Forbidden Night with the Prince

by Michelle Willingham

  ‘Is the water warm enough?’ she asked.

  ‘It is.’ He reached for a cake of soap, but she took it first and dipped her hands in the water, lathering it. The Irish prince was silent while she moved behind him and washed his back. He flinched slightly when she scrubbed away the dirt with a linen rag. It was a task she had done for many of her family’s guests, a common courtesy.

  Yet, somehow, with this man, it seemed different. She was conscious of his bare skin and the touch of her hands over the firm male flesh. With her hands, she scooped water over the soap and rinsed it away, following the path with her hands.

  ‘Were you wounded in the battle?’ She didn’t want to inadvertently hurt him by touching a sensitive place.

  But he only shook his head. ‘Nothing serious. Only a few bruises.’

  Joan tried to behave as if he were an ordinary visitor, but the truth was, she did find him attractive. He was nothing like other visitors she had tended in the past. Not only was he handsome, but his body appeared hewn from stone with its hardened muscle.

  Her cheeks burned with the flush of interest. If he had been her first betrothal, she would have been quite pleased about him claiming her innocence. She liked what she saw, and the very thought of a man like this touching her made her feel breathless. Suddenly, she was beginning to understand the teasing remarks she had overheard by other women in the past. Washing this man made her own skin tighten with anticipation, and she became more aware of him.

  ‘You must be weary after this journey,’ she said. ‘It looks as if you rode here straight from the battlefield.’

  ‘I did,’ he admitted. ‘It took two days to reach Laochre.’

  Her heart softened at the realisation that Ronan had sacrificed everything to reach the MacEgans quickly. It was evident that he’d gone without sleep and food until now, hoping to help his people. He was a man of honour, and she admired his inner strength.

  Ronan was so quiet, it seemed that his thoughts were troubling him. She helped him lean back, and she filled a pitcher with warmed water, pouring it over his hair. It was a strangely intimate task, and the air grew heated as she lathered soap into his hair. He closed his eyes and relaxed against the tub. Joan found herself staring at his muscled arms and the way the water slid over the hardened planes.

  She could almost imagine herself kissing this man, feeling his arms around her. A sudden aching caught her between her legs, stirrings of an unfamiliar desire. She didn’t understand these feelings, but her breasts tightened beneath her gown.

  To distract herself, she rinsed the soap from his hair. Ronan opened his eyes and caught her gaze.

  ‘You have a soothing touch, my lady.’

  All words fled her brain, and she managed only a nod. His green eyes stared into hers, and she found herself fascinated by his mouth. She forced her attention back to the soap in her hands. ‘I—I was sorry to hear that your father is now a captive.’

  Ronan’s expression turned grim. ‘He is. But not for long, I hope.’

  She knew he needed an army to help him fight, and she understood that this was not a king’s son who remained behind stone walls while his men fought to defend the Kingdom. This man would venture into battle with no fear, only aggression. His bloodstained armour proved it beyond all doubt.

  Ronan sat up, resting his arms on the wooden tub. It was time to wash his chest, but her heartbeat quickened at the thought. She wanted to touch him, to slide her fingers over his bare skin and explore his body. Beneath her palms, she felt the rise of his pectoral muscles and his swift heartbeat. His broad chest filled the tub, and she suddenly imagined him standing up, fully naked.

  What was the matter with her? She sloshed water against his skin to rinse it, and hurriedly pulled back to fetch the drying cloth.

  ‘Do you know why they sent you to attend my bath?’ he asked in a gruff tone.

  Joan fumbled for a reason. ‘B-because you are a king’s son and an honoured guest.’ She took the cloth and spun, holding it out and averting her eyes. She heard the splash of water as he stood. He took the cloth from her, drying himself while she turned her back.

  When she risked a glance, she saw that he had tied the cloth around his hips. His abdomen was ridged, and a slight line of hair directed her gaze lower. Her breath caught as she imagined the rest of him, but she dragged her attention back to his face.

