It was dark, save a single candle burning beside his bed. Ronan had closed the window in his chamber to keep out the chill of the night air. All the preparations had been made, and he had arranged to take six MacEgan soldiers as an escort to Killalough. Patrick had forbidden him to take his younger brother, despite Ewan’s arguments.
Ronan hoped to add more men if the de Laurent lords would agree to help. He already knew they expected a betrothal, but unless Joan changed her mind, that would not happen. Still, he had sensed a difference in her today. It truly did seem that she might reconsider a marriage with him, though she was afraid of the curse.
Ronan stripped off his armour and tunic when a knock sounded at the door. It was late, and he was not expecting anyone. His hand moved to the dagger at his waist, and he kept it there when he opened the door.
A serving girl stood at the threshold, holding a tray. Her hair was covered by a veil, and she wore a shapeless grey cloak. She kept her face averted and held out a goblet and ewer of wine. His suspicions went on alert, for he had not ordered wine.
‘Who sent this?’ he asked, wary of the young woman’s presence.
She gave no answer but took a step into his chamber and closed the door behind her. Her refusal to speak struck him as unusual. Instinct warned him that this servant might be a threat, but the longer she stood there, the more he sensed something familiar about her.
‘I did not ask for wine,’ he said.
Again, she did not speak, but set down the tray and poured wine into the goblet, holding it out to him. Her actions were not those of a servant at all, but of a woman who did not fear a prince’s orders.
In the darkness, he could not see her face, but the familiar scent of flowers struck him like a quarterstaff to his gut. It was Joan. Why was she here, and what did she want? It was clear that she was trying to disguise herself, but he saw through her efforts.
Ronan took the goblet and lifted the cup to her lips. ‘You drink first.’ Though he doubted it was poisoned, he wanted to see her reaction. If there was anything in the cup that was out of the ordinary, she would taste it first.
The woman hesitated but obeyed. When she held out the cup to him again, he took it and drank from the goblet, never taking his eyes off her. He tasted the warmed wine, and the flavour held many spices with a hint of cinnamon and cloves. She took the goblet from him and set it down.
Ronan waited, trying to understand what she wanted from him. A warmth seemed to catch within his gut, spreading out like a flame. It was not at all unpleasant, but it felt relaxing. For a moment, it was as if his troubles slid away, leaving nothing but her.
When he heard the soft rustle of fabric falling to the floor, he realised that Joan was offering herself to him. Why would she do this? Earlier, she had refused to even consider a betrothal and had cut him off before he could speak. But now, it seemed that she wanted something else. Every suspicion tightened within him.
Before Ronan could order her to leave, Joan reached for him. Her arms wound around his neck, and she pressed her bare breasts to his chest. Her skin was cool, and the unexpected skin upon skin sent a bolt of desire through him. He wanted to cup her softness, to torment her swollen nipples. Damn her for this.
He could not stop himself from kissing her, but this time, he became the hunter and Joan his prey. She yielded to him, and he invaded her mouth with his tongue. She gripped his neck, her fingers sliding into his hair. Ronan kissed her hard, wanting to show her that he would not be led astray. She would not command him.
He had already told her he would not grant her a child. Did she honestly believe she could convince him otherwise? She might be an innocent, but there was no denying that there was another side to Joan de Laurent—a wild woman who responded to his touch, desiring more.
She continued to kiss him, running her hands over his shoulders. Her touch ignited his senses, hardening his shaft. And though he had no intention of granting her wish, neither would he turn her away. Not yet. She had begun this wicked game, but he intended to win it.
Her skin was like silk, and he explored her with his hands, moving down to cup a breast. He stroked the erect tip of her nipple, and she gasped as it hardened.
‘You like that, don’t you?’ he murmured in Irish. He was not about to reveal what he knew. Instead, he decided to tempt her more, to show her the pleasure that could be between them if she accepted the betrothal. He lowered his mouth to her breast, suckling the tip, and she moaned, arching her back against him.
‘That’s it, a stór.’ He rewarded her by lifting her into his arms and taking her to the bed. He left his trews on, but laid her down gently.
It was then that he realised the effects of the wine. Somehow, it intensified the desire he was feeling, and from her reaction, he guessed it had done the same to her. He brought the goblet to her and helped her sit up. When he pressed it to her lips, she hesitated, but he urged her on. She had brought this potion, and he wanted her to experience the full effects of the wine.
After she had drunk from the goblet, he laid her back down and spilled a little of the wine upon her bare skin. She gasped again, but he silenced her when he began to drink it from her body. His tongue moved over her skin, around the curve of her breast, back to the nipple again.
The potion affected him deeply, and his shaft grew thick like an iron rod. He had no control over his body’s response, but he intended to make Joan fully aware of what she had done.
He suckled her hard until she opened her legs to him, her breathing coming in quick gasps. He did the same to the other breast and moved his hand to her inner thigh, stroking the soft skin. As he tormented her other nipple, he moved his palm to her heated centre and was rewarded with the damp seam of her opening.
‘Dieu,’ she whispered, and he slid a single finger inside her.
