Page 47 of My Warrior
Cambria stood with her jaw slack, staring at her hands, wondering how they’d come to be empty.
“Three,” he said, tucking his dagger back into his belt.
She was gaping at him. He recognized that look. He’d seen it before in the young lads who frequented the tiltyard, lads who worshiped him and would later weave overblown tales for their friends about the great Wolf de Ware and his mighty sword arm. But he’d never thought to see such reverence in Cambria’s eyes. It made his heart beat faster.
For a long while, she only gawked at him, awestruck. Then she said, “It’s true, isn’t it? You’ve never lost. You’ve never met your match.”
“On the contrary, madam. I believe Ihaveat long last met my match.”
His blood was already heated from their skirmish, and to see such naked admiration from his enemy,thisenemy, fueled his desire.
“Lady,” he said in a voice just above a whisper, “beware how you gaze upon me, lest I forget the limits of our wager.”
Cambria blinked. Had she been staring at him? She swiftly glanced away, too late to hide the truth. Nervously, she licked her lips. There was still the wager to pay.
He was standing too close to her. She could hear the gentle rasp of his breath. Did he have to look at her like that, speak to her that way? His eyes were as deep and green as a loch, and his voice was like coarse ale, rough and intoxicating.
She steeled herself to pay the wager with as much dignity and as little ado as she could muster. She forced her gaze to his, determined he’d not outstare her this time.
It was a grave error. Her breath ragged, her blood warm, she was pulled to him like water to a wick. He moved closer, close enough to feel the heat emanating from his body, close enough to see the rims of his teeth between his parted lips.
Holden was thrown for an instant by the spark of desire in her eyes. He should cast water on that cinder, douse it while it was yet harmless for both their sakes, but he felt his own passion rising, and he was reluctant to arrest it.
Cambria shivered. She remembered the taste of his mouth, its warmth, its sweetness. That mouth was her undoing. Before she could stop to think of the terrible mistake she was making, she lifted her head, drew near enough to feel his breath upon her face, and gave him his due.
Holden returned her kiss, tentatively at first, drawing her out, then with more assurance. Her skin was soft and yielding, and she tasted like wild honey.
Cambria felt drawn to him with a curious hunger. His lips were doing things to her—teasing her, then beckoning her, and finally feeding voraciously on her, as if he meant to consume her soul. She clutched at his shoulders, clinging to him with a fervor she’d never known before, and her own need amazed and frightened her. She was losing control. Passion swirled around her, like a whirlpool tugging her from safe harbor. And she wanted it, wanted his kiss, his touch.
He parted her lips and let the tip of his tongue delve between them to trail fire across her tongue. She shivered, wondering how his lips would feel upon her neck, her shoulder, her breast. She wondered how they would feel lower, in the secret spot that swelled and yearned even now…
Nay! With a sudden panicked cry, she shoved him from her, staggering back. Her face turned to flame. Bloody hell, what was she doing? What was he doing to her? He was an Englishman, for God’s sake…
Still, her lips tingled from his kiss.
The brute had once tied her to his bed…
But his eyes were as dark and smoldering as warm coals.
He’d held her hostage and practically forced her into marriage…
But his hands were like silk upon her flesh.
Nay, damn him! He was responsible for her father’s death!
She drew back her fist and plowed it into his face, hard.
Holden caught the blow on his cheek. It knocked his head around, stunning him for a moment. By the time he collected his wits enough to yell after her, she was halfway to the castle, tears streaming down her face, cradling her throbbing knuckles.
Holden took out his frustrations on the quintain in the tiltyard, tearing the straw-stuffed dummy to shreds.
He should have known better. Cambria was nowhere near ready to concede the battle. Lord, what was wrong with him? His own astonishing lack of control left him feeling foolish. Not since he was a lad had he felt so incapable of subduing that beast in his trews.
And she’d struck him! Not the chiding slap he’d grown used to in his youth when he’d taken a few too many liberties, but a close-fisted, hard-swung punch. Ballocks! How was he going to explain a bruised cheek earned the day after his wedding?
He spurred Ariel hard across the field and drove his lance at the quintain so fiercely that it spun like a child’s toy and broke.
From the haven of the solar, Cambria shivered as she witnessed Holden’s violence in the practice yard. Her knees grew weak. Had she actually dared to strike him, that fierce warrior dispatching knight after knight on the field below?
