Faerie by Jacobs Delle

Author:Jacobs Delle
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Romance
ISBN: 1612185932
Publisher: Thomas & Mercer
Published: 2011-12-31T14:00:00+00:00

Deep and hard the night wind blew, like dark, frosty fingers lacing into his hair. Armorless, he rode, swiftly as his great grey warhorse would take him. The road beneath the hooves turned to dust, to mist, to heather-strewn rock, and fell away behind them.

Fly, my Tonerre, fly like the eagles!

“Help me! Philippe, save me!” She struggled against her captor, who would force himself on her to obtain her land.

“I charge you with her life, Peregrine,” said Rufus. “Do not fail me.”

He was the king’s man. The woman was his. His heart throbbed with fear for her and ached at the thought of losing her. Calling to her, he rode hard, forcing his stallion to greater speed over the countryside after the fleeing villains.

The grey horse rose into the air and sped past clouds and moon, chasing the brigand knights on their ghostly mounts as they raced across the moors and valleys toward the spires of Durham, sitting on its hill above the sharp curve of the river.

He sliced and stabbed his way through the dark knights, parrying their blows, his sword swinging wide and deadly arcs until he reached the leader, who clenched Philippe’s struggling wife with one arm and the hilt of his gleaming steel sword in the other hand. Fulk. Hot rage surged power into Philippe’s arm. With a mighty swing, his sword took off the villain’s head. The head flew through the air and landed among the rocks, bouncing and bouncing, and came to rest in a trail of its own gore.

The head of Fulk glared in frozen hatred, the mouth gaping and still. But nay, it was not Fulk. ’Twas Clodomir, the sorcerer. And this time, dead. His enemy, and hers, both dead, gone. She was safe now. Even from the sorcerer’s curse.

Philippe’s wife. Leonie, his wife. She stood before him, still and beckoning amid the bloody battlefield, her strange, compelling green eyes seeking her mate in him.

They’d had clothes, but now the garments were gone. It had been so long; weeks, months, and years had passed since he had taken a woman, and each day his bollocks had grown harder with need, their hunger unsatisfied. Now he had a wife again, one with sleek curves and long, long legs to wrap around him while he embedded himself deeply inside her, all the way to his hilt.

“You must not.” Nay, it was Joceline who spoke to him, but Joceline was dead. Had died because of him.

“You cannot kill another,” said the voice he could never forget. “You are cursed. Let me be the only one.”

Nay, said his heart. The sorcerer is dead, the curse ended. It will be all right. She will be safe. And I will not let myself love her, just make love.

“I want you,” said his voice to his wife, its rough, low sound betraying his raw hunger.

“You want me. I am here. Take me, Peregrine.” She trailed the tips of her fingers down her chest between her breasts, over her navel, down to touch the rusty-blonde curls she wore like an indiscreet garment.

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