Rannulf sighed, and when she glanced at him his head rested in his hands. “Because I saved you, and you owed me a debt,” he muttered bitterly.
Judith paled, and her hand fluttered towards him, but with his head downbent Rannulf missed the gesture.
Suddenly his head came up, and a small smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “You evened that little score when Beaufour’s men attacked the White Eagle. I trust you have not forgotten?”
“No. How could I forget that I killed a man?”
Rannulf came to her side, took her chin in a hard grip, and subjected her to a thorough scrutiny which brought the hot blood rushing back to her cheeks.
“Princess—” the smile widened to a grin “—you deceive only yourself, I think.”
His other hand was on her shoulder. Judith could feel his thumb moving in tiny circles over the flesh of her neck. He was watching her too closely. Damn him! He knew she was struggling to hide the sudden leaping of her blood engendered by that small but sensuous movement. She could see the firelight reflected in his eyes. The golden flecks sparkled, and his pupils were darkening with what she recognised was desire. She prayed he could not see her own involuntary response to him.
Mumbling incoherently, Judith squirmed in a vain attempt to reach the other side of the bed, and safety. But that disturbing hand moved slowly down, and ran lightly over her breast. Hating him for the power he had over her, she clenched her jaw and tried to fight it. But her breast was tingling and aching with longing for all that she was backing into the side of the bed.
“T…tell me what happened in the Chase,” she stammered. “There…there were so many horse soldiers—”
Rannulf took a step nearer. “Later,” he said, eyes holding hers.
Judith retreated. The side of the bed rammed up against her calves. “N…now,” she insisted, but her voice wavered.
Rannulf dropped a kiss on her neck. She noticed with surprise that her hands went automatically to his shoulders, but not, to her shame, to fend him off. Another kiss warmed her skin. Judith’s knees buckled, and they toppled, together, on to the bed. Rannulf shifted, and his hands were either side of her head, imprisoning her.
Judith tried to summon up the strength to push him away, or to roll out of his reach, but her strength had deserted her.
“You see, princess,” he whispered in her ear. “Your body cannot lie. You desire me as much as I do you.” His hand resumed its slow, seductive path down her body. “Admit it.”
He was watching her, as though expecting some response. Judith moistened her lips, wondering why speech had become so difficult. “No…no,” she said, but inside she was willing him to kiss her.
Rannulf did not oblige. At least not properly. His lips brushed her with the lightest of touches, and then he pulled back. Eyes all but black, he repeated the gesture. Slow warmth curled in Judith’s belly. Suddenly infuriated, she tunnelled her fingers into his hair and pulled his head to meet hers.
But the torture went on, for, when she would have drawn closer to kiss him as deeply as she wished, he still resisted. Holding her at a distance, he allowed her to plant a series of brief caresses on his lips, but they were not enough. They taunted her with what they had left undone, and left her aching for more. The urge to cling to him was overwhelming.
His hands were moving over her body, weaving a spell of such sensuality that what was left of her will dissolved.
“Kiss me, Rannulf,” she begged, reaching for that elusive teasing mouth.
His expression had softened, but that mocking smile still lit his face. “Admit it,” he said huskily. His lips were a handspan from hers.
Judith shook her head, her breathing was ragged. “Kiss me,” she pleaded, pressing her body to his.
He shook his head. “Admit it, princess. Put us both out of this torment,” he breathed. “Then we’ll kiss.”
With an effort, Judith untwined her fingers from his hair. How could he talk of them both being in torment, when it was he who was doing the tormenting? She could not see what he hoped to gain by denting her pride in such a way.
“You are cruel. I hate you!” she burst out, twisting from him. “Go away.”
He let her reach the other side of the bed, before he grabbed her. His arm snaked round her waist, he pushed her back into the pillows, and before Judith could do more than open her mouth in protest he stopped her lips with his.
His lips were hard, and fierce, but almost at once they softened, and were moving over hers with slow, possessive, familiar warmth. His groan was echoed in Judith’s mind. She relaxed into his embrace, and wound her arms round his strong body. His breathing, too, was flurried. Dark colour stained his cheekbones. Judith shut her eyes. She felt Rannulf’s tongue flicker experimentally across her lips. The muscles in her jaw relaxed, and the kiss deepened, till both were breathless. When at last they drew apart, they stared at each other.
