No matter what she thought to the contrary.
Bran pressed his lips to the damp, delicate skin beneath her ear. Fine hairs that had escaped her braid tickled his nose, and with surprising ease he lost himself in a picture of them lying upon a feather-ticked mattress amid sweaty, tangled sheets. Her limbs entwined with his, her long brown hair binding her to him like satin ropes.
His breath quickened.
He would trade everything he had for that moment.
But it was not to be. Instead, he did what any rogue worth his salt would do—he tossed aside his chivalrous airs and deepened his embrace. He rocked against her hip with the firm evidence of his desire, at a pace guaranteed to make his blood pound and make his foolish thoughts disappear in a haze of lust.
No past. No future. Just now.
And he might have succeeded, had Caitrina not turned her head and found his lips with hers.
It was her faith that ruined him—her clear and utter acceptance of his wretched behavior. She showed no fear, no worry. She had placed herself wholly and completely in his hands, and trusted him to treat her well. She believed him to be a good man. Abetterman.
Bran reined in his desire.
As their lips meshed in a tender kiss, he slowed the tempo of his presses to a soft grind. The unfulfilled ache in his groin left him bordering on delirious, but it was the right thing to do. And Caitrina inspired him to do the right thing. Even when it hurt.
With sweat beading on his brow, he broke off the kiss.
“You, lass,” he said gruffly, “are more dangerous than a double-edged dirk.”
She looked at him with eyes that were dark pools in her oval face. “Is that it, then?”
He released her hands and stepped back. “Aye.”
A frown creased her brow. “I didn’t find that nearly as satisfying as I’d hoped. My belly is quivering like I am on the brink of experiencing some momentous event. And my blood is hot and hungry with something I cannot name.”
That made two of them. The only difference was that he could name the hunger.
“Those are discoveries to be made on another day. ’Tis time to get some rest. Tomorrow will come all too soon, and I must yet determine a way to free your sister.”
She nodded slowly, but made no effort to retire.
“Go, lass,” he urged, a little more forcefully. His willpower was ebbing. If she didn’t go soon, he might rethink his decision to let her escape.
Her lips pressed against his in a fleeting kiss. “Tomorrow, then.”
His fists clenched at his side. “Tomorrow,” he agreed.
She darted off, finally, leaving him alone in the dark with his thoughts. Dark, delicious thoughts in which he was able to do all the sweetly depraved things to Caitrina that time and his honor would never allow.
Chapter 6
Caitrina rose the next morning bleary eyed and unrefreshed. She had not slept well. After her midnight tryst in the great hall, it had taken her an age to fall asleep. And when slumber had finally claimed her, her dreams had been filled with lusty images of Bran kissing every part of her naked body. The night had been far from restful.
Normally, she was a cheery sort in the morning, rising before dawn and dressing before the others awoke. Today, it was the hushed chatter of the other ladies that prodded her eyes to open. Her maid looked at her with concerned eyes as Caitrina slid her feet to the floor and stood.
“Are you feeling poorly?” she asked.
“Nay,” Caitrina answered, forcing a smile.
“Good,” the girl said quietly, as she helped Caitrina remove her night rail and don a fresh sark and gown. “I was fearful that you had the same illness as the queen. She looked much as you do when she woke during the night. But she was soon shivering and crying out for more blankets.”
Caitrina’s gaze flew to the queen’s bed. Her Grace’s physician, Chevalier Rodan, was at her side, applying leeches to her bare arms and neck. “A fever?”
The maid nodded. “And a dry cough.”
