The Warrior's Forbidden Virgin. Michelle Willingham

man she’d wanted.

      Oh, Sir Ademar was a kind enough person. He rarely spoke, and he was by far one of the most skilled fighters. If she hadn’t let herself be so caught up by Ewan MacEgan, she might have considered him.

      Just the thought of Ewan made her want to strike her fist against the stone wall. He’d apologized, saying that he’d wronged her. He said he’d never meant to fall in love with Honora.

      Her sister was a woman unafraid of anything. Legendary with a sword, Honora could fight against any man and win. Katherine had envied her strength.

      Silently, she wished that she weren’t the good sister. What had that gotten her, but a broken heart? Bitterness bled through her veins like acid.

      Only last night, she’d seen her sister and Ewan embracing each other. Touching one another as though nothing else in the world existed. Certainly not her.

      Katherine didn’t care that it was raining, that her entire body was frigid with cold. Never before had she been so furious, so intent on striking out at the two people closest to her. She wanted to punish both Ewan and Honora, to do something wicked. To hurt them, the way she was hurting inside.

      Without thinking, she tore her hands from Ademar’s grip. She took his face, pulling him down into her kiss. His mouth was warm and wet, something she hadn’t expected. She tasted the wine of his breath, mingled with rain. Her skin warmed immediately, while something forbidden awakened within her.

      Ademar kissed her back, dragging her against his hard body. It didn’t seem to matter that their clothes were soaked, that he was hardly more than a stranger. A rush of longing roared inside her, wanting his touch.

       Was this what it felt like, to betray someone? Wanton and hot?

      He broke free, and her cheeks burned scarlet. What in the name of all that was holy had she done?

      “I’m sorry,” she managed to say. “I was angry for what happened today.” Tears thickened the back of her throat, for she wasn’t at all sorry about kissing him. The only thing she was sorry about was that she’d used him.

      Thank Heaven, he didn’t speak. With his thumb, he brushed a wet lock of hair out of her eyes, guiding it behind her ear. She trembled at the touch of his hand. The rain continued to batter at both of them, clinging to her gown. It felt as though the drops were pounding against her bare flesh. Her nipples tightened, rising from the cold.

      He was staring at her, as though he’d never seen her before.

      “Sir Ademar?” she whispered. “What do—”

      He grasped her nape, tilting her face up to meet his. He kissed her again, slowly. His lips took hers in a sensual onslaught, and she leaned in, letting him learn the shape of her mouth.

      She had kissed men before, but not a man such as Ademar. He kissed her as though he couldn’t stop himself, as though he needed her. When his tongue gently edged her mouth, she opened to him.

      His tongue slid inside, sleek and wet. Her body yearned for more, and she gasped as his hands moved down to her hips. He pulled her against himself, and she felt the hardness of his desire for her.

      She wound her arms around his neck, and his mouth drifted down to her throat. Teasing, tasting him, she moaned. His knee nudged between her thighs, as his palms cupped her bottom. Fire. The rush of need made her desire him.

      He brought his mouth to her ear, whispering, “I’ve never…kissed a woman before.”

      The admission stunned her. A man as handsome as Sir Ademar? Easily one of the strongest men she knew, he’d nearly won the tournament her father had hosted.

      “I find that hard to believe.” Especially given the way he made her feel. Her heart thrummed inside her chest, her body restless and unfulfilled.

      But when she saw the embarrassment on his face, she realized he was speaking the truth. He’d forgotten himself, just as she had.

      “Y-y-you need to come out of the rain,” he stammered. His cheeks reddened at the error in his speech, and she understood then that his usual silence was not from a stoic demeanor. In the past, he had muttered his words, struggling to speak. She’d thought it was nervous behavior, the mark of a shy man.

      It intrigued her, for his kiss was anything but shy.

      “I don’t want to return to my chamber,” Katherine told him. She did not want to exchange more words with her sister, nor hear Honora’s excuses. She needed time away, time to gather her thoughts.

      Ademar held out his hand. “I’ll find a place for you.”

      “For us,” she corrected. “You need to dry your clothing as well.” His garments were as soaked as her own, his tunic, braies, and chausses plastered to his body. Lean and muscled, his body showed the signs of training. Beneath his clothing, there would be scars as well, for all warriors bore such markings.

      Even her sister. Troubled thoughts welled up inside.

       You aren’t like Honora. And you never will be. You don’t have her courage or her strength.

      And once Katherine chose a husband, he would see the truth: that beneath her industrious air and smooth ability to run an estate, lay a woman who let fear dominate her.

      “Will you come with me?” Ademar asked, his hand still outstretched.

      She hesitated, for she sensed that it wasn’t a wise decision to make. She should return to her own chamber, to her own bed. Just as a good daughter would.

      Her frustration flared up again. Obedience hadn’t served any purpose. She’d lost the man she’d wanted and now faced the humiliation of having to wed a different man. Whereas Honora had defied all the rules and won Ewan for herself.

      Ademar saw her hesitation and let his hand fall back to his side. Upon his face, she saw the same dejection she felt. And though it was wrong, though she would regret her actions come the morn, Katherine nodded. “I’ll come.”

      Ademar wasn’t certain how he managed to build a small blaze without burning his fingers. It took all of his effort to keep his hands from shaking. He’d ordered his men-at-arms to leave, not allowing them to see Lady Katherine. She deserved a chance to warm herself without any idle tongues questioning why she was here. But even so, it was dangerous, being in this chamber alone with her.

      What had possessed her to kiss him? Never in a thousand years had he expected such a thing. He couldn’t understand her reasons why.

      It was true; he had never kissed a woman before. As a young man, his father had made sport of him, taunting his speech difficulties until none of the women looked upon him with desire. Due to his rank, he could have had any of them, but he didn’t want a woman who considered him an object of scorn. He had no idea what Katherine thought of him. But at this moment, his senses were captivated by her.

      She stood before the fire. Her silhouette was visible under the wet gown, and her rosy nipples were hard nubs beneath the fabric. The undeniable instinct to touch her was starting to wear down his honor.

      Ademar turned his back, trying to hide his physical reaction to her. God above, he needed to stand outside in the rain for another hour, just to quell the unbidden response.

      Her hand moved to his tunic, which clung to his torso like a wet skin. “You should take this off.” Her tone was matter-of-fact, as though it meant nothing for him to bare his chest before her. But he hardly knew what he was doing here, much less what she wanted from him.

      He knew exactly what he wanted from her. And nothing about it was honorable.

      Right now, he wanted to peel away her wet clothing, to taste her cool flesh, kissing a path down to her breasts. His body ached to touch hers, to join with her in the most intimate of ways. Although he might not have experienced the warmth of a woman’s body, he’d heard stories from his brothers, and he’d kept the information, knowing that one day he would put