by Gayle Eden
They headed toward the gatehouse in time to see a soaked Sir Osburn run through. The seasoned knight was cursing the night blue and telling Ronan and Ualtar, “Bloody spawn killed them all and our best oxen too.”
“No more guessing. We—”
There was a cry from the wall and everyone turned, running toward the guard who pointed. “Here that, My Lord? Listen!”
They could hear low cries of horror and pain. Sefare climbed up with Ronan and the others. It came from the woods. It occurred to her that they had not tried to burn the forest, only use it for cover. Conversely, none of it made sense. Now those cries came from the forest… and the arrows stopped coming.
“Did you send men out there?”
“Nay.” Ronan answered her, his hand reaching for the spyglass and then he moved it along the woods. “Alban!” he called one of the men who came running from the bridge. “Yourself and Galfrid. Use a grapple at the rear wall. See what you can uncover.”
“Aye.” The man turned and left.
“This attack made no sense,” One of the guards said. “It was futile.”
Ronan’s gaze was still steady on the woods. “Could be a raid only. We shall have to see, what morning brings.” However, even as he said that, he had a distracted tone, as if he thought something entirely different.
The night deepened. On and off those cries echoed across the spance from the woods. Sefare brought pails of water to the men. Ronan was in constant motion. The hours blurred, and when dawn came, she sat against the keep, Ronan beside her. He drank from the gourd.
A foggy mist blanked everything damply and crisp, adding a smoky aura to the morning hour. The very moment his men returned from scouting, the guard blew his horn. Ronan pushed to his feet.
The rider thundered across and through the gatehouse. Fitzwilliam carried the crimson banner with the wolf head and was fully armored. He dismounted, a lad taking his warhorse, and the banner.
His grim face before Ronan, he said, “The village and beyond appears burned, the stench of death reached me two leagues before. What is amiss?”
“I know not as yet. The villagers were attacked. Most all killed. The men were masked.”
The knight shook his head. “I’ve word—”
“Ronan.” Ualtar came with the scouts. “There all dead. Bodies… littering the woods. I’ve sent a wagon out to collect them.”
Nodding just as grim, Ronan did not look from Fitz. “What did you uncover?”
The man’s eyes flickered briefly to Sefare, who had stood, then back to Ronan. “No petition has come before Henry on the marriage itself, but there is a warrant for her brother. He’s accused of murdering her husband, Count di Matteo.”
“What! That is impossible. ‘Twas my brother who vanished before—
“He’s been outlawed by the king. Moreover, Guardi is a powerful man. He has influence.” To Ronan he added,” Henry summons you. He forbids you to leave England—or to provoke the Count’s brother—”
“Provoke,” Ronan, sneered.
The knight’s gaze did not waver. “He demands your presence. He is your king. And reminds you, all that he’s restored to you—and Pagan de Chevel.”
Ronan’s lips twisted bitterly.
The knight went on, “That is not the end of it. Lady Sefare is under suspicion of having plotted with her brother to murder Baiardo di Matteo, the Count. The family, influential and noble persons, claims to have proof of this.”
Sefare slid down, her head in her hands. “How can they claim this? Mshai vanished in that battle. Guardi knows that Baiardo di Matteo was decapitated in battle. His body was brought home. They hailed him hero. Nothing was said at the burial or after.”
“Your brother has never been found, vanished suspiciously they claim. Nor did he come to defend himself against charges,” Fitz said.
Sefare shook her head. “He cannot get to me, punish me himself, so he is inventing this to turn the king against me. To bring more against Ronan…I never thought…”
Ronan murmured, “If Henry thinks I will not obey his edict to remain in England, and challenge your accusers, he will keep me at his side or send me wherever he will.”
Fitz nodded. “His words were, I will have no war between the di Matteo and Ronan of Duhamel. He is not to provoke this family, nor harm him by stealth. If he can clear these charges or has proof otherwise, he must bring it himself. ”
Ronan and the others watched as the wagon came into the yard, piled high with bodies of those masked men.