* * *
Joan didn’t know when she had lost command of herself. She had paid the wise woman for the potion, which Annle had claimed would deepen Ronan’s desire and fill him with lust. But never in her wildest imaginings had she believed she would have to drink it, too.
Her skin was heightened with such sensitivity, she felt as if she would burst into flames. The heat of his mouth, coupled with the gentle stroking of his hand, was taking apart her mind and her heart until she was at his full mercy.
Then he positioned his thumb upon the hooded flesh and began to caress her as his mouth laved her breast. The rhythm of his fingers mimicked the motion of his tongue, and she began to imagine how it would feel to have his shaft within her. She wanted him desperately, craving the invasion that would come.
Joan wanted to command him to remove his clothes, but she could not speak Irish. Worse, she had been unable to stop herself from the single word that had escaped her. She feared that Ronan had heard it and would question who she was. If he learned the truth, she didn’t doubt he would send her away. The sense of urgency deepened within her, and she threaded her hands through his hair, lifting her knees to allow him full access. She needed him to claim her, to finally break the curse.
But instead, Ronan lowered his mouth to her stomach, trailing a path towards the dark triangle of hair between her legs. With both hands, he cupped her hips and lifted her to the edge of the bed. Then he knelt down and tasted her intimately.
The shocking sensation was so bold, she nearly came off the mattress. A guttural cry tore from her, and she gripped the bedcovers, unable to understand the rush of need.
His tongue entered her, flicking over her sensitive flesh, until she could no longer grasp a coherent thought. Her body was rising higher, seeking something with such desperation, she could not quite understand it.
He spoke in Irish against her, and she wanted so badly to answer him, but she did not dare. Instead, she rocked against him, fighting back against the rising wave of pleasure.
And then he switched into the Norman language. ‘
I know why you came to me. But I will not give you what you seek. Not until betrothal vows are spoken.’
Shock reverberated through her. She had tried so carefully to disguise herself, to come to Ronan in the darkness without speaking. And yet, somehow, he had guessed.
She could not think of what to do now, for he slid a finger inside her and pressed against the walls of her opening while his tongue worked her. A hot sensation caught within, spiralling her upwards until she arched hard against him. She was nearly sobbing from the pleasure, until it broke apart and she rode the storm of intensity. Her body trembled from the coursing pleasure, but Ronan only held her as she shuddered.
Never in her life had she imagined she would feel like this. But he kept his word and did not touch her any more. A sense of panic mounted inside her, for the curse was not broken. She had to do something to bind him to her, or else he might be killed when he returned to Clonagh.
Her heart bled at the very thought. Though she had not known him for very long, she could not deny that she had feelings for Ronan.
She sat up from his bed, her heart pounding. He rose and went to retrieve her fallen garments. There was no question that he meant to send her away. But she could not allow it. Not yet.
Though it was the greatest risk, she stood before him and took the gown. Then she let it fall from her fingertips to the floor. Without knowing where she got the courage from, she reached for the ties of his trews and unlaced them. Her warm hands slid down his backside, and he went rigid.
She waited for him to command her to leave, but when she reached around to his erect manhood, Ronan closed his eyes and let out a rough breath of air. Her palm curved over him, and she marvelled at his length and size.
‘Joan,’ he groaned. But the words were not a demand—they were a plea.
She took him by the hand and guided him to the edge of the bed where he sat down. She explored his muscled body with her hands, relentless in her need to bring him pleasure. Her hands moved down to cup him intimately, and she kissed him, refusing to let him protest. She got to her knees and rose up, guiding his shaft to her opening.
Fear gripped her, but she knew there was no choice. This would break the curse and protect him. Gently, she tried to ease him inside, but his length was too large.
He had gone motionless, his green eyes staring at her in the candlelight. ‘I will not help you, Joan. This was never meant to happen between us.’
She knew that. He would expect her to give up in humiliation, knowing she had failed. For a moment, she questioned her decision, wondering if she was truly forcing him against his will. In the darkness, she waited, giving him the chance to push her back.
But Ronan did appear to find her touch pleasing. Her heart beat faster when he reached up, lightly touching her hips. His erect shaft rested against her wetness, and when she moved against him, he let out a hiss of air, pulling her closer. His actions and his words were utterly at war. And so, she decided to try again.
Joan pressed his shoulders back, guiding his palms to her breasts. He did caress her nipples, and a surge of wetness bloomed between her legs. Slowly, she rose up and claimed the tip of him. Annle had told her to ride him, and she remembered the rhythmic rise and fall of a horse trotting. She tried to duplicate the same motion, bouncing against him. His eyes were closed, and he groaned, pulling at her hips to thrust inside. There was a slight pain as he breached her, but she took him a little deeper.
She could not sheathe him fully, and so she leaned forward. Ronan took her nipple in his mouth, and his palms went to her hips. He moved against her as she thrust downward, and a cry escaped her when their bodies were fully joined.
This was forbidden, and her brothers would be furious with her if they learned of it. But she wanted to believe it would break the curse and bind them together.
He grew still once more, but this time, she rose and thrust against him until he was buried deep inside her. She didn’t quite know what was expected now, but it felt good to ride him. The erotic sensation of arousal washed over her again, and she began to quicken the pace.
