Page 33 of A Knight for Gwenllian

Every thrust pushed her further toward something unfathomable. Every breath she took seemed to increase her pleasure. Something like panic filled her. Where would it stop? Surely it could not get any better?

And then suddenly, it did. Alexander placed a hand on her, just above the place they were joined. It was as if he had set her on fire. Her whole body ignited and started to pulse around the shaft buried inside her, squeezing it hard, milking it.

“Oh, God, Gwenllian, you’re killing me. I have to stop,” he said through gritted teeth. “Jesus. Now. I have to⁠—”

He wrenched himself out of her with what appeared to be a supreme effort and closed his fist around his shaft. Eyes wide with wonder, Gwenllian watched him empty himself on the bed between her legs. She knew what he was doing, of course, why he had not reached his release inside her, but a shocking thought crossed her mind. Why had he not spilled his seed all over her, on her stomach, her breasts? She wouldn’t have minded. On the contrary, the idea of being marked as his was oddly arousing.

Sitting on his haunches, head thrown to the ceiling, fingers closed around himself in an iron grip, Alexander was panting hard, like a knight after a tourney. She drank in the sight, already knowing she would never forget it as long as she lived. She had done that, she had reduced this strong man to a puddle. The thought brought her almost as much satisfaction as his possession had.

“That was…” he started, before shaking his head as if unable to finish the sentence.

“Yes,” she agreed nonetheless. It had been.

“You didn’t feel any pain?”

“No. I can’t say that I did. I was just very…” How could she describe it? Full? No. It sounded too negative. “Wonderful. I loved every moment.”

A slow smile appeared on Alexander’s lips. “I know.”

“How?”

“You started mumbling to yourself in Welsh.” He gave her cheek a stroke and came to lie down next to her once more. “I remember you told me once that anything close to your heart you did in Welsh.”

She had told him that. And he’d remembered. Gwenllian felt something inside her shift. He had taken possession of her body and set her senses on fire with his actions. But his words just now had pierced deep into her soul.

And the impact was perhaps even greater.

She smiled and closed her eyes, nestling deeper into Alexander’s embrace. She had never felt more fulfilled, more cherished or more at peace than in that moment. It wasn’t long before she was asleep again.

Chapter Eleven

What now? Gwenllian mused as she made her way back to Nead an Diabhail.

After Alexander’s departure that morning, she had decided to go for a long walk in the woods, but being outside had not helped her clear her mind or reach a decision.

Last night, or rather this morning, had been spectacular. She had wanted an adventure, she’d had one and more. But that was hardly surprising; from the moment she’d met Alexander, her life had been turned into a whirlwind. A daring rescue from the ruffians, a ludicrous encounter with a French wanton, a thrilling ride alone with a handsome escort, a shocking attack on their persons and now a scandalous night in a passionate lover’s arms. Where would it stop?

Why should it stop?

Had she suspected how wonderful it would feel to be bedded, she would have gone to him long before. But now that she had, what would happen? Would Alexander want more of her and make the most of their time in Scotland to introduce her to all the delights a man and a woman could share? Or would he regret relenting and announce his departure when he next saw her? She couldn’t tell.

A terrible question suddenly seized her.

As an experienced man, had he not been disappointed by her lack of expertise and initiative? She had not done anything to please him, she had only lain under him and let herself be kissed and ravished. Now that she could think clearly, she saw that she should at least have tried to caress him. He hadn’t seemed to mind, making allowances for the fact that she had been a virgin, but perhaps he would now prefer to go back to more satisfying conquests, women who knew how to please their lovers as well as take the pleasure offered to them.

Oh dear. That would be a blow.

As she approached the castle once more, her mind in turmoil, she saw a man slip through the gate as naturally as if he were at home. But that could not be since he was not a Scot.

Gwenllian frowned when she recognized Sir William Parry, the former squire from Sheridan Manor. This had to be one of the last people she’d expected to see here, so far away from home. But now that the surprise had passed, she remembered he had every reason to be here, as he was a dear friend of Bethan’s, and Callum’s godfather. It made sense that he would have come to visit them. But why had Bethan forgotten to mention his visit, and where had he been until now? She and Alexander had arrived two days ago, and Nead an Diabhail was not so big, surely she should have crossed paths with him if he were staying here?

Delighted to see a man she hadn’t seen in years, grateful for the distraction he would provide, she set off after him, but his long legs ate up the ground twice as fast as hers, and she could only watch him disappear into the tower across the courtyard.

When she finally caught up with him, it was to find him at the bottom of the spiral staircase, locked in a passionate kiss with another man.

The gasp escaping her lips alerted the pair of lovers to the fact that they had been seen. Alasdair, a gray-eyed man who only the day before had been introduced to her as Cameron’s squire, swallowed and did his best to protect his lover’s identity. But William did not let him shield him.

He straightened and came to stand in front of him, drawing the attention to himself instead. “Lady Gwenllian, good morning.”