I sensed a rapid change happening inside me, a tightening coiled deep inside. I squeezed my eyes as Margaret’s voice faded into the image in my mind.
“Savor it, cousin. Think of it as your lover, his gentle touch patient. His fingertips parting your sweet petal, his tongue teasing…”
“Sweet woman…” My imaginary lover’s hot breath caresses the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. “I have wanted this for so long.” His mouth kisses my soft patch, teasing mercilessly as my hips rise to meet his ardent tongue. A sigh escapes my mouth.
Margaret’s presence entered vaguely into my thoughts.
“That is good, Sabeline. Let the sensation carry you.”
My lover rises from the water and plants warm, tender kisses on my slick flesh. He lingers on my breasts, pleasuring me in sweet torment. “Now, I need—” I beg.
“Soon,” he replies. His deep chuckle resonates with dark, delicious wickedness. He carries me to the bed, laying me back, looking down at me as if I were a sumptuous feast.
His knee presses apart my legs as he settles his hips between mine, his hands sliding upward over my torso, cupping my breasts.
His cock, firm and ready to please, brushes against my inner thigh and I close my eyes, spreading my knees wide in silent welcome. Bound by this magic, my body accepts him, tight at first then softening as he fills me completely, flesh meeting flesh. I curl my arms around his neck as his hips begin to move, his thrusts slow and deep, causing my thoughts to spin. Our hips move together in rhythm, fervently seeking mutual completion. I open my eyes and meet his smoky green-gray gaze. His face is gentle and kind, his blond hair swaying over his broad shoulders as he looks down at me and smiles.
Sir Ranulf.
I gasped, nearly falling as I stood up in the tub, blinking away the shock of my wayward thoughts. I made haste to grab my robe and cover my nakedness. My betrothed was set to arrive this very evening and the man I imagined giving my body to was not him, but his older mentor.
“What is it, Sabeline?” Margaret asked as she stared at me in shock.
I cinched the knot of my sash at my waist, my stomach quivering uncontrollably.
“It is nothing,” I lied, my body still trembling with the aftershock of my daydream. “Nervousness, I suspect, at being a new bride.”
“Lord Benedict of the Marches and Sir Ranulf of Dun-stable, your lordship,” the court page announced. Seated at my father’s side, I gripped the arms of my chair. Across the length of the great hall, the massive wooden doors swung open and my breath caught in anticipation.
Both men entered the room with a determined stride. Immediately, I recognized Lord Benedict, as he removed his hat and flashed me a charming smile. He tossed part of his cape over his shoulder, revealing—for my benefit I chose to believe—his impressive build. He had filled out since we last met. My heart faltered as I took in the breadth of his shoulders and how enticing his black leather boots looked cradling his firm thighs. Margaret’s words teased my mind, “Will you let him deflower you before you wed?” His clean-shaven face brought greater attention to his eyes, dark eyes that seemed to be able to read my mind. He glanced at me, and though he was not required to, knelt in homage to my father.
“Baron Durwain.” He bowed, hat in hand.
“Welcome, Lord Benedict. You remember my daughter, Sabeline?”
As he rose, I caught his eye and a smile lifted the corner of his most tempting mouth. His eyes were piercing, glittering with challenge.
He stepped forward and held his hand out to mine, kissing the back of my hand as he knelt before me. “Not this lovely woman, surely? I remember a young girl only. Sabeline, I am entranced by your beauty.” He stayed on his knee, unwilling to let go of my hand as his gaze held mine. “You have received my letters?”
I glanced at my father, my cheeks warming. “I did, milord, and I have kept each one.” He appeared pleased. In stark contrast to the last time we met, his attention seemed focused entirely on me.
My eye caught Margaret’s as she stood at the edge of the crowd gathered to welcome my betrothed. She gave a slight nod of approval.
Almost as an afterthought, Lord Benedict looked over his shoulder. “Baron Durwain, milady, may I present Sir Ranulf. Ranulf was at court, three summers ago, if you remember?”
