N. Walters - Embroidered Fantasies

He leaned against one of the gates, his gaze going inward. His biceps flexed as his fingers tightened around the heavy wood. The dream had seemed so real. His fingers itched with the remembrance of her soft flesh. He’d taken her away from what had frightened her and brought her to bed. Sednar had been there as well, welcoming his dream lady.

Radnor’s cock swelled as he remembered the way she’d allowed them to remove her clothing. Trusted them with her delicate body. He could still smell the sweet scent of her skin and feel the slick folds of her pussy. Her low moans of pleasure had been music to his ears. She’d looked at him as though he were special.

His heart pounded and his breathing increased even as he scoffed at the idea.

Women didn’t trust him or his brother. In spite of the passing years, the Craddock family history loomed large. Their history with women was less than desirable.

He shook himself free of the daydream, swearing under his breath. “Don’t be a fool,” he muttered. The woman wasn’t real. She was only a dream brought on by loneliness and memories. It was enough that he had a peaceful home, the respect and regard of his brother and his horses. It had to be enough. It was all he had.

A sound caught his ears and he cocked his head to one side, listening intently. He heard it again. A low groan followed by the sound of fabric shuffling. Someone was in here.

Radnor strode silently down the aisle, hand on the pommel of his sword, checking each stall as he went. It was probably one of the stable boys, but he wanted to be certain. Most of the stalls were empty, but a few had bales of hay stacked inside, ready to be spread as bedding for the horses. In the last stall on the left, he found his intruder.

He froze, unable to believe his eyes. Lying on a stack of hay bales was a woman wearing a garment of the most striking color he’d ever seen. It was almost blinding in its intensity. Her slender legs were bare. The bottom of her unusual dress was pushed above her knees. Most of her arms were exposed, as was a wide swath just above her breasts. Something metal glinted down the center of her garment when she shifted.

Her lips parted on a low groan, freeing Radnor from his stupor. He opened the gate and stepped into the stall. Her hair barely touched her nape and was as black as the night. Her lips were rosy and full, begging to be kissed. Her cheekbones were high, her nose straight.

He frowned, his eyes narrowing as he noted the pallor of her skin. He moved closer and the faintest scent of flowers wafted before him. Recognition hit him full force. He knew this woman. Knew the feel of her skin beneath his palms, the scent of body when it was aroused, the full shape of her ample breasts and the strength of her supple limbs.

She was the woman from his dream.

Her eyelids fluttered open and she stared up at him. Her eyes were gray, the same color as a morning mist over the lake. She blinked once, opened her mouth and screamed.

The shape of a huge man loomed over her. Roxanne scrambled away even as she opened her mouth and screamed. Michael had found her and he was trying to kill her.

She blinked as she scuttled away. She was lying on a hard, scratchy surface.

Something was wrong. She didn’t recognize her surroundings. Had Michael knocked her out and taken her somewhere?

Her body broke out in a cold sweat and her heart pounded so hard it hurt her chest.

Roxanne couldn’t breathe. She tried to scream again but couldn’t get enough air into her lungs. Terror filled her even as her fingers closed into fists. She would fight back. She was a victim no longer.

He moved into a shaft of light coming from a high window. Roxanne frowned. It wasn’t Michael. Her heart skipped a beat. He was huge, maybe even bigger than her ex-husband. His expression was fierce. His golden-brown eyes reminded her of those of an eagle, sharp and predatory. His jaw was square, his lips firm. He had a bump in the center of his rather large nose and a wicked scar on his right cheekbone just below his eye.

His dark brown hair fell all the way to his waist. She swallowed hard when she realized he wasn’t wearing a shirt. His massive chest was bare, covered only in a light sheen of sweat. Oh god. Was he one of Michael’s friends? The one from prison Michael had mentioned. He didn’t have any tattoos. But that didn’t mean anything. It was naïve to think everyone who went to prison had them.

He held out his hand. “There is no need to be afraid. You are safe.” She frowned. She’d heard those words before. His voice was familiar too. The fog cleared from her mind and she tried to remember what had happened. She’d hit her head on the edge of the table. Michael had caught her when she’d made a run for the kitchen, dragging her back to the living room and tossing her onto the davenport. She’d landed on top of the tapestry.

She stilled, staring at the stranger who’d made no move toward her. She noted a few things she hadn’t before. He was wearing thick bronze bands around his biceps and his wrists. Leather pants molded the heavy muscles in his thighs. Brown leather boots covered his feet, rising almost all the way to his knees. But it was the huge sword strapped to his waist that caught her attention. How she’d missed it before now, she had no idea. The thing had to be at least four feet long.

“You’re the mystery man from my dream,” she blurted.

He frowned, his dark brows drawing together. He took a step toward her and she shifted back until her back struck something hard. She was in a stone room of some kind, sitting on several bales of straw or hay. Impossible.

“Dream?” He lowered himself slowly until he was sitting next to her. She was effectively caged in with nowhere to go. He lifted his hand toward her and she flinched in spite of her resolve to be brave. He hesitated but didn’t stop until his fingers cupped her jaw. “What dream?”

His voice was deep and compelling. Before she knew what she was doing, she was spilling the details. “You saved me from my ex-husband and then took me to a castle, and then…” She could feel the heat creeping up her cheeks and knew she was blushing at the memory of what had happened, even though it had only been a dream. “This must be a dream too. Maybe I’m unconscious somewhere.” She grabbed a piece of skin on her arm and pinched. Hard. “Ouch.”

He sat back and his fingers drifted away from her face. “Why did you do that?” He seemed genuinely perplexed.

“Because I’m dreaming,” she explained. “Michael was attacking me and I fell.” She frowned. “Maybe I have a concussion or something,” she muttered. She sensed her dream man’s growing impatience and hurried on. “You saved me from him the first time, so I guess my subconscious conjured you again. I blame it on the tapestry.” She sensed the change in him immediately. His entire body tensed, every muscle coiled and ready to react. Expectation filled the air around them. “What tapestry?” She heard the urgency in his voice and responded. “The one I bought from the white-haired lady at the flea market. It was pretty dirty, but it cleaned up nice. It had a picture of two warriors standing in front of a castle so it’s no wonder I conjured you out of my imagination.”

And why she was babbling about an old tapestry when she was probably in grave danger, she had no idea. Had to be nerves. But if she was dreaming, why was she nervous? Roxanne was confused and her head was pounding. She raised her hand to her left temple and touched it gingerly, moaning when it increased the throbbing in her brain.

“You’re hurt?” He leaned forward and tilted her face toward the light.

“It’s nothing,” she lied. “It’s just where I hit my head when Michael tossed me over the side of the davenport.”