Forbidden Pleasures Read online

  He reached for her, gently grasping her upper arm. Alyson froze in her place, thinking perhaps that she’d been too quick with her grace. An aura of white light, seen only by one familiar with the spirit world, radiated from his touch. Inside the brilliance, a watery image wavered and she stood mesmerized as the image grew clear. It was a gilded warrior astride a great horse, his sword raised to the heavens in victory as he looked out over a smoke-covered valley. Her breath caught in her chest. She clawed at his fingers, trying to pry them from her arm.

  “What is it? Have I done you harm?”

  Alyson blinked, and the image dissipated into thin air. She found him staring at her, an intent look on his face. “I have been too long in battle, my apologies. I’ve forgotten the finer graces of being with a woman.”

  She backed away from him, slamming accidentally against a potted fruit tree, nearly knocking it over. “There is no harm. Please, I must take my leave.” She hurried down the stone path that wound through the moss-covered fences to the road beyond. From there it was a short walk home. Her father, however, would want to know why she was home so early from her duties. What would she tell him? She looked over her shoulder, seeing Tulia appear from the villa, hurrying to the man. Her expression was stern and she scanned the garden to see if he was alone.

  Alyson ducked quickly behind a tree and prayed the guest would not mention he’d seen her. After a moment, she peeked back to see that the garden was empty. She continued her walk home, at a slower pace now, breathing deeply the calming scent of the evening mist settling over the fertile fields. She attempted to concoct a story to explain her arriving before dawn, when most cena feasts were just finishing. Her father was a man of many concerns, the least of which was to have a daughter that caused difficulties with his master.

  Alyson hugged her arms to her, sending still the power in his mere touch. There was no doubt that he carried a deep magic within him. And it was clear that he was not aware of the intense connection to her spirit. A shiver raced up her arms as she thought of being held in his embrace. What she felt was desire, Alyson couldn’t lie to herself about that, but there was more here than she could explain. For whatever the reason, the gods had chosen to make manifest this connection. She paused on the crest of the hill overlooking her village. Hundreds of Celtic villagers, escaping the terror of the Saxon horde, had found their way here, to a retired Roman general, who had a conscience about Rome abandoning Britannia in their time of need.

  Below, lights flickered within the simple huts of a fragile new beginning. Alyson raised her arms toward the star-sprinkled sky, embracing the energy flowing from the land, its ancient wisdom bestowing to her a balance to her confused spirit, clearing her thoughts, emptying her mind.

  Go to him.

  She held her eyes closed, focusing harder. Laughter and music from inside the villa filtered out into the night.

  Go to him.

  The voice, crystal clear, issued its command. She opened her eyes and scanned the darkness, expecting to see someone emerge from the shadows. Her spirit reverberated with her connection to the Goddess Mother Earth. She began to see not with human eyes, but with her spirit sight. Gooseflesh rose on her arms, her ears became aware of the tiniest sound. Breathless, she waited in awe-inspired wonder. Urged to do so, she turned to look at the gardens outside of the rooms that were prepared for the Roman guests. A soft wind lifted the hair from her neck and she debated the origin of this voice. Was it born of her own desires?

  Go to him. He must believe.

  She fought the voice in her head with her fists clenched at her sides. Why must it be me who is your messenger? Such a request will serve to place my family in danger. What shall I say to him? Why would he believe what I say to him? Alyson knew that once the gods spoke, her spirit would not be at rest until she’d completed the task, but that did not mean that she did not question the wisdom of it or the dangerous consequences if she was caught sneaking around the Roman quarters. She wished there was time to create a spell to reveal what she was to say to him. Instead she had only this nudging, and the brief, but powerful vision. Her best hope was that when she encountered him, the gods would give her the words to say. As though prodded by a ghostly phantom she stumbled over a stone as she turned to pick her way over the uneven ground in the darkness.

