nip but it sent pleasure surging through her. He licked over the bite, a low rumble vibrating his chest and throat. Her hands curled into talons on his biceps.
“Ye make me impatient, lass. Like a lad without a beard.”
“Patience is overrated as a virtue.”
Her voice was raspy with need. Keir slid his hands over the curves of her hips, gripping them and lifting her up onto the tabletop.
“I agree.”
He pushed her chemise up to bare her thighs, his hips pressing them apart. He gripped her hips again, holding her firmly as he raised his kilt and moved his body until the head of his cock pressed against her. For all the rush to penetration, neither of them hurried the pace. He rode her gently, keeping each thrust smooth. He lingered deep inside her, letting her feel the way her body stretched around him. Helena reached for his hair, tangling her fingers in it. Her senses were full of his smell. Pleasure tightened slowly until it became unbearable. Her husband sensed it and abandoned his lazy pace, his body working fast and hard to push them both over the edge into a pulsing rapture that wrung a cry from her.
He held her, remaining deep inside her as their bodies quieted. His hands smoothed over her. He plucked at her chemise and finally moved back enough to pull it over her head.
“I think I shall keep ye nude.”
“I’ll freeze.”
He grinned and scooped her off the table, walking across the floor toward the bed. He settled her among the bedding and joined her there, his hands cupping her breasts while he trailed kisses over their soft skin.
“I’ll keep ye warm, lass, and that is a promise.”
The Chapel of St. Peter-ad-Vincula was silent. Keir walked down its center aisle, making the only noise, and that was minuscule. His fellow peers sat waiting for him. It was the same place that others had been condemned, the same aisle that Anne Boleyn had walked down before her head was struck from her body. Had she been as full of life? Helena watched her husband and couldn’t help but marvel at the way he moved. It was powerful and striking without a hint of hesitation.
He reached the end of the aisle and stood firmly in front of the assembled lords. The trial commenced and each moment felt like a dagger being poked into her skin—small torments that produced an agony that lasted for an eternity. When the last question was asked, they both watched the lords retire to a chamber for deliberation.
Helena wondered if it would, in fact, be a true verdict of their opinion on the facts. So many times the guilty verdicts pronounced were given in response to the king’s whim. Anne Boleyn’s had been. The large doors shut, preventing her from seeing what transpired. She stood with two yeomen of the guard. Their faces were like stone while they guarded her. Soon enough she would be called to answer to the details of whatever the lords wanted to know. But she smiled because her husband would have at them first and Keir McQuade was no fool.
The nine lords sent to judge her husband were quite intimidating. Helena faced them without fear. Her husband was gone now, so that her testimony might be kept from his ears. A test of their honesty, to see if their accounts matched. Lord Warwickshire sat among them along with his Scottish son-in-law, the Earl of Alcaon. Brodick McJames was dark-haired like Keir and he wore his kilt proudly. They were the highest-ranking men present. True to his word, Alarik McKorey sat among the English barons but that was only three votes against the others that she felt sure would judge the situation fairly. Lord Bramford rose and began questioning her the moment she stopped in front of them. His voice was coated with disdain, and he peered at her like one might a rodent. Helena refused to be intimidated. She answered his question but the man became bolder.
“Come now, Lady Hurst, do you intend to maintain that your brother lowered himself to striking you because you did not defend him in the presence of the king?” Lord Bramford said as he pointed at her. “Admit that you were Lord Hurst’s lover.” He spoke it so calmly, as though it was the most common truth. She lifted her chin in the face of his accusation. She had no shame to cast her eyes at the floor over.