there, the sort of marks a man of war might accumulate in his life. But they didn’t detract from his beauty; rather they enhanced it. Juliet found her gaze slipping lower, imagining her fingertips against his warm skin, running down to the tight breeches that clung to his hips and moulded his long legs.

  Her gaze lingered on strong muscular thighs and the large bulge between them that she remembered only too well as it had filled her, making her strive to take him all before she cried out with pleasure. The memory brought a tremor to her belly and an ache to the sensitive tips of her breasts.

  His silver eyes were fixed on her as he soaped his skin and then rinsed it, slowly, taking his time, his scarred face intent. She knew he was remembering it too. The food was forgotten. Almost against her will, watching the hypnotic movement of his hands over his body, she took a step, and then another, closing the distance between them.

  Today she found the scar less shocking, as if she had already grown accustomed to it, or maybe it was just that it was as much a part of him as his warrior’s body and his silver eyes. She was close enough now to reach out and touch him, and she did so, letting her finger trail over the damp skin of his chest, pausing to tangle in his dark hairs, down to the place where his breeches clung to his hard flat belly.

  “I thought you were hungry,” he said, his husky voice sending shivers up her back.

  There was only one answer to that but even as she opened her mouth to give it, her hand brushing the growing swell inside his breeches, she remembered who he was and what he had done.

  Her desire was still strong, but now it shamed her. She stumbled back a step, and then another. He was frowning, watchful, clearly aware that something was wrong.

  “Are you well?” he growled, setting down the cloth and moving toward her.

  Juliet told herself she didn’t want him to touch her. This was the man who had been at Kendall Castle when her friends vanished. She alone had been left, lying sick in a bed in the village inn, unable to perform. The next day her friends did not return as they’d promised, and when she went to the castle to find them no one would tell her where they had gone. Something was wrong. There had been a death there the night of the feast. Lord Edward of Kendall, who had held the castle and lands for Matilda for many years now, had died, and there was a new lord in his place, Lord Wulfrich. The servants were frightened.

  “They’re gone, that’s all,” one of them shouted, waving a hand at her. “Go and ask the Wolf if you want to know what happened. Go on. I dare you.” And he’d chuckled nastily.

  And now here she was, face to face with the Wolf, and asking was on the tip of her tongue.

  He caught hold of her arm, pulling her in against his bare chest, and she felt as if she might faint. A combination of desire and fear and exhaustion whirled her around. “Juliet?” she could hear him saying her name, and then she was lying on the furs, breathing quickly, trying to steady her pounding heart.

  “What is it?” he said sharply, and she looked up into his face. He was kneeling over her and his eyes were daring her to answer, to tell him the truth.

  The words spilled out of her. “You killed my friends. Six months ago at Kendall Castle. They went to perform and then they were gone and I was all alone.”

  He frowned at her. “Kendall Castle?” Something flickered in his eyes. “You’re one of the minstrels,” he sighed. “I should have known when you turned your somersaults. Now I think of it they spoke of a Juliet. They wanted me to fetch you.”

  Listening to him, Juliet could only think that the rumours were true.

  A tear ran down her cheek and she turned her face away, burying it against the furs of his bed.

  She felt him leaning closer, the brush of his skin against hers, and then his warm tongue traced her tears, taking them into his mouth. She tried to pull away, pretending she was disgusted, but he held her, his lips brushing against her cheekbone, before finding her mouth. The kiss deepened and the taste of him, the touch of him, almost stripped her of the will to fight. It was only with an enormous effort that she pulled away.

  “My friends,” she cried out. “Tell me what you did with my friends.”

  He nuzzled against her, and whispered in her ear, “They are safe. Trust me.”

  “How can I?” she said, more tears falling.

  “There was a man called Henry who threatened to fight me, and a girl called Leonora who looked at him with adoring eyes, and an old man called Renton who creaked when he laughed.”

  She gaped at him. “You . . . you could have found that out before you killed them,” she said at la
st, suspiciously.

  He gave a huff of disgust. “Why would I kill harmless minstrels, Juliet? Trust me. You trusted me last night in this very bed. Trust me now.” The last words were a command, as if she was one of his army of men.

