Forbidden Night With The Warrior. Michelle Willingham
the ground like an enchanted carpet, and lush ferns grew in the shadow of the trees. The sunlight painted the leaves gold, and she drank in the sight of the beauty. In her mind, she imagined creating a tapestry with the same bold colours, and she wondered if it could be done.
‘I do love it here. It’s beautiful,’ she told him.
‘Do you...want to see more?’ he offered. ‘Just for a moment or two?’ He glanced back towards the open meadow where the rest of the riders were.
She nodded. ‘But I cannot stay long. Both of us will be missed, and I don’t want to cause you any trouble.’
‘This forest runs parallel to their trail, so we will join up with them quickly.’ He led her a little deeper into the woods, but she could still catch glimpses of the riders. Ahead of them was a small stream dotted with rocks. It ran along the edge of the path, and she stopped to watch the water slosh against the stones.
‘This looks like the sort of place where one might encounter magic,’ she said in a whisper. ‘Or an enchantment. Thank you for bringing me here, Warrick.’
He remained stoic, but in his blue eyes, she saw an intensity that caught her interest. Of all the men she had ever encountered, he was the quietest. And yet, she sensed that there was far more beneath his serious exterior.
‘I suppose we cannot stay any longer.’ Her voice revealed her regret, and she turned her horse back to the pathway. ‘Shall we race back to the others?’ She didn’t wait for him to agree, but spurred her horse quickly, not waiting for him to catch up.
‘Rosamund, wait!’ he called out. ‘It’s not safe to ride fast along the pathway.’
My goodness, she’d never heard him speak so many words in one sentence. She slowed down and turned to look at him. He was riding hard towards her, and then abruptly, he ducked in the saddle to avoid a low branch.
His horse reared up at the sudden motion and threw him off. Warrick went crashing to the ground, where he rolled down the embankment and into the cold stream.
Rosamund abandoned her horse and hurried towards him. He was lying in the water, and she guessed he had struck his head on one of the rocks.
‘Warrick, are you all right?’ She waded into the stream, heedless of her skirts, and rolled him over. Saints, but he could drown in this pool if he was unconscious.
His head was swollen and bleeding, but she breathed a sigh of relief when she heard him groan.
‘Can you stand up?’
‘I need a moment,’ he answered. ‘I’m feeling dizzy.’
‘Then hold on to me,’ she bade him. She sat on one of the rocks while the water coursed around both of them. He did hold her waist, steadying himself. Rosamund felt terrible for what had happened. He had only meant to show her the forest and now he’d been injured as a result. She could see the pain in the lines of his face, the taut tension in his hands.
But then, he seemed to gather control. Something shifted between them, and this time, he looked into her eyes. There was wonder in his expression, and a yearning she’d never expected. His hand moved to her cheek, and the coolness of his caress awakened a contrasting heat in her skin.
‘So beautiful...’ he breathed.
His dark hair was wet from the water, and droplets covered his bristled face. Those blue eyes burned into hers, as if he wanted to kiss her. Saints above, but he was handsome in a forbidding, almost dangerous way. She saw a tiny scar at his temple, as if he’d narrowly blocked a sword from slicing his face. Time was slipping away from them, and she was no longer aware of the freezing water or anything else but this man.
‘Are you badly hurt?’ she whispered.
‘I don’t even feel it.’ His thumb edged her cheek, and his gaze slid over her face, down the lines of her body. She went motionless, not daring to move or even breathe. The heat of his eyes burned through her, and she felt an answering call within her body.
She grew sensitive to the slight touch upon her face and the gentle pressure of his thumb. For a moment, she closed her eyes, uncertain of whether she should pull away. But his palm lingered upon her face, learning the lines of her jaw and chin. A thousand warnings crashed through her, of what could happen while she was alone in the forest with a strange man.
And yet, not once had he threatened her. His touch was inviting, drawing her closer. She felt an invisible connection with this man, making her crave more.
Then he leaned forward and captured her mouth with his. It started out gentle, a slight brush of his lips against hers. She was shocked to feel herself responding to the kiss, tasting his mouth in return. The unexpected kiss heightened her awareness of this man. The cold and the heat mingled together, and he cupped her face with his wet hands, stealing the very breath from her. His lips were firm, claiming her kiss as his own. Never had she imagined a moment like this, but Warrick de Laurent was clearly a man of actions, not words.
He did like her. And with the way he was stroking her wet hair, plundering her mouth, she hardly cared that he wasn’t speaking. All she knew was that she wanted this kiss, wanted to know more about this man. His mouth had tempted her, drawing her closer to him. Heat and need poured over her like water wearing down the resolve of her virtue.
‘I think we should—’
‘No. Don’t think.’ He stood from the water and lifted her off the rock, bringing her to the banks of the stream. And when he lowered her to stand, she found that he was right. She couldn’t think at all. Her thoughts slipped away like grains of sand.
‘Why did you kiss me?’ she murmured. ‘We’ve only just met.’
‘Because I wanted to.’ He leaned down and stole another hard kiss, and it was all she could do not to embrace him, pulling him as close as she dared. She didn’t understand the desires he evoked in her, but this man reminded her of an ancient conqueror, seizing what he wanted.
‘Why did you kiss me back?’ he asked against her lips, nipping them lightly.
She didn’t know what to say, truly. In the end, she was honest with him. ‘Because I wanted to know what it was like to kiss a man.’
‘I was your first.’ His words weren’t a question.
‘Yes,’ she admitted. Her cheeks bloomed with the flush of embarrassment. ‘They will be looking for us now,’ she said, feeling the rise of anxiety. ‘We’re both soaking wet, and you’re hurt, and—’
‘Rosamund,’ he said, touching his finger to her lips. ‘Do not be afraid. I’m not a threat to you.’
She grew silent, and Warrick led her back to her horse. His hands lingered upon her waist a moment before he helped her mount. He swiped at the blood on his head and winced before he returned to his own horse. So he had been hurt but was hiding his pain from her.
When they reached the path beyond the edges of the forest, she saw that the travelling party had stopped and everyone was staring. Shame suffused her, and she felt as if her actions were branded upon her face. ‘What should we tell them?’
Warrick led the way and shrugged. ‘The truth.’ His eyes grew hooded as if in memory of the shared kiss. But there was a hint of amusement in his eyes.
‘We cannot tell them that.’ She was aghast at the idea. ‘I will say that I wanted to see the forest, and you accompanied me. I fell into the stream, and you rescued me.’
‘But you rescued me,’ he contradicted, bringing his horse alongside hers.
‘They will never believe that,’ she argued. ‘My father certainly won’t. For my sake, please don’t deny my story.’
‘I will say nothing.’ But as they drew closer to the group, he lowered his voice. ‘Will you meet with me again?’
His words slid over her in an invisible caress. And although she knew