  Alyson paused, ducking behind a hedge and waited until the servants lighting the garden torches had passed. She hurried along the path toward the room designated for the guests, the coarse rock pressing against the thin soles of her slippers. As she neared the room, the thought occurred to her that she may well find Tulia in his bed, if her plan had succeeded. She glanced up again at the ethereal moon, challenging the gods. She hesitated, unsure whether to continue. At the far end of the villa, she could hear the music, punctuated by applause and cheering. Not a soul, it seemed, stirred within the guest rooms. Her heart raced and rather than take the risk, Alyson pushed from the wall, determined that she’d imagined the voices, in lieu of her own emotional entanglements about the Roman.

  A firm hand over her mouth squelched the scream bubbling from her throat. Alyson froze, knowing from the size of the man’s body pressed against her that it was useless to struggle. Her brain fought to find a reasonable excuse to relay to her master.

  “Ssshh, I mean you no harm. Promise that you will not scream and I will remove my hand.”

  His voice spawned a shiver across her shoulders. She nodded, tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. Alyson waited as he eased his hand away. His other, however, still held her firm around her waist.

  “First, I must ask you. Are you a spy for the Saxon?” His voice was firm.

  Alyson’s throat grew parched from fear. “Nay,” she managed to squeak. The warmth of his embrace was not like any she’d known, her insides quivered with familiarity. Though she’d yet to see the face of her captor, she knew already it was the man she was sent to speak to.

  “If you try to run, I will call my men. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” she whispered and as he dropped his hand, she turned to face him. “Do you think I would work for the general and spy for the enemy?” The sting of his words wounded her honor.

  “My apologies, milady. Then with any luck, perhaps your coming to my room is for more personal reasons?” He slid the back of his knuckles down her cheek.

  She was almost bewitched by his swaggering confidence, but not impressed with his assumptions. She batted his hand away. “On the contrary, milord, you are lucky that I did not draw my blade thinking that you were a Saxon invader. What purposes have you for sneaking around in the dark?” she demanded.

  He chuckled low. “Good lady, these are my quarters, are they not?” He waited a heartbeat before he spoke again. “Do you carry a blade in truth?”

  She stepped into a swathe of clear moonlight and hiked up her skirts to show him the blade tied to her leg. “Rarely do I say what I do not mean, milord.”

  He lifted his hands in defense, but his white smile showed in the shadows. “You have no further need to convince me. Now, if you are not a spy, nor here for…well, reasons that I must say I am saddened by, then why do you sneak into my chambers at such great risk?”

  “I was instructed to speak with you.” She saw his smile vanish, his expression bathed by the moon, turned serious.

  “From whom do you receive your instruction?” he asked, searching her face.

  Alyson averted her eyes from his steady gaze and searched what to say to him. “Come, sit here beside me and let me see your hand.” She drew him to a stone bench just outside his room.

  “You want to see my hands?” the Roman asked, his eyes alert to the garden around them. “You are becoming a more curious woman, with each passing moment.”

  “You must believe me. Back there in the garden, when you grabbed my arm. There was great magic in your touch.” There was barely enough room for the two of them on the small bench. She took his hand, palm up, and placed it on her lap.

&nb
sp; “I think you would find greater pleasure were my hand turned over,” he stated, leaning close, providing her with a charming grin.

  “Assuming that you think you know what gives me pleasure, milord?” she asked, guarding herself to his bewitching advances. He bore a magnetism that was hard to ignore, no doubt part of his skillful leadership capabilities. That thought reminded her of why she’d been sent. He was far too easy to fantasize about and seated here at his side made the temptation even greater.

  “Forgive me, milady. But do I detect a challenge in your response?”

  “Did you not believe me when I told you I’ve been sent to speak with you?”

  “To be truthful, when a beautiful woman appears in the middle of the night in my bedroom, my thoughts do not turn speaking.” He squeezed her hand.

  “Listen to me well. This is about you, your future. It has nothing at all to do with me, other than to be the messenger for the gods.”

  His fingers touched her chin, lifting her face to his. “And what if I do not believe in your gods or this Celtic magic?”