  She wavered, but he must have thought that was answer enough, because his hands became busy with her gown, unlacing it, pulling it over her head. At the sight of her nakedness he made a sound of appreciation and cupped her breasts in his hands, squeezing them before he began to suckle upon them, twirling his tongue about her budded nipples. When he sucked hard she clung to him, her fingers tangled in his dark hair, her body arching toward him.

  Trust me.

  She told herself she wanted to get up and run away, but his hand was sliding between her legs and he smiled, feeling her ready for him. His fingers caressed the warm slick skin, delving inside her inner lips, into her core. The sensation catapulted her body into such pleasure that despite her fighting mind, she widened her thighs to give him better access. He took instant advantage, finding the hard nub of her clitoris and squeezing it gently between his thumb and finger. Wild pleasure spiralled through her, and she reached up to kiss his face, letting her tongue trail down over the line of the scar, down to his muscular neck and the hollow of his throat.

  Her fingers brushed the Celtic cross on his bicep, and she saw it wasn’t new but faded from time. Whatever story was attached to it was old, from a time before the boy became the man. Wolf was a loner, like her, and he had suffered, like her. They were two of a kind who, through a quirk of fate, had found each other.

  Wolf was tugging at the ties of his breeches, and then the hard length of his cock was in her hands. She curled her fingers around him, revelling in the sensation of iron covered in velvet.

  “I want to be inside you.” His voice was ragged.

  “I want to taste you.” Juliet shimmied down into position, her tongue sliding up the length of his cock from root to tip, before her mouth covered the head of it. His hips arched involuntarily toward her and he groaned. She could have carried on, licking and sucking, but he was lifting her back onto the bed, setting her on her hands and knees. Startled, she tried to turn, but he was kneeling behind her, his big body covering her back and hips, his cock pushing blindly against her buttocks.

  Juliet had heard of being taken like this but she’d never tried it. Now, with the muscular feel of his body heavy on hers, his thick thighs widening her own, she was eager to experience it. His hand cupped her mound, before his fingers slid down through the soft hair and eased inside her slippery sex and began to stroke her.

  She cried out softly, her body clenching, and moved back against him, seeking relief. “Wolf,” she moaned, “please.” With a grunt he replaced his fingers with the hard length of his cock. Just the head at first and then more, pushing in until she felt as if he was filling her entirely. His fingers continued to rub against her clit, and she moved jerkily as he thrust inside her, faster now, his warm breath on her nape.

  She was enveloped by him, held safe in the Wolf’s embrace, and she knew with joy mixed with despair that it was a sensation she had been seeking all her life.

  Then Juliet forgot everything as, with a powerful climax, her body clenched around his cock, tremors running down her thighs and into her belly as she spasmed and gasped. A heartbeat later he too came, big hands gripping her thighs, thrusting jerkily until he gave a deep groan and collapsed, him on top of her, both of them panting for breath.

  After a moment he rose and, using the cloth from the bowl of water, sprawled beside her on the bed and began to gently wipe her most intimate places. She allowed it, even rejoiced in it, as if they truly were a wolf and his mate.

  His silver eyes observed her, and he said, “Were you hunting me, Juliet? Were you seeking the Wolf?”

  She began to shake her head but then changed her mind. It was too late for lies. “I was looking for Lord Wulfrich,” she admitted, “but I did not know he was you. Not until you told me.”

  He read the truth in her face and nodded his head.

  “You must tell me what happened to my friends,” she said breathlessly, needing to know and yet afraid of what he might say.

  He had used the cloth to clean himself and now began to dress. “What of this sister you told me about?”

  Juliet shrugged. “It was a lie.”

  He looked up from pulling on his boots, giving her one of his intent looks. “So you can lie to me but I must tell you the truth?”

  “Yes . . . no. Why will you not tell me?”

  Fully dressed now, he stood up and went to the table to get some food, at the same time pouring himself a goblet of wine. “I can’t tell you, not yet. I need to ask someone’s permission. Tomorrow we will be in London and then you will know.”

  “But . . .”

  “Do you want to know what happened to your friends?” He waited for her nod. “Then you will come with me, Juliet.”

  And once more it was a command rather than a request.

  Juliet huddled against the wooden side of the cart, bracing herself against the bumping and swaying as they made their way down the rough roads to the capital. Wulfrich had sent her to ride with the other wives and mistresses, as well as the gaggle of prostitutes that followed his army. Her arrival had caused some curiosity but she’d shrugged off their questions and pretended to sleep, and soon they left her alone.