Sefare went with him as they laid them out. He unmasked them, asking her, “Recognize you, any of these men?”
She shook her head, as did her knights. Her eyes were horrified at the blood and wounds. The Celt who was stripping each and searching for any clues said, “Whoever aided those villager’s and us, is not one himself. Five arrows right through the heart or two clean through the head. Look at that one… a dagger thrown with such force and aim…”
Ronan stepped from the bodies. He informed his men of the king’s words, and his command.
When he left, Fitz with him, reaching him a scroll from his pouch, Sefare met the grimy face of Ualtar. “Guardi likely hired these men through a liaison. He has had them do murder simply to send a message. They matter nothing to him. No human save himself does.”
The Celt held her gaze. “Ronan cannot disprove th claims of conspiracy, My Lady. Even should Henry nay believe it, and see it for what it is—which ‘tis likely he fully does know. He will use whatever he chooses, to get whatever ‘tis he wants from Ronan.”
“I know.”
“Could be that fines and bribes will suffice, but there’s no use in guessing why he demands him.”
“Will you go with him?”
“Aye,” the man said. Then to her, “Will you… go to him?”
Sefare understood his meaning. Their eyes held for a moment before she turned and went to the keep.
Sefare heard men in Ronan’s chambers. It sounded if Ronan was arguing with Fitzwilliam, and there was a summons for the Celt, then more goings on for over an hour.
She stripped and got her bath, then put on a robe, latching it at the waist. She seated herself, by the window. As the men left and noise of Ronan bathing was heard, she tried to fit all the pieces of the fractured night together.
It was difficult, because uppermost was the information that Fitz had brought. Guardi did not even have to dirty his noble hands. He could feast with his aristocratic friends and whisper his suspicions put before King Henry of England. He could disperse with gold, enough criminals to hire more and haunt anywhere they lived with murders that would be laid on Ronan.
It was a clear message. Proof was easy for men who needed only gold to invent it. Moreover, were her brother dead and rotting somewhere, he would never be cleared—nor herself.
Sefare paced and drank wine, though left food untouched. She knew the di Matteo men were scheming and evil. Even if Guardi did not want her, he would somehow punish her for fleeing him.
She sat mulling impossible solutions until there was silence next door. Rising, she walked to the adjoining door and it swung open. Ronan sat by the fire, his elbows on his thighs and a flagon in his fist. His hair wet and tied back gleamed and though he wore a soft tunic and breeches, he had no boots on, nor was the tunic tucked in.
She leaned in the doorway, eyeing the firelight playing over him, the mask that covered him. “When must you go?”
“At dawn.” He did not look up from the floor nor move. “One has no choice when the king demands.”
“I know.”
Ronan took a long drink and set the tankard down, leaning forward again, hands lightly clasp. “I must ask a hard thing of you. Sefare. You must write down what you have told me of your marriage to the Count, your knowledge, of his family and, why you fled. The account, as you were told, of his death in battle. And, of your brother’s vanishing.”
“I will, and gladly.”
Moments passed
and he murmured almost absently, “I know more than most how true tyrants and cowards work. There is no great surprise in this. Simply it is unexpected, and poorly timed.”
Sefare pushed away and walked over to stand behind him. Her hands came to rest on his broad shoulders. “Do not worry for me. Worry on pleasing the king. No matter what is said toward Mshai, and myself, there is only their word and whatever proof they invent. If I am accused, I can be heard in court.”
“‘Tis not that, Sefare. ‘Tis that as much as I am confident in my men—I would not leave you here, alone.”
She flexed her fingers on his hard muscles. “There is no help for it. If after reading my words, the king decides to summon me. I shall be ready.”
“It could be a ploy, to simply gain from me something else.”
“Then give it to him.” She sighed and tugged him until he leaned back against her. “Take all the treasures and stores and…come back to me.”
He stilled, and for a moment seemed to stop breathing.
She bowed her head and kissed his hair. “Come, Ronan, away from the fire.” She waited.