  ‘Queen Isabel said you are promised to another,’ she reminded him. ‘The King of Tornall’s daughter, I believe.’

  His expression twisted. ‘No, she is mistaken. There is no formal betrothal between us, despite what my father wanted.’

  Though she revealed no reaction, inwardly she wondered if the queen had brought them together on purpose. It was indeed likely.

  Ronan crossed his arms and stared at her. She couldn’t quite guess his thoughts, but his gaze passed over her slowly as if he were memorising her features.

  She fumbled for something to say but could not come up with a single word. He was staring at her as if he found her beautiful. And a piece of her spirit warmed to it.

  ‘Is something wrong?’ He took a step closer and reached out to touch her nape. The warm wetness of his hand was a distraction she hadn’t anticipated.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  He pulled at her veil, revealing her long dark hair. ‘I want to see you. It seems reasonable enough, given how much you have seen of me.’

  She gaped at that. ‘No, that is unnecessary.’ She reached out for her veil, but he continued to stare, holding the length of linen under one arm. Joan let out a sigh and stared back. His green eyes held interest, which she didn’t want at all. ‘Give me my veil, my lord.’

  But he held it and ignored her command. ‘You are fair of face. It surprises me that you are not yet married.’

  Because they all died, she wanted to answer. It was quite a hindrance.

  Still, her vanity warmed to his words. She wished she could stop herself from reacting so strongly to this man. And so, she squared her shoulders and changed the conversation in a new direction. ‘I bid you good fortune in winning back your castle and rescuing your father.’

  ‘I need your brothers’ help,’ he admitted. ‘But they will not give up soldiers...not unless you can convince them to fight for my people’s sake.’ His voice was deep and husky, and her wayward thoughts turned down the wrong path.

  Now what did he mean by that? He was a stranger to her, and she had no reason to intervene on his behalf. But she could not deny that he attracted her.

  ‘I am not opposed to helping your cause,’ she said slowly, ‘but how do you suppose I should convince my brothers? Do you intend to pay them for their soldiers?’ Warrick and Rhys would never endanger their men on behalf of a stranger—even if he was an Irish prince. ‘They will want something in return.’

  ‘I can offer them an alliance and protection for Killalough, once my father is king again. But I leave that answer in your hands,’ he said. ‘You will know what your brothers want in return better than me. And if you do manage to convince them on my behalf, I would grant you your own wish.’

  Joan nearly choked at the offer. It wasn’t as if she could ask this man for a baby. That was a conversation she could never imagine. Even so, she felt the flustered heat rising once more. Wild thoughts entered her mind, of lying naked upon her bed. Would Ronan enter her chamber and touch her intimately? Would he claim her body night after night, in the hopes that his seed would take root?

  She closed her eyes and forced the sensual vision away. Despite the curse, she could not imagine falling into such sin. Not to mention, her brothers would eviscerate him for touching her.

  ‘N-no, I don’t need anything from you.’ She clenched her hands at her sides, trying to calm the restlessness within. But it was difficult with him wearing only the drying cloth and standing so near.

  ‘I think y
ou do. But you don’t want to tell me what it is,’ Ronan predicted. His voice was low and deep, almost tempting. She started to turn away, but he caught her hand. ‘Why is that?’

  Because it would be a terrible mistake. Even if she enjoyed his body in the way her brothers’ wives had said she would.

  No, she had no choice but to remain untouched for the rest of her life. It did not matter that she wanted a baby of her own. She had to content herself with her nieces and nephews. Why, then, was the thought so bleak?

  ‘Well?’ he prompted. His thumb stroked the centre of her palm, and her body yearned for more. She imagined him caressing her in other places, and it sent a flare of need between her legs.

  Stop this, she warned herself and straightened. ‘I don’t have to tell you what I want. Only that it has nothing to do with you.’

  ‘You don’t like me.’ From the way he said it, it seemed almost like a challenge. And he was wrong—she liked what she saw very much. He unnerved her in a way no man ever had.

  But she kept her tone calm and said, ‘I like you well enough. But that doesn’t mean we need to make a bargain between us. I will speak to my brothers, but the choice is theirs as to whether our men will fight for you.’

