Warrior Of Fire. Michelle Willingham

him, because of the tiny space within the walls.

      The voices in the chamber grew quieter, and eventually she heard the door close while the soldiers searched the remainder of the abbey.

      ‘Why did you do that?’ he demanded in a low whisper. The feeling of his mouth against her ear brought a rush of gooseflesh over her skin.

      He was right—it had been nothing but a mistake. There were no excuses for what she’d done, and he wouldn’t understand her reasons. But even so, she answered honestly, ‘I wanted to know what it would be like to kiss a man. You were near, and I acted on impulse. I wasn’t thinking clearly.’

      ‘We could have been found by those men,’ he whispered harshly. ‘Or was that what you wanted?’ He touched his finger to her chin in silent chastisement.

      She winced, embarrassed by what she had done. All she could say was, ‘Have you never acted without thinking?’

      ‘No.’

      And she suspected that was true. This man was iron-willed, a strong soldier accustomed to making battle plans. His commanding presence suggested that he expected all orders to be obeyed.

      She tried to extricate herself from his body, but he stopped her. Against her ear, he murmured, ‘We cannot leave yet. They may still be nearby.’

      Carice said nothing, but turned her back to him. At least then he would know she hadn’t truly meant to bother him.

      The tension lingered, making her feel ashamed of what she’d done. If he had stolen a kiss from her, she might have had the same reaction. It was no wonder he hadn’t kissed her back.

      Liar, her mind chided. If he had kissed you first, you would have enjoyed every moment. She pressed both hands to her cheeks, wondering what was the matter with her. Standing with him in the dark was giving her a strange sense of recklessness. But then again, when you knew your life would likely end before the year was out, there was no reason to be coy or shy. She couldn’t bear the thought of the High King being the only man to ever kiss her. The chains of her betrothal were suffocating, and she fought against them with every breath.

      Raine’s hand brushed against hers, and he threaded his fingers as he held her palm. His gesture confused her, for it was almost an apology. She squeezed his hand in return, wishing she could go back and ask permission before she’d assaulted his mouth.

      His thumb began to stroke the edge of her hand in a silent caress. It confused her, because wasn’t he angry with her right now? She closed her eyes, though his touch echoed within other places in her body. She tried to focus on the freezing cold stone walls or on how weary she was.

      Not the man who was quietly undoing her senses.

      But then, he took her hand and brought it to his neck. Beneath her fingertips she felt the warmth of his bare skin, and she couldn’t resist the urge to put her other hand up, bringing them back into an embrace.

      He leaned in, 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