He stood slowly, unfolding his large frame and turning, so that his gaze searched her face. She took his hand and led him back to the shadows of the bed.
Sefare probed those smoky depths and whispered, “I shall close my eyes, I promise.” She did so and reached for the tunic at his sides.
Ronan’s large hands covered hers, and he stopped her. He rasped, “Touching is as seeing.”
She felt her heart breaking for him, even as her body and mind were aware that he was so much more than the mask and scars, so much more. Sefare turned her back, her eyes on their shadows cast on the wall. She undid the robe and let it fall, exposing her body.
Watching his larger outline, she waited tense, aye already aroused, as he hesitated and then pulled his tunic up over his head. A close fitted garment followed.
All she could see were mounds and ropes of muscle, a span of shoulders and chest, tapered waist. His warm and strong hands touched her waist before he came against her back, hard muscled and hot skin.
He kissed her head, her neck and ear. His hands coming round, to skim over her front. She did not look down at his arms, and only reached back to cup his head, to lean and give him access.
Ronan’s kisses, his laves, and nibbles, weaved that same sensual spell around her. He went to his knees and kissed over her back, her spine, and buttocks. Upon rising, Ronan steered her to the bed. Sefare lay on her stomach, still watching the shadows. He was on his knees, each planted aside her legs.
Ronan touched her, dragging caresses, molding his palms to her sides, and cupping her buttocks. She sighed and moaned softly as he played along the seam and then touched her sex, wet and warmed by her arousal.
He leaned down, kissing her skin, laving and breathing against her receptive flesh. When he lifted upwards on her hips, she went to all fours. Neck arched as he turned to his back and moved upwards, lay on his back between her legs, laving her sex and kissing her there, suckling her.
Panting dewed and tingling, she whispered, “Put me astride you, I won’t look or touch. I promise.”
He kissed inside each thigh, and fumbled with lacings. She felt him arch before he was lifting her, lowering her down, so she felt the wonderful muscles of his upper thighs. Eyes closed, Sefare thrilled at the feel of his skin between her legs. She did touch, skimming the hair around his sex, finally fisting it, tender and heated, swollen, and thick.
“Sefare.” He grit, breathing in a rasp.
She felt blindly for his hands, put them at her hips, and then moved to poise over his sex, sinking inches of it into her, hearing his rush of breath, his groan and feeling his tightening hold.
“Christ…do not move,” He choked.
She only trembled. Her inner muscles flexed, and his sex swelled in response.
Ronan whispered deep, “Is there pain?”
“Nay. Only pleasure.” She smiled. “For the first time….pleasure.”
He grunted and ran his hands up her sides, down her thighs before holding her hips again. “You should see yourself, My Lady. So sleek and beautiful, so much a man’s dreams…”
“And you should see yourself as I can, even with your mask. Your muscle and frame, your beautiful eyes and mouth, the heat and scent of your skin…” She moved her hips, undulating leisurely and taking his hands, intertwining their fingers. She raised and lowered herself, stroking them snug and slickly. “Yes,” she gasped when he raised his hips in counterpoint.
There was only that, the sensual dance and the erotic stroking of bodies. She whispered at some tense point, “Let me kiss you…”
He leaned her forward, her nipples and lower tummy against his uncovered skin as they kissed. Resting her elbows by his head, she bit at his lips and sensed his tension nearly breaking him.
“We have this night. ‘Tis more than I have ever felt or desired….”
Ronan grasped her hips, moved her on him, until his body bowed and tremors raced through him.
Afterwards, Sefare moved from him and did not look until she left the bed, walking away from it to cleanse. She gave him time to repair, and did not expect when he came behind her and picked her up. Ronan placed her on the edge of the high bed. He went to his knees, spreading hers, the nether lips of her sex too, exposing her flushed flesh for his lips and tongue.
She arched into it, rode it, and felt his hands bringing her to him for feasting. The climax was long and exquisite, showering warmly through her. When she calmed, Ronan slid her into the bed and lay behind her, his hand on her quivering stomach, hers covering it.
