He approached her slowly, a ravenous hunger in his savage eyes. He caressed her shoulders, running his warrior hands down her shivering arms, his thumbs stroking the tips of her breasts, making her nipples harden and ache.
Whimpering softly, she touched the dark hair on his chest, marveling at the rough texture against his smooth, rippled skin. The masculine scent of pine, leather, horses, and fresh sweat beckoned her. Beguiled her. Bewitched her.
Bastien’s warm mouth sought her tingling breasts, his skilled tongue swirling, his lips sucking and swallowing until her legs could no longer support her weight. He gently laid her down on the bed and spread her legs to examine every inch of her with famished eyes.
“How I long to taste you,” he whispered huskily, kneeling on the bed as he lowered his lips between her trembling thighs. “Delicious,” he hummed, his tongue licking and probing the tender flesh, the vibrations of his deep voice a musical melody of physical pleasure. Rising onto his knees, he provocatively licked the first two fingers of his right hand. Impassioned eyes aflame, he held her gaze as his slick fingers penetrated her, eliciting moans of pleasure as she writhed under his adept touch. He returned his ardent, adoring mouth to her soft curls, his wicked tongue stroking the tender nub in rhythm with the steady pulsation of his strong, insistent hand.
Gabrielle’s body tensed and tightened, the pressure mounting intolerably as Bastien increased the consistent rhythm of his caresses. When she could bear no more, a pleasure so intense it was nearly painful washed her in waves of impossible bliss as her body contracted on his fingers and quivered under his tongue.
He grinned, licking his lips and fingers, as he stood and removed his breeches, his hardened body released at last from the confines of restrictive clothing. Gabrielle’s breath caught at the seductive sight of his ardent arousal, a hollow ache swelling as she parted her legs and opened her arms to welcome him.
Positioning himself between her trembling thighs, he hovered over her, dark hair tumbling forward over his broad shoulders, fervent eyes ablaze with emerald fire. Sliding calloused, warrior hands under her full hips, he tilted her pelvis up, probed the entrance he sought. And plunged inside.
Pleasure surged as she wrapped her arms around his muscled back, her legs around his thrusting hips, pulling him deeper and deeper into her. She kissed his tightly flexed shoulder, savoring the salty taste, melding her body, her spirit, her essence with his. Matching his pounding pulses, the tension rising to an agonizing peak, her body clenched his in a tight grip, clamping on desperately until she convulsed under his shuddering bulk, contracting and extracting every last drop of his abundant seed.
“By the Goddess,” he moaned contentedly a few moments later. “I have never known such intense pleasure.” Raising a satisfied face to gaze down upon her, he lowered his lips to softly graze hers. “I love you, Gabrielle. I always have. And I always will.” He kissed her again, the tender touch of his soft lips sending ripples of pleasure down her spine. His body slipped from hers, and he laid down beside her on the bed, cradling her in protective arms. “My sword. My heart. My life. I am yours.”
She buried her nose in the dark hair on his chest, inhaling his scent deep into her lungs. “And I am yours. I have loved you ever since I first saw you when I was ten years old.” She raised herself onto one arm, playfully twirling his chest hair into peaks and rubbing them out again. His dark eyes danced in the candlelight. “Thank you for this precious gift. The freedom to give myself to the man I love. I will treasure this night always.”
Brushing a lock of dark hair away from his bristled face, Gabrielle leaned down to kiss his full lips. Her heart clenched in a tight vise at the thought of a stranger—her future husband—bedding her in two short weeks. Eyes brimming, she lowered her gaze to focus on his alluring chest. How could she endure the advances of another man after giving herself freely to Bastien? Tears of anguish flowed down her cheeks. “I cannot bear the thought of anyone but you inside my body.” She buried her face in the dark hair, crying softly onto his chest.
“Nor can I endure the idea of another man making love to you as I did just now. It tears out my heart and sickens my soul.” He wrapped his arms around her, smothering her hair with kisses, groaning softly into her ear.
“I even imagined running away with you, assuming a new identity…” she whispered, raising forlorn eyes to meet his distraught, desperate gaze. “But I can’t abandon my father… or my country. I’m a Viking warrior queen. And I will fight for Finistère.” She kissed the thick hair on his torso, rising onto her knees to straddle him, her long hair falling in a cascade of flame around his broad shoulders. “But let’s not waste a single moment tonight worrying about tomorrow.” She sucked his lower lip into her own. “Let’s savor the time that we have right now. So that the memories of this night together… will help us endure the agony of being apart.” She rubbed the moist, tender flesh between her thighs against his hardening body. Plunged him again into her welcoming warmth. And rode her sublime stallion into sensuous, splendid surrender.
A while later, they reluctantly donned their discarded clothing.
Gabrielle plaited her hair, tucking the long braids up under the wimple.
Bastien strapped on his sword, fastened Gabrielle’s cloak under her chin, and secured his own hooded cape. He blew out the candle, retrieved the key to lock the door, and escorted her back down the stairs to the raucous revelry of jubilant dancers and merry musicians. Returning the key to the innkeeper, he led her outside into the starry night, back to their tethered horses, and helped her climb into the saddle.
When they returned to the castle, he handed the horses’ reins to a groom and guided Gabrielle back into the buttery among the caskets of ale. He stopped in front of a large barrel, pulled her into his arms, and crushed her lips with his. “Like you, I will always treasure tonight.” He kissed her hand, stepped away, and walked over to a wooden casket of ale. Cupping his hand under the spout, he sloshed the liquid deliberately all over his clothing. With a sly grin, he chortled, “I’ll reek of alcohol and act drunk. I’ll create a disturbance—knocking things down as I cause a commotion. The guards will leave your door to investigate, laughing when they find me stumbling around. They’ll guide me out to my quarters near the stables, and you’ll be able to slip into your chambers unnoticed.” He took her hand, leading her up the stairs and into the servants’ area of the kitchen. “Wait here until I whistle. That will be your signal that it's safe to go upstairs to your room.”
Intense eyes ablaze, he caressed her cheek and gently held her chin as his lips reached hers one last time. “Sleep well, my love. Until tomorrow morning, when we practice weaponry…for the last time.”
In a flash, he was gone, leaving Gabrielle quivering in the dark, longing for his touch.
A few minutes later, she heard the scraping of furniture and the crash of a metal platter upon the floor. Booted footsteps hurtled down the stairs, and the low rumble of chuckling men assured her that Bastien’s ruse had succeeded. At his whistle, she slithered from the dark kitchen, past the wrought iron sconces where candles flickered on the stone walls. Up the wooden stairs, down the empty corridor, and into her cold, silent room.
She removed the wimple and unbraided her locks, remembering the sensuous feel of his hands and the delicious way he kissed and inhaled the scent of her hair. Folding the peasant gown neatly, she placed it on her vanity table next to the wimple and strode over to the window to gaze out at the waning moon.
Stars winked in the night sky. An owl hooted to a mate. The crisp smell of winter wafted in the briny breeze.
With a sorrowful sigh, Gabrielle turned away from the bleak, black night.
Climbed into her lonely feather bed.
And dreamed of Bastien.
Chapter 9
Last Lesson
The cold, salty bite of the December wind stung her cheeks and whipped loose tendrils from her long braid as Gabrielle galloped wildly across the heathered moor. Her horse, Marivée, loved the exhilaration as much as her rider as they flew across the grassy plain toward the expansive plateau on the peninsular clifftop where she would have her last weaponry lesson today with Bastien, riding closely at her side.
In ten short days, the Yuletide Joust would begin.
The champion would become her husband.
