‘It is.’ Not only did Ronan need her brother’s men, but he needed her. She would not turn away from him.
‘We will sign the betrothal documents this night,’ Rhys said. ‘And you may speak the vows afterwards, if you wish.’
‘The wedding will happen on the morrow,’ she corrected. She wanted time to make it into a celebration, even if it was only a small feast.
‘I am glad you came to your senses,’ Rhys said. ‘It will be a good marriage, Joan.’
She wasn’t certain about anything right now, but she was not going to let anything happen to Ronan. ‘Send word to me when it is time for the documents to be witnessed and signed. I will go and prepare myself.’ She excused herself from her brother and walked inside the keep.
Her thoughts were spinning inside her, the emotions shifting between fear and a glimmer of joy. Though she resented her brothers’ interference, she understood that they saw this as a means to an end. They wanted her to be wedded to a man she cared for.
Ronan wanted to marry her, too, and she now understood why he never wanted a child. It was a fierce ache within her, being torn between this man and her deepest desire. If she married him, she might not ever have a baby.
And yet, giving him up was far worse. He had come into her life, giving her reasons to smile. Whenever she saw Ronan, her heart gave a leap. If she spent the rest of her days with him, would that not fill the loneliness inside?
There was so much danger ahead, but she pushed it back. She wanted to relinquish her fears, to set aside all thoughts of the curse. It lingered in her mind, but she told herself not to dwell upon it. As she passed a maidservant, she gave orders for a hot bath to be sent to her chamber. Her nerves were fraught with uncertainty, but she would do everything in her power to ensure Ronan’s safety.
There was no other choice.
* * *
The betrothal was signed and witnessed now. There was no turning back.
Joan met Ronan’s gaze, and a sudden ripple of awareness slid through her skin. She grew conscious of every feature—his dark blond hair, those intense green eyes. This man would become her husband, and their lives would join together. She didn’t know what thoughts were going through his mind, but his stoic demeanour suggested that he regretted telling her how his brother and nephew had died.
‘You will wed in the morning,’ Warrick told them. ‘My wife will make the arrangements. Afterwards, our men will accompany Ronan to Clonagh while my sister remains here with us.’
Though Joan understood why she had to stay behind, she wished she could travel with them. ‘Could I not stay back at the camp, away from the fighting? Once we take Clonagh, my place is at Ronan’s side.’
‘It’s safer here,’ Warrick responded. ‘Before we attack, Ronan wants to meet with Odhran and his father’s wife, Eilis. We will join him and learn what we can.’
She didn’t like that idea at all. It was entirely possible that Odhran had already killed King Brodur and would seek to harm Ronan as well, since he was a threat to his stepbrother’s reign.
At that, Ronan touched his hand to her spine and leaned in close. ‘It is better for you to stay here where you are protected.’
The heat of his palm slid through her skin. She met his gaze and saw that he had closed himself off to her. Whether it was regret at his confession or preparation for the battle ahead, she did not know.
But everything would change between them tonight. She had her own war to wage, this time to win his heart.
‘May I speak with you alone?’ she asked.
Ronan nodded, and she excused herself from her brothers, leading him down the narrow hallway towards her chamber. She opened the door, but he hesitated a moment. ‘We can speak outside.’
She ignored him and stepped through the doorway. ‘We are betrothed now, Ronan. It matters not that we are alone in my chamber.’
He stepped inside but kept the door open behind him. The room was small, with hardly more than a single bed and a stool. There was only one window, and it was shuttered. ‘What did you want, Joan?’ he asked quietly.
Her heart was thrumming within her chest. She had worn her best white gown, and the wooden cross he had carved hung between her breasts. ‘I wanted to speak with you before you leave on the morrow. Will you close the door?’
He did, and she came to stand before him. ‘I know you blame yourself for Declan’s death. And it was a terrible accident. But your brother would not want you to go on living like this.’
‘Ardan is dead, and so is Declan. I won’t forget that it was my fault.’ There was a stony resolution in his voice, the wariness of a man who would not forgive himself.