He removed his hat, which before now had hidden his features. His hair, the color of harvest wheat, brushed against his collar as he bowed to my father. His captivating moss-green eyes barely grazed over me as he took my hand and offered a brief kiss. The short stubble of his light-colored beard tickled my flesh and I drew in a quiet, sharp breath as the memory of the kiss we shared that summer leaped into my mind.
“Milady,” he spoke in his reverent, quiet tone.
I remembered now the intensity of his eyes, always watching, always aware.
“It is pleasant to see you again, milord. Welcome to our home.”
He bowed and I stared at his dark blond hair tousled from his ride. My body responded with a quick jerk as the image of him in my daydream popped into my head. I yanked my hand from his and offered him a guarded smile. Curiosity flickered through his eyes, before he bowed once more and returned to Lord Benedict’s side.
My father summoned one of his men to escort our guests to their chambers. I watched—as did every woman in court—with avid interest as both men left the room. Margaret’s brows rose as she looked at me and grinned.
“At last the day your mother dreamed of approaches, daughter. Are you happy?” my father spoke, pulling me from my gawking.
Taking my father’s arm, I looked up and met Ranulf’s eyes as he glanced over his shoulder. He offered me a quick nod. How was it possible that his look alone created such scattered sensations in the pit of my stomach? Indeed, I was happy, but my traitorous emotions caused me to question who I was most happy to see.
4
I WAS A FOOL TO LOOK BACK. YET I HAD SEEN something, perhaps wishing it to be so, in her amber-colored eyes that compelled me to hazard a quick backward glance.
If anything, Sabeline had only grown more beautiful. No more the gangly young girl, her luscious curves would now tempt a celibate man. I would know, for I had carried the memory of that single kiss around for three years.
Her skin was soft, smelling of lavender. As I knelt at her feet, other ways to worship her on bended knee flooded my mind. I wondered if she sensed something carnal in my touch, given her strange reaction. I had to remind myself that it was not me she was to wed, but Benedict. I prayed that he appreciated his good fortune.
“Your castle is most impressive, Baron Durwain,” Lord Benedict commented as he heaped his plate with more of the succulent pheasant the castle chef had prepared. No expense was spared in honor of the groom’s arrival. Our meal began with a tantalizing stew, accompanied by cheeses and fresh bread, then followed with roasted venison, pheasant with apricots, and nutmeats. My cup was never without wine and minstrels entertained us with whistle, drum and fife.
“We are a humble people, milord. But we do enjoy the gifts bestowed upon us and share them freely with our good neighbors,” the baron responded, raising his cup.
We joined in his salute of goodwill and drank deeply of the sweet wine.
I purposely kept my focus on the food and entertainment. In a few days, my duty here would be complete and I would return to England with news that the alliance was complete. Bearing in mind the nature of my duties made it far easier to be around Sabeline.
“And what say you, Sir Ranulf?” Sabeline leaned forward to peer around Benedict in order to speak to me. Her gown, cut low in front, left no doubt as to the woman she had become.
I swallowed the meat that seemed to be stuck in my throat as I dragged my eyes from her bodice to her face. With a quick glance at Benedict, I leaned closer, unable to hear her words for all the chatter and music.
“My apologies, Benedict. I could not hear what Lady Sabeline had to say.”
Benedict flashed me a smile. “Of
course. I understand that loss of hearing is one of the first hallmarks of age.”
He slapped me good-naturedly on the shoulder. I wanted to knock him off the chair. “I will let you know, Benedict, when, or if, that happens.”
The young lord chuckled as his eyes scanned the room. “I am suddenly overcome with fatigue and ask that I might take your leave, milady.” He stood and I noted the shock on Sabeline’s face.
He bowed. “Ranulf.”
I nodded as I bid him good-night, not entirely upset to have an empty chair between Sabeline and myself.
“But they have not yet brought dessert. It was created in your honor,” Sabeline said, staring up at him.
