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Then he withdrew a wooden wolf toy from inside his black coat. Mary beamed at the gift and hopped in place, her small arms flying around Rowan’s neck and holding tight.
All the while, Blanchette clasped her heart again.
What is happening to me?
* * *
Jonas and Sir Royce escorted Mary away an hour later, leaving Blanchette and Rowan alone. They returned to the king’s solar with the plan to review the coffers. Instead, they found themselves contently seated and drinking wine, watching as the sun dipped into the woods beyond the window.
Blanchette sipped at her wine, willing her hand not to tremble as the candles emitted their soft murmur. It reminded Blanchette of a seductive whisper.
The grating sound of the chair scraped against the floorboards. Blanchette looked up from her wineglass as Rowan rose to his feet, the decanter and his glass in hand. She sucked in a breath as he walked down the line of empty chairs and seated himself directly beside her.
His mouth lifted into an intimate, knowing smile. Then his fingers wrapped around her own, holding the glass, nudging it downward. He filled it with more wine, and she let out an audible sigh when he released her fingers.
A sigh of relief? Or of disappointment? Even she didn’t know.
“How does it feel to hear Mary’s laughter?” Blanchette asked conversationally.
Rowan smiled over his glass. “It feels like coming home.”
“You told her she’d be the lady of this castle one day.”
“She’s your blood,” he replied without hesitation.
Abruptly, he came to his feet and towered over her. She felt so small in his shadow, and a nervous flutter beat in her chest. He stepped behind the chair in a swift movement, and she felt his large hands come down on either side of her shoulders. His fingers worked their magic as they kneaded her skin with firm yet sensual caresses.
He’s so skilled with his hands.
What else could he do with them? How else could he help me relax and release my tension? An image of herself lying naked in her privy on her wolfskin blanket invaded her mind. She saw his large hands kneading the flesh of her thighs, slipping higher and higher… right to that wet, achy spot between her legs.
He seemed to read her thoughts. “You’re tense.” His voice was in her ear, his hot breath on the back of her neck. “Do I make you nervous, Your Grace?”
She heard the challenge in the sultry tone of his voice. She breathed deeply, taking in a lungful of air for courage. “Nay, my lord. In fact… I think I make you nervous.”
He released a low laugh that filled the solar and did funny things to her racing heart. His hands slid over the curves of her shoulders and gently came around her neck. She relaxed into his soothing touches, the air whistling between her parted lips.
Kiss me again…
“How about now, Your Grace? Are you nervous yet?”
She trembled, and she knew he felt it. His long fingers teased the back of her neck, sweeping away her hair and brushing over the sensitive skin. Just barely. Just enough to make her arch upward and into his touch. He released another husky laugh. His hands artfully moved across her nape. Down her neck, just to where her spine started.
That slight movement sent a fierce tremor through her bones. Her limbs grew heavy. She couldn’t push away his touch, even if she wanted to. Her womanhood tingled as well… she could feel herself growing wet there. She pressed her thighs together, her hot legs sliding against each other from that growing wetness.
She closed her eyes and imagined him behind her—impossibly tall, his raven-black hair curling behind his ears, his broad shoulders tapering into his waist. His shirtsleeves would be partially unfastened, exposing his well-muscled chest and a sparse peppering of dark hair.
His fingers worked the flesh at the base of her neck in deep, soothing caresses. “I feel your tension, Your Grace,” he mumbled in a sensual accent. “Vous êtes nerveux, mais aussi très excité que je vous touche.”Hearing him speak French did funny things to her belly and that wet area. Her head rolled slightly to one side. His fingers took advantage of the access and kneaded the skin more persistently. She relaxed into his touches and felt the knots slowly becoming undone.
His hands made their way down her shoulders and the sides of her body. His fingers caressed the round peaks of her breasts, just barely...
She tightened against the chair as Rowan released a dark laugh that swelled the solar. “And now, Your Grace?” he asked in a teasing voice that invited her to spar. “Are you nervous yet?”
Blanchette swallowed deeply, then forced her body to relax. She began with the tips of her fingers, then her arms and shoulders and back. Her head rolled against the chair’s high back. “Your Grace,” she whispered, her lips smiling. “I am your queen, and you are mine to obey.”
His hands stilled on the sides of her body. She stood from the chair on wobbly legs and stepped around it. His hands moved toward her body, but she stilled them in midair and gently pushed them down. “Sit, Sir Rowan,” she said, her eyes never wavering from his gaze. “Your queen commands it.”
The corner of his lip tilted into a smile. He gave a sharp nod, then stepped around the chair. She held her breath as he took his seat. “Now close your eyes,” she said, and he did. She stepped in front of him, fascinated by how his immense body fit the chair perfectly. He filled it.
