A Knight to Remember by Christina Dodd Page A

back.
    After all, that was what this was about, wasn’t it? A woman had defied him, and his fragile male pride had been shattered. Although he didn’t look shattered. He looked patient, and that was worse. She didn’t want to surrender, but she’d done a lot of things she didn’t want to in her life. That was, after all, a woman’s lot.
    Resigned, she lifted her head off his arm and pressed her mouth to his.
    “More.”
    His lips moved against hers, and she told herself again she was resigned. But her hand had curled into a fist. Instead of using it as a weapon, she propped it under her head. With the other hand on his shoulder and her eyes wide open, she kissed him with her lips, then her tongue.
    He opened for her easily, a studied contrast to her earlier resistance. But of course he would—he was getting his own way.
    Resigned. She was resigned.
    Breaking the kiss, he asked, “Has no one taught you better than that yet?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “There’s more to this than stabbing a man with your tongue.”
    Before she even thought she said, “But I’m so good at that.”
    “Only when you talk.”
    At some point, she must have put some space between them, because he pulled her close again and rolled her onto her back. She didn’t like the way he rose above her, dominating every space, but she was resigned to giving him his own way.
    “Close your eyes,” he instructed.
    She obeyed.
    “Relax.”
    She tried.
    “Good, now learn.”
    It was the kiss she’d dreamed of all those years ago. Intimate. The roughness of his tongue lapped at the tender tissues of her inner cheeks.
    Passionate. His hands roamed her body, touching places so long untouched she might have been a virgin once more.
    Playful. He nipped at her until she responded with a fight. Then he wrestled her into submission and kissed her some more.
    She’d never before met a man who liked to kiss. When women talked, they agreed that kissing wasn’t pleasure for a man. Kissing was only waiting until the woman indicated her readiness to mate, and if the woman didn’t indicate readiness soon enough, then the man quickly suppressed the kissing. That had certainly been Edlyn’s experience.
    But not with Hugh. Hugh kissed her mouth, her neck, each sharply angled plane of her face, and then her mouth again. He didn’t try to take off her clothes. He didn’t act impatient when she wanted more. In fact, he held her off with as close to a smile as she’d seen from him and said calmly, “I knew I could make you respond.”
    Resigned? Had she thought herself resigned? She wasn’t resigned! She was angry. Abruptly, deeply furious. His smug comment did what nothing else had done. He had relaxed, the whoreson, and she brought up her knee so fast he didn’t have time to even attempt defense. One good strike, and she stood above him while he writhed on the floor.
    Livid, panting with rage, she said, “I’ve already buried two husbands, but I’ll make an exception for you. If you ever touch me again, I’ll bury you before I ever wed you.”

6
    “ A warrior should never exalt in his victory, Wharton, before the enemy is completely disarmed.” Leaning heavily on the long table, Hugh made his way around the dispensary.
    “Ye are wise as always, master.” Wharton danced around him, holding his arms out like an anxious parent with a toddler. “Don’t ye think it’s time t’ sit down?”
    “’Tis a lesson I’ve had taught to me before, but never has it been illustrated as thoroughly as was done this day.”
    “She’s a cruel woman, t’ have unmanned ye so,” Wharton said fiercely.
    “Edlyn is a warrior-woman and worthy to bear my children.” Pausing in his perambulation around the room, Hugh spoke to Wharton in direct disapproval. “And she is your future mistress, so you will speak of her accordingly.”
    Wharton wrestled with the concept of a woman with the power to direct him.
    “In sooth, what she did and what she said did not