His eyes look hazy, she thought.
Rannulf gave an unsteady laugh. His fingers stroked down the side of her jaw. “Admit it—”
“Aye,” she capitulated, her voice cracking. Her skin was on fire. “I admit it.”
“Judith, now you’ll have to marry me.”
“Have to?”
“Aye. Now that you’ve admitted you love me—”
“I admitted I desire you,” she said quickly. “’Tis not the same thing.” He’d made no admission himself, she realised. She wondered whether it was love or merely desire that clouded those beautiful green eyes.
“For you, it is.” He smiled lazily.
Judith scowled, anger rising once more to the surface. He was too confident, almost arrogant. “And you?” she demanded.
He shrugged, and twined a growing strand of her hair round his forefinger. “Oh, I don’t know. ’Tis hard to resist a pretty lady when she—”
Judith snatched her hair from his finger and herself out of his arms. “You vile, loathsome beast. You’re hateful!”
He had the gall to grin. “Maybe,” he conceded. “But lovable too, don’t you think?”
That stung. Kneeling on the edge of the bed, Judith struck out with the flat of her hand. “Why, you are so full of conceit, Sir Rannulf, I wonder you don’t burst!”
Rannulf cowered away from Judith’s flailing arms, still smiling. “Mercy! I crave mercy, lady.”
His smile, and his apparent surrender, disarmed her. Her anger subsided, and Judith sank down on her heels. She tried not to meet his eyes. The real defeat, she knew, was hers. She did not want to witness his triumph.
Why did he have to have such a beautiful smile? When he smiled at her like that, and looked at her so tenderly, she could deny him nothing. And he knew it. It was wicked of God to have given him such a powerful weapon.
“Why react so angrily?” he asked quietly.
She shot him a glance from under her lashes, and instantly regretted it. You could drown in the softness in his eyes. Bemused by that, and his smile, Judith could hardly speak. “What?” she croaked.
“If you merely desire me, why are you so angry?” He lifted a dark brow, and put his hands behind his head. His lips quirked upwards.
Judith glared at him. Clever devil! Her stomach felt hollow. He had laid his trap, and she had charged right into it. “I…I…” She snapped her mouth shut. She’d not risk another word.
He sat up, and rested a hand on her shoulder. “No need for anger if desire is all you feel,” he whispered. “I am more than willing to satisfy you, princess.” His voice sent shivers racing down her spine. The pressure of his fingers increased, and he fell back on to the bed again, taking Judith with him. He shifted slightly and then she was pinned beneath him, one muscled leg resting between hers.
“Rannulf—” Judith shook her head to clear it. Her thoughts were no more than vague, misty swirls in her mind. All the worries that plagued her seemed unreal. What was real was the feel of Rannulf’s long body lying half over hers. The scent of rosemary was real, his hands on her
cheeks, his lips near her ear. She could not fight both herself and him. Casting aside all thought of freeing herself, Judith made her body soft for him, and waited.
“At last,” he breathed. His lips nuzzled her ear. “I have you where I want you. In my bed. I thought I’d never get you here. And willing too.” He kissed her cheek.
Judith sighed, and shyly put her hand on his waist.
“You are willing?” He lifted his head.
She could only nod. Courage, the will to fight, speech—he robbed her of them all.
Her breath stopped at the expression on his face. There was no mockery now in either his smile or his eyes. They were as tender as any maid could wish.
“I too—” he sighed “—am more than willing. Shall we make love now, Judith?”
She knew her own eyes were soft and dreamy in the yellow torchlight, and suddenly, she was glad that he could see it. “Aye. I would love with you, Rannulf,” she acknowledged softly.
He caught her hand and lifted it to his lips, kissing her fingers. His eyes never left her face. It was as though he wished to memorise every feature and contour on it. His thumb moved over her cheek. Then, all at once, he snatched her to him, and buried his head on her breast.