  He studied her a moment and told her, ‘Your brothers wanted me to barter marriage in exchange for their army.’

  She wanted to curse at their meddling. ‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘That will never happen.’

  The prince was silent for a moment, and the only sound in the chamber was the dripping of water. ‘Good. Then we are in agreement.’

  His blunt statement should have reassured her, but she had not expected his refusal. Instead, she waited for him to elaborate. ‘I cannot be wedded right now,’ he continued. ‘My first concern must be for my people.’

  Joan understood that. He had been forced into a desperate position, one where lives were at stake. And she offered her own sympathy. ‘You are right to fear for them, and I hope you can save them. I will do what I can to convince Warrick and Rhys. But they don’t want to accept that marriage is the last thing I want.’

  ‘Especially to a man like me.’ There was a mocking note in the midst of his deprecating remark.

  Joan softened her voice. ‘If I ever intended to marry, I would consider you—or at least, a man like you. But as I said before, I cannot wed anyone.’

  Ronan released her hand, his gaze penetrating. She was acutely aware of him and the heat of his skin. It took an effort not to rest her hands upon his hewn chest, sliding her fingers over the ridge of thick muscle.

  ‘Your brother told me that your intended husband died,’ he said. ‘I am sorry for it.’

  It happens too often, she wanted to say but didn’t. Instead, she answered, ‘I had never seen him before. I didn’t know anything about Murdoch.’

  ‘What will you do now?’

  She shrugged. ‘I may enter a convent. Or perhaps I will return to my father’s house and look after him, now that he is a widower.’ She glanced down at him, still distracted that he wore only a drying cloth. ‘I should go and let you get dressed.’

  ‘Not yet.’ His demeanour shifted, and he took on a commanding tone. In that moment, he was a prince in every sense of the word. ‘I need an army to help take back my kingdom. The MacEgans will help, and possibly your brothers’ men. But once they leave, my father’s stepson will only drive our supporters out again.’

  Her brow furrowed, for she didn’t quite understand what he wanted from her.

  Then he continued, ‘I need men who will dwell among us until I know who is loyal.’

  ‘Why not ask the King of Tornall?’ Joan suggested. ‘Surely he would send men to help you.’

  ‘As I said before, I have no formal alliance with them—only an understanding. But if I ask him to send soldiers...’

  ‘He would want you to marry his daughter,’ she finished.

  ‘Yes. And I have met Siobhan. She is not as reasonable as you are.’

  At that, she almost smiled. Reasonable was not a word most men used when describing her. ‘You think I’m reasonable because I don’t want to marry?’

  ‘Yes.’ He took a step closer. ‘And you may know how I can convince your brothers’ men to stay longer.’

  Her gaze shifted towards his bare skin, distracting her again. ‘They would stay for a time if you paid them. But how long do you think they are needed?’

  ‘Half a year, at least. Perhaps longer.’

  She was beginning to understand why her brothers were suggesting a betrothal. Such a length of time would be difficult, not to mention costly.

  But Ronan raised his green eyes to hers and asked, ‘Do you think you can help me persuade your brothers?’ His voice was deeply resonant, like an invisible caress. Her wayward imagination conjured up the vision of his hands around her waist, pulling her near. She felt herself yielding, wanting something she could not name.

  ‘I—I don’t know. I could try.’ And with that, she fled, no longer trusting herself around this man.

  Chapter Two

  Ronan could not deny that Joan de Laurent had caught his attention. He had been unprepared for the rush of arousal that struck hard when she’d caressed his skin. His shaft had grown erect beneath the water, and her gentle touch had made him imagine her hands elsewhere.

  He gritted his teeth, forcing back the image. He had not touched a woman in months now, and he refused to loosen the tight hold upon his desires. The last time he had seduced a woman, it had ended in tragedy. He could not allow himself to weaken again, though his body was rigid with need.