Benedict leaned down and touched her cheek. “Very well, then let me walk around the castle a bit. I fear riding all day has made me stiff.”
I opened my mouth to speak against the idea, suspecting that the young servant girl he had been eyeing all night might be the reason he was stiff.
My mouth clamped shut as my eyes met Sabeline’s troubled expression. It was as if we were reliving that night three summers ago.
My gaze followed Benedict as he wove around the tables filled with court guests. He picked up a goblet of wine from a tray carried by one of the kitchen maids. With a slight nod of his head, he raised his cup to her and left the room.
“It seems he is quite changed in some ways, milord.”
Sabeline stared after Lord Benedict before she turned her attention to me. I could not say that I minded it. No doubt, the wine I had indulged in had dulled my senses, because I could think of nothing that I wanted to do more than to take her wondrous face in my hands and kiss her until neither of us could think straight.
“He has mellowed,” I lied as I averted my gaze from hers.
“Tell me about you, milord. Have you since found a wife?”
“My pardon, but was this not the topic of our last conversation? Why is it that you seem utterly preoccupied with my marital status?” I snapped, the wine clearly having gone to my head.
Her eyes widened and I saw her visibly swallow. I looked away, immediately contrite and even more furious with Benedict’s foolish behavior.
“My apologies, milord. Then by all means, let us speak of other things.” Her lips pressed together in a thin line as she toyed with the food on her plate.
Guilt at my reaction besieged me, and it occurred to me that she, too, was likely concerned as to whether Benedict had changed over the years. I prayed to God that he would see his duty clearly, but I was not certain that if God were to meet him in the corridor in person, he would listen. Still, I thought it best that I go speak with him. “If you would excuse me.” I rose and dipped my hands in the cleansing bowl.
“Oh, but of course! Let it be recorded that I was able to run off two men in less time than it takes to drink a cup of wine.” She raised her goblet to her lips and tipped it back, drinking whole its contents. I watched, mesmerized by the gentle movement of her slender throat, envious of that wine.
My hands paused on the back of my chair as I questioned the wisdom of leaving. She summoned a servant to bring more wine to the table.
Torn between duty and desire, I knew that if I matched her drink for drink there was no telling where it would lead. Still, this was the feast of her groom’s arrival. A woman should have her mind set at ease.
“You have not run off anyone. You heard Lord Benedict most plainly. He is stretching his legs.”
“Yes, so he said.” She sipped her wine but did not look at me.
“What troubles you, Sabeline?” It was unwise for appearance’s sake, but I eased into the chair beside her.
“May I ask you something?” She stared straight ahead, as if lost in her thoughts.
“Of course.” Three years had not changed her ease in speaking openly with me and I found the fact absurdly comforting. I studied her profile. She had a small dimple in her chin that I had not noticed before. My fingers yearned to see for myself if her cheek was as soft as it appeared, and if her lips still tasted like honey.
She shifted in her seat and faced me with a puzzled concern etched in her beautiful face. I took a sip of my wine, pretending I was listening and not thinking of that kiss three years ago.
“Have I grown, in your opinion, to be a woman at least pleasant to look at?”
I was grateful that I had swallowed before she posed the question, though I choked on the wine as it slid down my throat.
She patted my back, concern in her eyes. “Are you well?”
I nodded and held up my hand, taking a moment to recover as I thought how best to answer.
“Do not be alarmed. It is not your approval that I seek, merely your unbiased opinion as a man,” she offered.
I recovered from the shock of her query, only to question whether it was possible I could remain unbiased. Alas, that was not an option, no matter how I tried.
“Of course, I understand. You are concerned whether Benedict sees how astoundingly beautiful you have become.”
“I remember you were good at reading my mind.” She smiled softly turning from my gaze.
Was it possible that, like me, she had tried to forget that night three years past?
“What say you then, milord?” she asked, worrying her lip.
I was accustomed to the volley of strategy on the battlefield, but this woman placed me in a position with a clear disadvantage.