‘No, you won’t ever forget,’ Joan said softly. ‘But you can go on with your life and honour their memory.’ She reached out to take his warm hands, trying to gather her courage. There was another reason for bringing him here. She wanted to reassure him that she would stand by him even as he went into battle.
She pulled the ribbons from her hair and let the braids fall free. His expression tightened at the sight, and she could tell that he wanted to leave her. And yet, he didn’t move.
‘I wanted you to know that I will keep my word. I will wed you in the morning, as I promised,’ she told him.
‘Will you?’ His tone was soft, but with the barest hint that he didn’t believe her. ‘You said earlier that you were afraid I would die in battle. You refused to marry me because of the curse.’
She recognised his suspicions. He couldn’t possibly understand why she had changed her mind, for they had not spoken since he’d revealed what had happened to his nephew.
‘I know,’ she murmured. ‘But I was wrong to let my fears dictate my life.’
A hardness edged his face as he confronted her. ‘Why did you ask me to come here, Joan?’
Her cheeks flushed, and she gazed downward. ‘I thought you should know the reasons why I changed my mind.’
‘Did you?’ His voice was resonant and seductive. ‘Or was there something else you wanted?’ He slid his hands around her waist and drew her close. Her hips pressed against his, and her body immediately responded to the hard ridge of his arousal. Never had she forgotten the night she had seduced him, but there was an undercurrent beneath his behaviour that she didn’t understand.
He was trying to drive her away, possibly to frighten her. But she knew that Ronan would not hurt her, no matter what he might say.
His hands moved to her hips, and her breath shuddered as he moved against her. ‘You believe the curse will fall upon me in battle, and I will die. But before I leave, you intend to steal a child from me.’
‘No.’ Her face constricted, and she stepped back from him in shock. ‘That wasn’t my reason at all. I only wanted to talk to you. We’ve barely spoken since you told me about your brother and nephew.’
‘I don’t need your pity, Joan.’
Nothing could be further from the truth. ‘It wasn’t pity, Ronan.’ She swallowed back her tears, not knowing how to dispel his anger. ‘I care about you. And the reason I refused to wed you earlier was because I thought if I left you alone, you would live.’ She fought to keep control of her emotions. ‘I couldn’t stand back and let the curse fall upon you, Ronan. I watched three of my suitors perish. I couldn’t endure it again.’ This time, the tears did fall, and misery cloaked her. ‘Not with you.’
‘You have more faith in that curse than you do in me.’
‘I’ve lived with it for so long,’ she said wearily. ‘I was only trying to protect you.’
He stepped back and rested one hand against the wall. ‘I don’t need protection from a curse that doesn’t exist.’
But then she sighed and raised her chin. It was time that he heard her own confession and learned the truth. ‘I was seventeen years old when my father betrothed me to Sir Robert Fitzkellen. He was a warrior, like y
ou.’ A half-smile faltered at her mouth. ‘I was so young and full of dreams. I never imagined they would bring his broken body to me. He was killed in battle.’
His expression remained steady, but he said nothing.
‘I hardly knew him,’ she admitted, ‘but I wept for the life I thought we would have together. He was a good man with a kind smile.’ And though they were strangers to one another, she had grieved for him.
‘What of the others?’ he asked.
She clasped her hands together. ‘The second died of illness. I didn’t know him either. But after each man died, it took away a piece of my spirit. I felt responsible somehow, even though I know I couldn’t have changed it.’
Joan smoothed the edges of her white skirts. ‘I know I must seem foolish to you. Always wearing white. Behaving like a woman afraid of evil spirits. But how else do I fight against an enemy I cannot see?’ Her voice seemed to catch in her throat. She didn’t know what to say or how to make him understand the truth. ‘We will be married in the morning,’ she said slowly. ‘I have said I will do this, for I am trying to put the curse behind me.’
‘But you still want a child.’