  Joan wasn’t the usual sort of woman he normally desired. She carried herself like a holy woman, wearing white and an iron cross upon a chain. If anything, her earlier remark about becoming a bride of the Church seemed likely. She was a virgin and not the sort of woman he normally pursued.

  And yet, she had washed him like a woman who desired a man—as if she, too, had her own hidden needs. He hadn’t missed the furious blush in her cheeks, as if she would die before telling him of her desires. There was something she wanted, but her refusal to admit the truth only intrigued him more.

  There was no doubt that her brothers had intended to offer Joan’s hand in marriage, hoping she would ascend to an Irish throne. To them, it was an alliance that would elevate Joan’s rank and bring honour to her.

  But they knew nothing of the sins Ronan had committed. He never wanted to be King of Clonagh, especially after his brother’s death. If he could have given his life for Ardan’s, he would have done so a thousand times over. For the burden of guilt never left him. Not a day went by that he did not blame himself.

  Joan de Laurent wanted to be left alone, and that was the wisest course for both of them.

  This morn, he dressed himself in the clothing Queen Isabel had left for him and departed his chamber. It was later than he’d realised, and most of the castle had already broken their fast. Though his body had needed the rest after not sleeping for days, he couldn’t quite suppress the feeling of guilt at lying abed for so long.

  Ronan didn’t bother with a full meal but took bread and cheese from a servant as he passed through the Great Chamber. The night of sleep had cleared his head, and now he had to make plans for his attack.

  He strode through Laochre, feeling the tug of envy. The castle was massive in size, with Norman soldiers and Irishmen training side by side. There was a sense of order, with each person having a place to fill. It was exactly what he’d hoped for Clonagh. His father and brother would have wanted the same.

  The darkness of grief shadowed him, bringing with it a rise of anger. His brother had been kind, responsible, and beloved by all their people. Whereas Ronan had cared naught about what anyone thought and lived his life as he chose. He deserved to lose everything—but his brother hadn’t.

  It wasn’t right or fair. He shou
ld have died, not Ardan or his young son, Declan. But his failure had caused both their deaths, and Ronan would never forgive himself for it.

  He watched the men training, and soon, Warrick and Rhys de Laurent joined him, one on each side. For a time, Ronan said nothing at all, though he knew their silent question. But Joan de Laurent was an innocent—a good woman who didn’t deserve a sinner like him.

  Warrick studied him for a moment, his gaze piercing. At last he said, ‘She told you no, didn’t she?’

  I didn’t ask her, Ronan thought. But he raised an eyebrow and avoided a direct answer. ‘Why should she agree to wed a man she doesn’t know?’

  ‘For the same reason she agreed to wed three other men she’d never seen,’ Rhys added. ‘Because our father arranged an alliance.’

  Ronan eyed the man. ‘Among my people, we don’t marry a woman without knowing her first. I only met Joan last night, and we’ve spoken for less than an hour.’

  ‘Our sister won’t let you know her. She has already decided never to marry.’ Rhys stared back at the soldiers. ‘But that isn’t what’s right for her. She needs a husband and a family of her own.’

  ‘And you’ve already decided this, have you?’ Though he didn’t understand Joan’s reluctance to wed, he was not about to force the issue.

  ‘Our father would be pleased with the idea of Joan wedding an Irish prince.’

  Ronan had no doubt of that. But neither he nor Joan had any interest in marriage. And yet, he wondered if she could convince her brothers to come to an arrangement. He stalled an answer, asking, ‘If she did agree to wed, how many men can you offer me?’

  ‘Two dozen Normans and fifty Irishmen,’ Warrick answered. ‘My wife inherited property at Killalough, and we can add our forces. Add the MacEgan soldiers, and it will be enough to retake Clonagh with minimal bloodshed.’

  He believed Warrick. That would make nearly seventy-five highly trained men and possibly two dozen more from Laochre.

  ‘If our sister agrees to wed you,’ Rhys continued, ‘I will send my two dozen Norman soldiers to remain at Clonagh until you’ve driven out the traitors. If Joan is pleased with the marriage, I will send more.’