  Her eyes narrowed, studying his expression. “You do not really believe your unbelief, do you? It is only that it is buried deep inside you for some reason that you do not embrace it,” she countered.

  He gave a short laugh. “In my world, you rely only on yourself, not on something you cannot see or touch.”

  “But you have Celtic blood within you, isn’t it so?”

  He shifted, resting his hand comfortably in her lap. “I was raised in Britannia, my brother and I were taken away when we were young and trained in the Roman army.”

  Alyson lifted his hand closer to look at the lines on his palm. “He is not your brother by blood.” It was not a question, but a statement. She’d seen that much in his lifeline.

  He leaned his head near hers, looking at his hand. “How do you know this?”

  Alyson thought for a man so fearless and bold, he seemed to have little understanding of the beliefs of the Celtic people he came from. ”Everyone has a story, milord. Our paths in life are destined. The gods direct us. They guide us to the tasks that have been selected for us.”

  He chuckled. “Even if I chose to believe that, circumstances force us to make choices. What if they steer us away from this so-called path?”

  She brushed her fingers lightly over his rough flesh. Calloused and scared from battle, she sensed there was more to him. More that he was hiding from others—from himself. “Destiny is patient. She will wait for you as does a loyal mistress. If the wrong path is taken, she will allow you to walk it until it eventually intersects with the one you should be on.” An owl in the trees startled Alyson and she clasped his hand tight.

  “It would not seem, milady, that you are entirely comfortable in the task your gods have assigned you.”

  Alyson darted him a look. “I question why the gods have chosen me as their messenger, to that I will admit.”

  “So you do believe that it is in part…your destiny that you should be sitting here with me?”

  Alyson looked at him, his hand still clasped between hers. “So it would seem, milord.”

  Torin stared down at her beautiful face, her hands so small, so delicate, holding his. The softness of her grasp moved him in ways he’d not felt in a very long time—if ever. As much as he’d have preferred to sample her tempting lips, she had indeed risked her life to come to him tonight. He pushed his lustful thoughts aside. “Tell me. What message is it that you bring from your gods?” He turned his palm up, offering her his hand. With a quick sweep, she pushed her hair over her shoulders and leaned down to look at his hand.

  “Your lifeline is odd, but though broken, you somehow manage to have a fearless heart and are stubborn to a fault.”

  Her fingertips trailed the crease of his skin, the sensation doing more for him than he dared reveal. Though soft-spoken, she was direct and he suspected that if challenged she would not back down. The thought did little for quelling the smoky tendrils of desire in his gut. “Tell me, milady, can you truly read all of that by looking at the creases of my flesh?”

  She looked up, her bright eyes steady on his, and for the first time, she gifted him with a smile—one potent enough that he shifted as though he’d taken a fist to his gut.

  “Then you do not deny my magic?” She tipped her head in curiosity.

  He smiled. To agree with her would validate that he believed in magic. Yet he could not deny the powerful connection he’d had to her from the moment he first saw her.

  “Perhaps, there is a measure of truth in what you say.”

  Her smile widened in a teasing manner that he found mesmerizing. “You are wise then to be cautious for I knew that much about you even before I looked at your palm.”

  Torin stared at her, caught between wanting to kiss her and wanting to dismiss her all together for these silly notions. The latter would have been the better part, but not nearly as enjoyable. He leaned forward, hesitant that he might frighten her, but she held his gaze, unflinching at his amorous advance. There was no fear in her dark eyes. “You have said then what you came to tell me?”

  “I cannot say what purposes the gods have for you, milord, only that you must one day embrace the magic you hide inside of you—do not fear it. It is part of your destiny.”

  Her breath smelled of sweet mead and night air. “And you will not use that blade if I was to beg a kiss from you?” he asked, inching closer, carefully gauging her reaction.

  “For a kiss? Nay, milord. Would I not be a fool to try to stop you?”

  He hesitated. “Because you fear me?” A stab of concern halted his conscience.

  Her hand came to rest on his cheek. “Because I might be pushing away my destiny.”