“You—” his voice was husky “—have been the one bright star on my horizon. If it had not been for you, I would not have seen my way out of this nightmare.”
Judith’s heart swelled. She did not stop to analyse what lay behind his admission. All she could think of was that Rannulf had confessed that he needed her. She rested her cheek against his head, and gently smoothed a wavy brown lock from his face. Maybe he needed her as much as she needed him. True, he had not fallen to his knees and declared he loved her, but was needing not a part of love?
“My love,” she murmured.
For a few moments the only sound in the chamber was the crackling of the fire in the hearth, and the soft sighing of their breathing.
Rannulf stirred and hoisted himself on his elbows. He began weaving his fingers into her hair.
There was something in Rannulf’s eyes—a new intensity, that caused Judith’s stomach to tighten. She licked her lips.
“Don’t be nervous, my love.” Rannulf lifted his eyes from a fair strand of hair and smiled at her. “I’ll not rush you. We have all the time we need.” His fingers continued their game with her hair.
“I’m not n…nervous.” She turned her head to kiss the hand that tangled her hair.
Rannulf pressed his lips against her skin at the opening of her tunic. A ripple of delight shivered through her.
“Who’s the liar now?” he teased. “I think my brave warrior maid is afraid. I hope she’s not afraid of me—”
“No.” Judith shook her head. “I’ve never been afraid of you.” And that, she realised was the truth. She had once been afraid of what he, as a Norman, represented. But not now, and never, ever, had Rannulf himself frightened her. Her hands reached up and clung to his shoulders. She kissed the side of his head, while Rannulf’s lips slid round to nuzzle her ear.
“I’m glad,” he muttered.
“Oh, Rannulf, you make me feel so…so…” she trailed off.
Long fingers held her face in place. “Go on. What were you going to say?”
“N…nothing. No matter.”
“I kissed you here—” he mirrored his words with the actions “—and here. And you said I made you feel…What do I make you feel, Judith?”
“You know very well the effect you have on me, you conceited ass. You are insufferable!” she flared at him. “Why is it always me who has to make admissions? You never do. You hide behind that mocking smile, and humour cloaks any feelings you might have. Are you afraid of admitting you care for me?”
“Judith, I do care,” he responded at once, his mouth warm on her ear and moving inexorably towards her lips.
Judith jerked her head to avoid contact with his mouth. Her hair felt strange. She ran a hand over it and found that it had been plaited into short, bumpy braids. She ran her hand over them. “What have you done with my hair?” she demanded.
Rannulf snatched his hands from her and to her astonishment she saw that he was avoiding her eyes. “I…your hair has grown much of late,” he mumbled, fingering his pendant reliquary. “I wanted to see how long a plait it would make. To see if it was as long as it was when—”
“Rannulf!” Judith exclaimed, watching the dark colour run up under his skin. “I do believe you’re blushing. What is it?” Her eyes narrowed. She watched his fingers on the pendant, remembering how possessive he’d been about it when they were on Cyprus.
“That pendant…” she said, thoughtfully. It had dropped from her mind after that incident on the beach. She pursed her lips. Rannulf had proved himself an open-handed man in all things. So why did he guard that pendant so jealously when he was generous in all other respects?
Seeing the direction Judith’s eyes had taken, Rannulf flung a sheepish grin at her, and dropped the pendant out of sight down the neck of his tunic.
But Judith was not to be deflected from her target. She knew she had to see what the reliquary contained. She bounced upright, and the stubby braids brushed her cheeks. “Your braids are all uneven, Rannulf,” she said.
“I lack the practice,” Rannulf said ruefully. “And your hair is too short as yet. Come back here, wench. We haven’t finished…”
Judith gave him a dazzling smile to put him off his guard, and placed one small hand caressingly on his chest. “My brave Norman knight,” she murmured. Her fingers shifted to find the reliquary beneath the fine linen of his tunic.
Her new, compliant manner surprised him, but he was not unpleased. “Judith? What are you about?” Rannulf asked, raising a dark brow.
Judith leaned close so her breasts pressed against Rannulf’s chest. His hand went to her waist.