She nodded, unable to deny it. ‘I will wait, if I must.’
‘Do not wait on me,’ he said. ‘It will never happen.’
The coldness in his voice was borne of tragedy, and she steeled herself against it. He had not forgiven himself for the loss and was trying to push her away. The pain caught in her gut, twisting deeply.
‘If you do not want me as your wife, then say so,’ she told him. ‘I would never force myself upon you.’
In the dim light of the candle, she saw the shadow of his loss and grief. He reached out to trace the outline of her face. ‘I shouldn’t want you as my wife.’
There was a darkness in his voice, but his hand moved down her throat and he cupped her face. ‘But I crave you every moment of every day.’ He let his hands move to her waist, and her skin erupted in sensation.
‘You weaken me with every breath.’ He bent to kiss her, his mouth stealing a taste of her. She rested her hands upon his shoulders, not knowing what to say or do. ‘And I would kill any man who tried to take you from me.’
Never in her life had anyone looked at her the way Ronan did. And she couldn’t have stopped herself from kissing him if she’d tried.
Chapter Seven
Joan tasted the salt of her own tears as Ronan’s mouth covered hers. She wound her arms around his neck, welcoming the hard length of his body as he pulled her to stand before him. His heated mouth tempted her, and she yielded, opening to him as his tongue traced her lips. When he entered her mouth, her fingers dug into his hair.
He’s going to die, her mind warned. Just like all the others. You cannot stop it.
But she refused to listen to the echoes of past fears. And it was that determination that drove her, pushing back the boundaries between them. She needed this night with Ronan. For these last few hours, she wanted to feel whole instead of the shell of a woman.
‘You are going to wed me on the morrow,’ she commanded as she drew his fingers to the laces of her bliaud. ‘Swear it.’
‘I will wed you on the morrow. This I swear.’ He fumbled with the tunic he wore and lifted it over his head, baring his skin to her. Then he slid her gown over her shoulders, exposing her shift. For a moment, he stared at her, as if memorising every curve. ‘But when we lie together, I will only pleasure you. There can be no child.’
A tremor caught her heart deep within, but it was all he could give. For now, it would have to be enough.
Joan met his penetrating gaze while she let the shift fall to the floor. The cool night air brushed against her bare skin, and she was conscious of the unspoken desire rising between them.
‘You’re beautiful, Joan.’ Then he bent to her throat and kissed the pulse point. Gooseflesh rose over her body, and she drew him to her. She wasn’t afraid of Ronan after the first forbidden night she had offered herself to him—only of what would happen when he left her.
The wooden cross he’d carved hung between her breasts, and he reached out to it. Ronan brushed the erect tip of one nipple, then the other. Sensation flooded through her, echoing between her legs. She took a deep breath, trying to gain command of herself.
Ronan removed the carved necklace from her throat and drew her to lie back on the bed. The coverlet was soft beneath her bare skin, and for a moment, she felt the rise of nerves. He commanded, ‘Close your eyes, Joan.’
She obeyed and felt the gentle touch of his hands upon her skin. Her body grew more sensitive, and when he drew his palms lower, her nipples tightened. His knuckles brushed over one breast, then the other. He slowed down, circling her curves. The erotic sensation made her grow moist between her legs, and when he rubbed his thumb over her nipple, she gripped the coverlet and arched against him. He did the same to her other breast, and lingered upon the cockled tip for a moment.
It was an exquisite torture, and she felt her body tremble as he drew his hand down her legs and at last between them. Though he did nothing more than touch her mound with his palm, she felt the rising of her own arousal. This man was the only one she had ever desired. Never would she allow anything to happen to him.
When he stopped, she sat up and opened her eyes. Her body felt alive, and she rose from the bed. ‘Let me touch you, Ronan.’
He removed the rest of his clothing, letting it fall to the floor. Her skin warmed at the sight of his erect shaft. He captivated her with his hard lines and his body.
‘Lie down upon the bed,’ she whispered. ‘Close your eyes.’