He let out an exclamation in Irish when she squeezed him hard within her depths. The shock of her own needs pulsed within, and she began to pant as she rode him. The rush of mounting desire caught her, and she hardly recognised her own voice as she took his body inside hers. Ronan gripped her hips, thrusting to meet her until she trembled violently against him, the waves of pleasure causing her to convulse against him. He groaned and turned her to her back, penetrating a few more times before he collapsed on top of her.
Their heartbeats merged, and her legs were tangled around his waist as the aftershocks took her. For a moment, he remained buried inside her, but there was tension in every part of him.
At last he spoke. ‘Clothe yourself, and return to your chamber,’ he commanded. ‘We leave at dawn.’
* * *
Ronan hardly spoke to Joan at all during the ride to Killalough. She didn’t look at him, nor did she speak. It was as if she had conjured an enchantment over him last night, seducing him with a potion of wine.
But from the moment she had dropped the cloak, revealing her body, he had been lost beneath her spell. His body still ached with arousal, though his mind was filled with frustration over what she had done.
Why had she surrendered her virginity? Was it an attempt to steal a child from him? If that was her plan, then he hoped to God she had not succeeded.
But he did intend to use this to his advantage.
No longer would he allow her to deny a betrothal between them. After this night, he would never surrender her to another man. Joan was his, and he intended to claim her as his wife. If she dared to refuse, he would tell her brothers what she had done. And now, he would have all the soldiers he needed.
He’d barely slept at all, dreaming of her touch and the way she had trembled in his arms as she found her release. Her skin had been silken, and he had marvelled at her beauty. Never had he imagined she would be so responsive, so easy to pleasure. He was a bastard for touching her so intimately, drawing out her release until she nearly screamed from the force of it. And God above, she had pleasured him, too, riding him until he had lost himself in her arms.
He wanted to prove that he was not a man who could be so easily manipulated. But she was a stubborn woman intent on getting her way. Her shoulders were held back, her gaze fixed upon the road ahead as they travelled together.
They would reach Killalough before nightfall, and Ronan intended to speak with her brothers to arrange the betrothal. Joan would have no choice but to agree after the intimacy they had shared.
There had been a time when he had not wanted a marriage—but now, everything had changed. And to his surprise, he didn’t mind at all.
As they continued riding through the clearing, her face was furrowed with worry. Ronan asked, ‘What is it?’
Joan’s face flushed, but she confessed, ‘I am trying to decide what to tell my brothers when they ask if we are betrothed.’
He slowed the pace of his stallion. ‘We will tell them to draw up the necessary documents. Our betrothal will be signed and witnessed this night.’
Her expression faltered. ‘I have not yet agreed to this, Ronan.’
He reached out and took the reins of her horse. ‘You agreed to it when you entered my room last night. From the moment you bared yourself to me.’
Her face flushed crimson, and her blue eyes turned downward. ‘I did it to save your life from the curse—that was the only reason.’
‘I don’t believe you.’ Ronan lowered his voice. ‘You enjoyed the way I touched you. You had every opportunity to stop.’
‘The wise woman said the curse could be broken if I...if we...’
Her words trailed away, but he understood her meaning. ‘If you lay with me,’ he finished.
She nodded mutely. ‘I hoped you woul
d not recognise me.’
‘I knew who you were from the first moment you came to me.’ His voice was husky and only brought back memories of that night.
‘I have never done anything like that in my life, Ronan,’ she murmured in a pained voice. ‘It’s not the woman I am.’
He knew she had been a virgin—there was no question of it. But if she truly believed it was a means of breaking this curse, then it explained why she had seduced him.
Her cheeks were flushed with embarrassment, but it only heightened her beauty. He had not forgotten the delicate softness of her skin or the way she had responded to him. Though he had been with women before, she was like no other.
Joan met his gaze, and whispered, ‘I was not trying to trap you into a marriage with me. I only meant to protect you.’
He kept the reins of her horse and increased their pace. ‘You will tell your brothers that we are going to wed.’ In this he would brook no arguments. There was no going back now.
She closed her eyes and shook her head. ‘If you do not wish to marry me, I will not force the matter. I could easily become a bride of the Church.’
He drew his horse even closer. ‘You were meant to be a wife, Joan. Especially after what happened between us last night. Don’t lie to yourself.’
Her face burned with a blend of humiliation and the flare of her own arousal. But she averted her gaze, as if to avoid his anger.
His thumb stroked the inside of her palm, and he reassured her, ‘There is no curse. Only your fears.’
Anger flared in her blue eyes. ‘You’re right, I am afraid.’ She spurred her horse onwards, and he tightened his hold on the reins.
‘Why would you be afraid?’
‘Because you do not believe me. I know I sound like a madwoman. But you don’t know. For one or two suitors to die might have been a coincidence. But three men? I won’t take that risk again. Not with you.’ Her eyes gleamed, and he was struck by her unshed tears. ‘I needed to break this curse, no matter what it cost me. I was weary of watching men die for my sake.’
Forbidden Night with the Prince Page 9