and against her lips, he whispered, ‘We are naught but strangers, Lady Carice.’
They were. And perhaps that was why she wanted to kiss him. It would mean nothing, and after they parted ways, she would have a memory of what it was like to kiss a man.
She kept her voice hushed and murmured, ‘That is why it will not matter to either of us.’
His hand cupped her face, and she felt the forbidden heat that was there. She brought her hand back to his face, feeling the smoothness of his skin. Upon his throat, there was a faint trace of bristle, as if he’d missed shaving there.
And then he did lean in, kissing her softly. It was hardly there at all, and she felt a sense of disappointment. He was holding back, treating her as if she were made of glass. She could almost imagine his silent question: Was that what you wanted?
No, it wasn’t. Several times, she had seen men and women engaged in trysts. On some nights after they celebrated feasts, she would sometimes find couples stealing time together. But there had never been anyone for her. And then she’d grown so ill, she hadn’t been able to leave her chamber.
The kiss had been an idle wish born of longing and loneliness. She found Raine de Garenne quite handsome...and she knew that there would never be anything more between them, beyond a day or two spent in his presence.
His hands moved over her face, framing it. For whatever unknown reason, his touch was now a silent question. He was waiting for something, and she knew not what. In answer, she tightened her arms around his neck. Both of them were aware that these moments were unwise, and if she were caught in the arms of a Norman, her father would murder Raine where he stood.
She didn’t care.
Carice had no time to react before his mouth descended upon hers. The kiss was hot, melting away her awareness of the outside world. Her lips merged into his, and she tasted a hint of mead upon his breath. His tongue entered her mouth, and her knees gave out at the unrelenting sensations. He caught her, pressing her back against the frigid wall. But as his mouth consumed hers, she felt none of the cold—only a desire that was transforming from a kiss into a frenzied need.
‘No one will take you against your will,’ he murmured against her mouth before he claimed it again. ‘Not while I’m here.’
* * *
He was behaving like a ruthless bastard. Raine knew it, and yet, he didn’t want to stop kissing this woman. Despite her frail body, there was a fire within her. He tasted her yearning for a different life, and she had kissed him first. Though it might seem that she was a woman of loose virtue, somehow he didn’t believe it. Her gesture spoke of a woman who wanted to claim every last moment of life before she went to her grave.
It was unnerving, and yet, he was entranced by her sweetness. She aroused him with the barest touch, and his wicked mind imagined touching her boldly, marking her innocent skin. But he would not force her into more—not as weak as she was.
Raine broke the kiss and listened intently. There was no sound of her father’s men, and when he peered through a tiny crevice, he could see no one. He supposed it was unwise to reveal his face to her, but he’d spoken the truth when he’d said he needed her to trust him. It was unlikely that they would see one another again, and if he saved her life, she would not believe he was guilty of killing the High King.
‘Do you think it’s safe?’ Carice whispered. Her voice was breathless, and her hand touched his. ‘Are my father’s men gone?’
‘Stay here while I look.’ He pressed her back into the shadows while he pulled the stone door open, climbing into the chamber.
The moment he entered the room, he drew his sword, listening hard. Carice obeyed his orders, remaining hidden within the wall.
When there appeared to be no danger, he moved towards the door, waiting. Though it was likely that the men had continued their search elsewhere, he knew better than to believe that the threat had vanished. He rested his hand against the door, keeping his sword poised. Seconds ticked by, and he threw open the door, only to find an armed soldier standing guard.
Raine shoved the man back against the wall, his sword at his throat. ‘Why are you here?’ He spoke in his native language, not caring if the man understood him or not.
The soldier’s face went white, but he stammered a reply in the Norman tongue. ‘The—the chief of the Faoilin clan is searching for his d-daughter.’
‘Do I look like the sort of man who would allow a woman to trespass here?’ He pressed his blade against the man’s throat, leaving a trace of blood.
The soldier’s hands were shaking, and Raine told him, ‘Leave your weapons behind and go. And if I see you or any of the other men return, you won’t breathe again.’ Never once did he speak in the Irish language, for he wanted the man to believe he was an enemy.
He released the soldier, and the man hurried down the stairs. Raine followed him, keeping his weapon drawn. The chapel was empty, and he crossed the space, watching as the man retreated. It soon became clear that the guard was the only one left behind, for a single horse was tethered. He guessed that the man had stayed to learn whether or not Carice had hidden herself.
Which she had, but thankfully, the woman had not emerged from her place within the wall.
Raine watched while the man rode away, and he wondered what he should do about the Lady Carice. He had been commanded to kill the High King—Henry had demanded it as the price of his sisters’ freedom. It would cause chaos in the midst of Éireann, making the provincial kings rise up against one another. And it would allow Henry to gain full control of this land, creating order where there was none.
Carice Faoilin could allow him to get even closer to the High King, giving him a reason to be at Tara. Why should he not deliver the missing bride to her betrothed husband? Especially if Raine intended to kill the man anyway? Carice would not have to wed Rory Ó Connor—not if he carried out the man’s death sentence.
And yet, she had already fled her father in an effort to avoid the marriage. If he tried to bring her to Tara, she would only run away from him as well. Or if Trahern MacEgan arrived, she would go willingly with the man she had already asked to save her. Raine turned over the idea in his mind, wondering if he should use her or let her go.
She kissed you, his conscience reminded him. What sort of man would betray a woman who had willingly touched him? Only a bastard whose soul was already damned. He hardened his heart, knowing that it was better if she hated him. He was a killer, not a man worthy of redemption.
Yet, he didn’t want to let her go. Not only was she the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, but she had awakened a protective instinct within him. He wanted to guard her innocence, to see those sky blue eyes look upon him with gratefulness. She was unable to defend herself, and he wanted to slaughter any man who dared to threaten her.
There was no logical reason for his possessive urges, save her touch. It had conjured a fire inside him, stoking the need to caress her, to make her burn in the same way he did. The taste of her lips had aroused needs he’d buried for months. And if he took her with him, he could spend more time in her company.
After he was certain the soldier had gone, Raine returned to the sanctuary. Shadows clung to the stone walls, and he stared at the simple altar, remembering the men who had died in the fire. He could almost sense their chastisement for the thoughts he was considering.
