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As for Geoffrey, he had committed an offence worthy of severe punishment, but Gervais believed he’d acted without malice, only driven by passion, something that Gervais understood. Walking on, he caught a hint of Matilda again. She was close, and likely to be cautious, perhaps afraid. Brushing against the twigs of a shrub, he spied a shred of velvet snagged on a thorn, then another thread further along. He plucked each one, and collected sufficient to make a nest for a small bird. She’d run this way and in haste.
By an oak, he discovered the robe, torn in places and littered with twigs and small leaves. She’d discarded it, but why, or it had been dragged off her by another? He tensed, wondering if what he feared was possible—surely no other Zalim hid in his forest?
He gathered the plush velvet to his face and inhaled. He tasted her on his tongue, and the aroma wasn’t one of terror. What he smelt was a woman’s musk, the very thing that drove a Zalim to hunt her down, and it could only be released by a willing prey without duress, and living in the hope of capture. It gave him heart to know she was baiting herself for him, and not Geoffrey. Gervais felt the warmth of the robe in his palms. It hadn’t been discarded for too long.
He had a strange sensation that he was being watched and that she desperately wanted him to find the robe, and her.
The sun was gaining height, sending beams between the leaves and branches. One such illumination struck something pale with an alabaster quality. He sharpened his focus on a gap between two trees. Sure enough, he spotted bare flesh.
Every element of the Zalim burst into being. He tore off his weapons, the knife and bow, the things that weren’t needed, and strode toward the glimmer, knowing that he would soon be one with her again.
Chapter Thirty-Four
She plucked the dense fronds of the bracken growing here and there, fanned them out into a skirt, and hid amongst the gnarled tree trunks, carefully avoiding bramble thorns and stinging nettles. It was only a matter of time before he found her. Geoffrey never stood a chance, not against an accomplished hunter.
Running was futile. Gervais wouldn’t have to chase her down and she hadn’t the wherewithal to escape him anyway, quite the contrary, she waited with high hopes of discovery. But he would want the thrill of finding her meekly cowering, uncertain and daunted by his demeanour. She stayed in the shadows, still as a church statue, and breathing as quietly as possible. The cold night had lifted, taking with it the early morning dew and mist, leaving behind an echo of warmth from the previous hot summer’s day. To her surprise, there was no need for clothing. If she shivered, it wasn’t from fear.
Gervais emerged, wild-eyed, ears cocked, hair spiky, and unnaturally huge in stature, or so it seemed. He had her in his sights; he moved forward with purpose, striding over the litter of the forest floor. He was without weapons or armour, and carrying her ragged cloak under one arm. As for his disposition, he showed neither delight nor ire in his shady face. There was a notable bulge in his riding hose.
She stepped out from behind the tree, dropped the useless camouflage, and showed him every part of her, from toe to her loose hair, which cascaded over her breasts and arms. He halted a few feet from her. Should she run? Was that how the hunt ended? The damsel scrambling in all directions, then pounced upon and pinned down for his pleasure. She swallowed hard, wondering how prepared she was for such a climax.
Quite prepared, she concluded, for the tell-tale trickle skimmed down her inner thigh, and her pert nipples rose to attention, poking through the locks of her hair.
Gervais, and his Zalim combined, inhaled sharply together as one. Seeing him so, in his natural place, the two parts of him were obvious. She recognised the man with his gold top hair glistening in the stripes of sunlight, the silken clothes of a wealthy lord, the dusty skin of an accomplished soldier, the strong hands that held a bow or dagger. There was something else too. A ragged edge to his handsome features and it wasn’t due to his lack of noble birth or finesse. The stealth of his movements wasn’t granted to him because of grace or innate noblesse but came from the Zalim harnessing his natural skills. The beast, the half of him that hungered
constantly for her, was ruling his body and bursting forth. His shirt had split across his shoulders and along the seams of the arms, and the girth of his thighs stretched the fabric of his hose, filling out every crease until smooth.
She snatched short breaths, and realised she was incapable of movement. Her body refused to obey her commands; it was under his spell, and unlikely to resist him whether she wanted to or not. She had no intention of showing him resistance. This was the full extent of his power over her, and he knew it. A smile spread across his face, one of acknowledgement, of confidence. She offered him a trembling lip and lowered her eyes meekly to his boot laces. Her idle arms were limp by her sides, and would not push him away.
She had to ask, for old time’s sake. “Geoffrey?” she whispered.
“Whole,” he said pleasantly, at odds with his animal expressiveness. “He’s changed his mind.”
“Because you forced him?”
“Because he saw sense, and Marcia.”
She laughed, tossing her head back and meeting his gaze. “Oh, how quickly a young heart switches allegiance.”
“And yours?” His two densely knotted eyebrows rose as one.
“Is bound and unbreakable,” she said solemnly.
Words were done. He reached her with two long strides and crushed her into an embrace. She tilted her chin up and received his lips, the pressure of the kiss sent ripples of shivering along her spine. One firm hand of his was all that was needed to cup her arse and lift a leg upward, so that she brushed against his cock, teasing it with her hips. She hooked a foot around his back and held on tightly to his shoulders and neck with her arms. The kiss was unceasing, and breathless, she had to gasp for air when he finally released her mouth.
He shifted his attention to her delicate neck, then below to each pebbled nipple, while throughout, he probed with his hand, seeking her wetness and testing her readiness. She expected roughness, to be flung on the ground and taken from behind with neither care for her knees or bare skin. It wasn’t for her to decide, she accepted he could take her how he liked, and she would bear what he desired. She loved him, after all.
He abruptly freed his grasp of her, and she slid off his hip and fell against his stiff form.
“My lord?” she asked with some dread. Had he changed his mind? He had said nothing about his plans for her, nor asked if she had been complicit in her abduction. Was he prepared to punish her for leaving with Geoffrey; she hadn’t screamed for help? Realising her mistake, she rose up on tiptoes and implored with her gaze.
“Sir. He took me against my wishes, you do know that? A hood on my head, and just a robe for protection. I could not escape until we reached the privacy of the forest and—”
He swept the hair out of her face and kissed, as tenderly as a beast could, her cheek. “You have no need to apologise, my little bird. The fault lies with me. With so many guests lying about drunk, I should have escorted you to your room.”
The full ray of sun struck his face and cast out the last shadows under his brow and eyes. What of the Zalim? It seemed to dwindle and step back into the shadows. Gervais’s soft smile was full of charm and uncharacteristically emotional. He stared at her with those twitching lips, his hands on her bare hips, the thumbs stroking her belly, the fingertips stretched along the line of each buttock. She tingled, willing him to tumble her backwards and press home his advantage. But Gervais, although in rapture, was peculiarly sedate.
He picked up the robe from where it had fallen, swung it around her shoulders and drew the lapels together, covering her from thighs to cleavage.