  He brushed his lips softly over hers, the taste of her igniting a smoldering heat deep inside of him. Her hands fisted into his shirt, matching his fervor kiss for kiss, not holding back—just as he suspected she would be. Perhaps she was right in saying there was a magic he ignored inside of him, for it yearned now to join with hers.

  She offered the gentle curve of her neck to his hungry mouth. Her flesh, sweet with evening dew, pervaded his senses. He drew her gown over her shoulder without protest, baring her skin, her sighs urging him, driven blindly to the soft swell of her breast beneath her thin gown. He wanted to taste her, to bring stiff the tender rose tips of her breasts between his teeth. He wanted to fill her, watch her writhing beneath him, caught up in her pleasure. Torin lifted her in his arms, feasting once more on her mouth. He did not want to think of battles or Saxon tonight. He wanted only to be in the warmth of this woman’s embrace, in the sweet bliss of being nestled between her thighs.

  “Do not be afraid,” he said against her temple as he slid her down his body. His hands grasped her gown, drawing it over her hips, and she struggled, unashamedly loosening his belt, letting it slither to the floor. She looked at him and lifted her arms, allowing him to peel the gown over her head, her lush hair falling free over her shoulders. Torin’s cock, already aroused, grew hard as he brought her mouth to his, his tongue delving to mate with her, the need inside him rising at an alarming rate.

  With a shy smile, she tugged his tunic over his arms, rendering him as naked as she. Her eyes cast a look at his erection and she smiled.

  “You have done this, milady, with but your kiss. Surely, you bewitch me with a magic that I do not fully understand.”

  She reached for his hand, drawing him to the edge of the bed. “Milord, sometimes destiny calls us to action, rather than understanding, don’t you agree?”

  She stroked him, delicately, seductively, teasingly. Torin balled his fists at his sides. “Woman. Your skills are magical. I no longer deny it.” He closed his eyes, turning his face to the heavens, and let out a quiet sigh of praise. Lust clawed at him, but he wanted to savor this moment, languidly enjoying her small hands caressing his ass.

  “What message I’ve given to you, milord, has nothing to do with what I choose no
w to do. This I do freely.”

  Her moist lips closed around his smooth tip, her tongue challenging his sanity. He lifted her chin, raising her face to look at him. “I am tight with need, milady, I pray you have mercy.”

  She reached between his legs, gently massaged his warm sacs. Torin opened his mouth to speak, but the words caught his body blind with need.

  “Does this give you the pleasure?” she asked, her expression soft, alluring.

  The cunning seductress had turned the tables on him, making him a quivering mass in her hands. Torin grabbed her shoulders and yanked her up to face him. “More pleasure than I can barely contain, though I think you prefer to torture, don’t you?”

  She simply smiled and he brought his mouth down hard on her lips, easing her to the bed, tasting himself on her tongue. He wasted no time finding what drew a sigh from her, sampling her firm, round breasts, sweet as he’d imagined. Her hands urging him, he left a trail of warm, wet kisses, parting her thighs to sample her delicate womanhood. She was fire, spreading a raging lust in his blood, yet like a gentle rain washing over his soul. He needed more time with her, but his need was too great and her passion far too strong to deny. Shifting over her, he pushed into her warmth, blinded by her tight sheath. The sensation of her immediate release, pulsating around him, caused him to drive his cock deeper, the heat of her welcoming him, calling to him to a place where his soul was safe.

  “Milord,” she sighed, lifting her legs to his hips.

  “My name is Torin.” He looked down at her radiant face bathed in the moonlight. “I want to hear you say it.”

  Her head thrust back, her body pressing against his as another climax tore through her. “Torin,” she said, her voice laced with ecstasy.

  He ground his teeth to keep from yelling his praise to the gods for her as he gave in to his own release. His body shuddered, quaking with an intensity he’d never known. Torin reached for her face and kissed the shimmer of tears from her cheek. “You did not tell me your name, but I swear to you, I thanked your gods that they sent you to me.”