“What, again, is the question?” I asked, scratching my head, vying for more time to formulate my response.
She leaned back in her chair and took a bite from an apricot. The juice dribbled down her chin, dipping into that dimple where I wanted to capture it with my mouth.
“There are those in this court who do not feel that I am an adequate match for Lord Benedict.” She tapped her other hand on the table.
Clearly, she had a great deal weighing on her mind, but her intent was lost in translation between her mouth and my ears. “Why should you be concerned with what others think, if you pardon my asking?”
She shook her head. A short laugh accompanied her wry smile.
“Because it seems from the first day we met, Lord Benedict’s interest in me is like the wind—here one moment and gone the next. How shall I know if I am woman enough to please him?”
She had noticed. Should I have expected her not to? I scanned the room and realized Benedict had not yet returned. I noted also that the serving wench was nowhere to be seen. The bloody fool.
“You assured me once that it was his youth that made him impetuous,” she said, slowly turning her gaze to mine. “Has he truly changed? His letters are so far different than he is face-to-face.”
It was an awkward position she placed me in. I wanted to peel Benedict’s flesh from his sorry hide. “My good lady, I have no doubt that Benedict finds you a ravishing beauty and that his passion runs deep only for you.”
“Would you swear your life on that, milord?”
Her eyes narrowed as she studied my face.
Damn, I am going to hell for this.
“I have always thought you to be a man of your word,” she stated, twisting the saber of truth deeper into my gut.
My conscience caused me to look away. I sighed and prepared to leave. “If you now question your judgment of me, good lady, perhaps you should address your personal inquiries elsewhere.”
“I have offended you.”
“Nay, good woman, but I can no longer speak for Lord Benedict. My duty is as my king’s witness to this alliance…er, marriage. Matters which concern you and Lord Benedict would be better discussed with him directly.”
She said nothing, but nodded.
“Good evening, Sabeline.”
“Milord,” she responded quietly.
I was infuriated. As I left, I sensed her gaze upon my back. I hated to lie, but what choice was I given? My duty was not that of a romantic matchmaker, nor was it to ensure her wedded happiness with Benedict or anyone else, for that matter.
A
high-pitched moan caused me to pause at Benedict’s chamber door. I darted a quick glance down the corridor, pausing with my hand on the curved metal latch, sickened by what I knew I would find. Without a doubt, what I heard were the unmistakable sounds of unbridled passion. I was tempted to tear the door from its hinges. I rapped gently once, before lifting the latch and stepping inside.
My gut churned as I took in the scene before me. Benedict, on his knees in the middle of his bed, was in the throes of finishing with the kitchen maid. He glanced over his shoulder, though his hips never lost their determined rhythm. “One moment, Ranulf.” He grinned as he dug his fingers into the soft flesh of the woman’s hips.
I turned away, wondering what I could say to change Benedict’s view of his commitment in marriage. I was beginning to understand that the man had no concept of the word when it came to women.
“Ah-h-h, mi-lord,” she panted. The ropes of the bed creaked in unison with their appreciative sounds. I held my hand on the door, preparing to leave, but I hesitated, fearful of meeting Sabeline in the corridor.
Benedict let out a groan. “No—wait—Ranulf-f-f,” he spoke, spacing out his words with each thrust. “Ah-h-h, there, there—it—is,” he groaned.
A moment later as I faced the door, the woman hurried past me, tugging her arms in her sleeves, covering her naked torso. I held the door as she left, counted to three and faced Benedict. “What in the bloody hell are you doing?” I strode toward him, having to clench my fists to keep from strangling his careless neck.
Benedict chuckled as he drew his tunic over his head. “If at your age you need an explanation, Ranulf, then perhaps that is why you have not yet found a wife.”
“You know well my meaning. There is a woman sitting out there who is your intended,” I spoke in a tone low, but no less filled with stern warning.
Benedict’s brows rose. “I know fully why I am here, Ranulf,” he responded, apathy lacing his words.
Winter’s Desire Page 4