Judith had to bite her lip to prevent herself smiling. He was puzzled, but did not suspect…
His arms tightened round her like a vice. “Very well,” he said huskily, “if you want to play it that way…”
Her fingers slid up to his neck and found the cord. She tugged.
“Judith! What the Devil!” He wiped the smile from his face and made a grab for the reliquary.
But Judith’s fingers were faster. She clawed the clasp open and shook the contents out on to the bed.
There was a small fragment of worm-eaten wood, and…
A stunned silence filled the chamber. Outside, deep in the bowels of the castle, Judith heard someone call out. A distant clattering started, and then stopped. The flambeau flickered in a sudden rush of air, and when the light had steadied, Judith found herself gazing at a long, slender lock of blonde hair, finely plaited and rolled up in a coil.
Judith raised wondering eyes to Rannulf’s.
He cleared his throat. “You have found me out,” he said, gruffly, and retrieved both the fragment of wood and the twist of hair which had tumbled out of his reliquary.
His face was strangely set. He rolled on to his back, placed the wood on the chest by the bed, and stared at the ceiling, so Judith was unable to glean any more from his expression. He wound the plait round and round his fist. “You had no right to open it,” he muttered.
“I’m glad I did,” Judith said in a hushed voice. “Rannulf?” Gently, she reached out and nudged his face round so she could look at him. He was still wearing that wooden look, but the set of his mouth betrayed him. “How long have you carried that braid with you?” she asked softly.
“Long enough.”
“’Tis most like mine,” she mused, running her fingers along the braid. “See how fair it is. Feel the fineness of it. Rannulf, how long?”
Rannulf gave a resigned sigh, groaned and rolled to her. He grabbed her by the shoulders. “I can see you’re out to make the most of this…”
Judith nodded, and tried not to smile too much. It was her turn to feel triumph now.
The golden flecks in his eyes smiled back
. The muscles about his mouth relaxed. “Very well,” he sighed. “I’ll tell you. I’ve had it for four years. I met a pretty maid in the Chase, I thought her lost to me—”
“Even then?”
“Aye, Judith. Even then. Now, Judith, do not torment me. You know I care for you. Have I not shown how much I care for you?”
“I need to hear you say it,” she said. The clattering noise had started again, but it was louder this time.
“I have needs too. Can you fulfil my needs?”
Rannulf was fencing with her. And his eyes were green fire. They ran down her body, and at sight of her tunic he winced. “The robes I bought you become you better than this rag you insist on wearing,” he muttered.
Judith plucked distastefully at the rough fabric. “I…I know. But the gown was getting spoiled. I…I have it hidden in a safe place.”
“Your other robes are in my travelling chest,” Rannulf told her. “Now, Judith—” his voice warmed “—are you ready to be a woman in more than dress?” He tugged her belt free and tossed it carelessly aside. His hand went to the hem of her tunic. “I would know whether the beautiful body I bought those dresses for…” He eased the skirt of her tunic up over her hips, smiled and pressed a row of little kisses along her neck.
Judith’s cheeks were burning, and her breath was coming fast, as though there was no air.
“I want to discover whether this beautiful body of yours belongs to a warrior maid, or a woman…” His hand moved slowly up, under her tunic, and came to rest on one breast.
Judith gasped.
“Which is it to be, Judith? Warrior maid, or woman? I would make you truly a woman.”
Her mouth was dry, she swallowed.
“Judith?”
With her heart in her eyes, Judith opened her mouth. But a deafening hammering brought her head snapping round to stare at the door.
“Rannulf! Rannulf!” Someone was bawling through the heavy oak panels. “Open up, man! Your brother has need of you!”
“Hell’s teeth!” Rannulf swore. He removed his hand from Judith’s breast, gently tugged her tunic down, and pressed his lips to her forehead. “I’m coming!” he called, swinging his long legs over the side of the bed. “Stop that appalling noise! I’ve heard you.” He wrenched back the bolt. “Come in, Wilfred. What is it? If this is some jest of yours—”
Leaves on the Wind Page 23