He did, and she drank her fill of his muscular form. Slowly, she drew her hands over his throat and down his taut pectoral muscles. His fists tightened at his sides, and she caressed his arms, watching for his response.
He was so rigid, holding himself so tightly, she wondered if this bothered him. When she drew her hands over his stomach and arousal, he flinched. His green eyes opened, and she froze at the carnal heat in his expression.
Ronan grasped her by the waist and laid her back upon the bed. His hands moved over her bottom, grasping her hips. On instinct, she parted her legs, and he moved his hand between them. She inhaled sharply when his fingers caressed the wetness there. It conjured up the fierce memory of the first time he had pleasured her. And she closed her eyes, feeling the familiar ache of desire.
But this time, she did not want to be the only one feeling this way. She needed to share it with Ronan, to make him feel the same way she did. And so she grasped his hips, tracing the hardened muscle. She drew her hand slowly to his shaft and then took him in her hand. His smooth skin was rigid, and when she grasped him, he froze.
‘Joan, you—’ His words broke off when she stroked upwards. The slick head of him intrigued her, and she rubbed her thumb there, watching as his face tightened.
In silent answer, he slid a finger inside her moist depths, stroking her in the same way. Her knees nearly buckled, and she held on to his waist with one arm, still keeping her hand upon his erection.
Ronan lay on his side upon the bed and faced her. He lifted her hip over his and continued to stroke her. She squeezed him gently and drew her palm up and then down against his shaft.
‘My God, that feels good,’ he murmured. He slid another finger inside her but kept up the pressure of his thumb against her hooded flesh. She struggled to keep from moaning, but it was difficult to keep her control. He knew exactly how to touch her, how to draw out the swollen sensations burgeoning inside.
And then he lowered his mouth to her nipple. The pressure of his tongue suckling against her was too much to bear, and she did cry out. No longer could she concentrate on bringing him pleasure in the face of this. She arched as he stroked her with his hands between her legs and his mouth upon her breast.
Tremors built up inside, and she gu
ided his manhood between them, to her wet opening. He slid against her entrance but went no further. Then, he kissed her other breast, and her fingers dug into his shoulders.
She looked into his eyes and saw the fervour of his gaze. ‘I want you inside me, Ronan. Just as before.’
‘Don’t ask me for that.’ Instead, he thrust against her, and the ridge of his erection made her gasp. He continued the rhythmic strokes until she cried out with her own delight. Even without him inside her, he was driving her towards the edge of fulfilment.
‘Don’t move, Joan,’ he warned. He drew back enough to move his thumb back to the place of delicious torment. He stroked her, evoking the same familiar pleasure until her breathing grew unsteady, and she felt herself rising to his call.
‘Touch your breasts,’ he commanded.
She felt uncertain but obeyed, drawing her fingers over the sensitive wet tips. When she pinched them gently, she felt a surge of lust building within her. This time, Ronan thrust inside her with his fingers, and she felt the caress deep within her. She was shaking from the intensity, unable to think or breathe, as a shimmering sensation took root and grew.
Then suddenly, he grasped her hips and began to thrust against her, his shaft pressing upon the sensitive flesh. She felt his body where his fingers had been, and she quaked beneath him, lifting her knees. As he thrust, he captured her mouth, and she held him close, feeling the moment when her body surrendered, spasming around him. The sudden release made her wrap her legs around his waist, and he growled, seizing her hips.
‘I’m sorry,’ he gritted out.
She encircled his shaft with her palm, squeezing gently. He groaned as she moved her hand up and down in a relentless rhythm. He shuddered when his own pleasure came roaring upon him, and she revelled in watching him come apart, spilling his seed upon her stomach. He slid against her a few more times before he collapsed on top of her.
Her heart was racing, her body slick with perspiration. She held no regrets at all for this night with Ronan. There was a chance that he might not survive the battle at Clonagh, and she sent up a silent prayer to all the gods for his safety.
Forbidden Night with the Prince Page 13