Staring at his shadow, as he was higher in the bed than she, Sefare asked, “Your body is so very pleasant against me. Can we not lie skin to skin?”
Ronan rolled from her, then lay there for tense moments, and then reached under the covering to remove his breeches. When he was against her, she moaned and sighed, “How warm…how soft and yet strong you feel.”
He sighed half-shuddering, then murmured, “How many times may we—are you able—”
She laughed quietly. “As long as I am aroused, and am thus already, there is no need to keep count.”
He slid down in the bed and fit himself up into her that way. “God’s mercy if you are lying to me. I will take you as oft as you permit.”
She chanced a touch, a mere laying of her hand on his indented buttock behind her, moving and flexing his sex into her. “I’m not as fragile as I appear.”
Ronan pushed her leg so that it was bent. He rose over her, her other limb between his as he thrust harder and deeper. It was raw and hot, fast and deep, sexually rough but needful. Before ‘twas over, they were both slick with dew.
Bending to kiss her breasts after his climax, he whispered on growl, “You touched me.”
She had, stealing a touch first on his back, feeling layers of scars, hard and ridged. She had found his nipples, knowing there were scars even there, but teased and tugged them. They repulsed her not. Overall, he was a strong and well-made male. All male.
She put her hand on his head. “Did you not enjoy it?”
Obviously disgruntled he admitted, “Aye. I did.”
“Then I need not lie and apologize. I need to touch, as much as you.”
He left the bed. She waited for him to return before going to wash the sweat and seed away. Sefare knew he sat up in the bed. Returning, she sat on his side but keeping her eyes on the far wall.
“If life did not extend beyond the morrow, what regrets have you, save those in the past?”
“In what manner?” He asked.
She scraped her teeth over her lips. “In this manner. Between us.”
Ronan did not answer right away, but eventually intoned gruffly, “That I had not the experience and must be led by you…in the bedding.”
She laughed. It seemed very much a male thing to say. “I have said, My Lord, that men of experience make not good lovers. In truth, Ronan. I
am, as you are, having nothing to guide me. I have only instinct and what you inspire me to desire. I am not experienced in… love-making.”
He nearly grouched, “I desire not to harm you. To bring you pain. I am twice your size, Sefare.”
He was, but she assured, “You won’t hurt me.”
He moved swift and then was pulling her back. He covered her eyes and rolled her under him, keeping his weight off her, his legs between her own. “Am I crushing you?”
“Nay.” She licked her lips. Arching her hips up then, to rub herself against his half-hard sex. “Let me see your eyes. I won’t look down.”
He moved his hand away. She stared into his eyes in the mask, reading so much there, his pleasure, his need, his surprise, and his caution.
“Ride me,” she husked holding his gaze. Her slender legs raised and her knees rested on his sides. “Come, my knight…My Lord, Ronan….I am wet and waiting, heated and hungered.”
“Jesu!” He grit through clinched teeth and surged into her. “You provoke me past caution.”
She grasped the sheet, an unexplainable need to be taken and claimed by him filling her. “…Take me, Ronan.”
He did, swift, yet with the grace of strength. Grinding, moving his hips, and lifting her with his whole body, stroking her sex until she cried out and grasped his hair, making it loose from the tie.
Arching under him, grinding back, the ride took them to the deepest hour before dawn. “My blood as if fire in me, Ronan.” She cried out, drowning in pleasure.
“As is mine.” His thrusts drove deeper and he leaned back on his heels, his thumb stroking between the lips of her sex. When she was flying, he soared with her, their bodies shuddering with the force of it.
Sefare lay still when he left the bed, seeing by the shadows while he bathed and dressed. She felt her eyes burn, having touched more of him in his lost moments—and weeping for him, because of the pain he had endured. However, hurriedly before he noticed, she wiped her eyes, and was calm when he came to her, sitting with her robe over his leg.
“Daykin will enter soon.”
She sat up and slid the robe on, then climbed from the bed. Latching it, she turned and cupped his masked face before he could stand. “Be safe, and worry not.”