  They’d made camp outside the walls of London when a weary looking guard came to fetch her. Dusty, with grit in her hair and between her teeth, Juliet followed him through the men and animals, toward that familiar tent with Lord Wulfrich’s standard fluttering atop it.

  There were men inside, and in their midst Wolf looked solemn as they poured over one of his parchment maps. Juliet crept into the tent and found a spot to sit, out of the way, and stayed silent, waiting. Soon her weariness caught up with her and she closed her eyes and despite the noise, slept.

  She dreamed. She and her friends were tumbling, faces painted or else wearing animal masks, as they fell about and playacted. Juliet did her cartwheels around the room, and then somersaulted over and over between the tables and chairs. The crowd in the hall laughed and clapped.

  She felt light and free. She felt alive. These, her friends, were more dear to her than her family, dead of fever when she was little more than a child. She’d looked after herself for most of her life, been alone for most of her life.

  Henry was standing by her, his lean young body clothed in green tunic and hose, and his shoes with little bells on them. On his other side Leonora put her hand on his arm and smiled up at him as if he was her hero. Juliet knew that Leonora was in love with Henry and now Juliet no longer slept in his bed it wouldn’t be long before the other girl claimed him. She should be jealous, but she wasn’t. In her heart Juliet had never loved Henry. He wasn’t the man for her.

  He wasn’t Wolf.

  Juliet’s eyes opened wide. Long legs were planted before her and as she raised her gaze she found tight breeches and a shirt open at the throat and then the scarred face of the man who made her body clench tight and her heart beat faster.

  “We are to go to the royal court, Juliet. I have asked for water to be brought so that you can bathe.”

  She blinked, trying not to jerk to her feet in fright. “I do not belong at the royal court.”

  His scarred mouth twisted. “No less than me.”

  She frowned. “But you are a great man. A lord. I am . . . nothing.”

  He dropped down on his haunches before her, and suddenly he was very close, his silver eyes as clear as water. “A great man? I do not see myself as such. Once I was a boy in an orphanage whose family died when one of Matilda’s barons took our lands and castle. This,” he pointed to his scar, “came from that night. Do you know who that man was? He was my Uncle Edward, and when I went screaming to him for help as my father lay dying, he raised his sword and cut my face open. Betrayal can be a bitter thing, Juliet, and I always felt alone, despite
those who called themselves my friends in the orphanage. But it was there I learned to fight, and where I dreamed of regaining what was mine. Now I have. Perhaps that makes me a great man, but I do not feel it. And until you came to me, Juliet, I thought I would be alone all my life.” His knuckles brushed her cheek. “You are like my other half. With you I think I could perhaps be that great man.”

  “Wolf . . .” she whispered, tears in her eyes. He was an orphan? His uncle had betrayed him in a terrible way, and yet he was saying these deep heartfelt things to her. Juliet could not help but be touched. Were they truly two lost souls who had found each other? The intensity of her feelings when she looked into his eyes frightened her, because once she had given her heart to him she knew there would be no going back.

  “Good,” he said, as if she had spoken, “it is settled. Bathe, and then we go to the court in the white tower.” And with a touch of his fingertip on her lips, he rose to his feet and left her there.

  Water arrived and a tub was filled and Wolf instructed no man to enter his tent unless he wanted to die. As Juliet soaped herself with the small piece of scented soap, she couldn’t help but wonder what Wolf was up to. The royal court was not somewhere she’d ever imagined herself attending, at least not as other than an acrobat, and if it wasn’t for her friends and his promise to explain to her what had happened to them, she wouldn’t have dared to go there.

  And what did he want of her? To be his love? His leman? To live in his castle and bear his children and grow old with him? Juliet wriggled in the cooling water. Her family were merchants, so she was not born of the lower orders, but neither was she one of the great families of England.

  Suddenly the door of the tent opened and a woman stepped in. Juliet gasped at the intrusion, sinking lower, water splashing into her face and mouth and making her choke.

  The woman had a calm, grave beauty and serious dark blue eyes, but at the sight of Juliet hiding in her bath her face creased into a sweet smile. “I am the Lady Rowena. Wolf asked me to bring you something suitable to wear. Juliet, is it? His somersaulting friend?”