by Gayle Eden
She blinked and rasped, “Nay ‘tis healed.”
He laid his palm against her stomach and went downward until he touched her pubis. Watching her eyes lighten, and her lashes dip, he went further and cupped her.
Feeling the heat burn his palm he said, “Anger does not erase everything, does it?”
“Ronan—” She sucked in her breath.
He eased up and slid his hand down, into her breeches.
“‘Tis full day out,” she panted but arched toward his touch.
He found her hot and wet. His own breathing sped as he eased a finger inside her sex, and he felt it ripple and clamp around it. “I can hear a man’s tread some distance away.” He began to chafe and rub and holding her chin up with his other hand. He would not let her hide her response from him.
She bit her lip, face flushed and eyes clouded, her hands grasp his forearm.
“Is your resentment too great—your anger at me such, that you deny yourself this?”
“No—no.” She sucked in her breath, her groan sounding and her lashes closing. “Do not stop.”
He did not. Ronan went from rubbing between the sleek lips to easing his finger in and out of her. She was moist, sticky, and hot, when she finally gasped and shuddered through a climax.
He withdrew his hand, and held her against his thudding chest. “Can you feel my response to that?” he spoke of his obvious hardness straining against his leather trousers.
“Yes.” She whispered muffled against his tunic. “I want you.”
He growled and pulled back, kissing her deeply before he turned her and eased her breeches down off her buttocks.
His hands went over them, molding and caressing. Whispering against her hair he husked, “I can’t take you here. ‘Tis too open.” He kept touching though and she whimpered and pushed back, rubbing her backside against him. Ronan filled both hands with those firm cheeks. He rubbed himself against her and simulated it.
Finally, she rushed in a whisper, “Follow me inside. Please.”
He stepped back and she adjusted her clothing before going inside.
He was some time following, going around and through the busy hall, then up to the solar. Ronan opened the door to her chambers and closed it. Leaning back against it, he watched her remove her clothing, standing by the window seat. She stripped down until every inch was exposed, and then glanced at him before going to the pan and washing.
Her washing drove him mad. Slowly, she rubbed that cloth over her face and neck, down and around each breast before washing between her legs.
Witch…seductress…
He was breathing heavy and dense when she finished, as walked around the stacked trunks then sat on the edge of the padded seat. She bit her lip, parted her legs, arching her spine slightly before running her hand down to her mons.
He jerked away from the door, his hand already working the lacings when he hit his knees, landing between hers.
Ronan touched her wet sex, grasp his own and arched up into her. Deep and tight. He heard her gasp, felt her grab his shoulders. He slid his hands to the back of her thighs and lifted, standing with her.
He worked her up and down on him, arching his hips upwards. The chamber grew thick with their breathing. She was light as nothing in his arms but sleek and firm and silken. He walked to the bed, her legs locked around him, her mouth finding and kissing him, raw and explicit.
Sefare breathed jerky, biting his lip before letting it go.
Leaning over as she landed on the bed, their mouths parted. Ronan growled, “I will never beat you, but I will ride you this night until the neither of us can move.”
She moaned and her hands pulled at the hide shirt. “It is I who should be doling out punishment.”
“Do your worst.” He thrust into her fast and deep.
When he slowed a stroke, she bit at his jaw. “You want me. You want me as much as I want you. Moreover, we can both deny it or try and hold to reasons why—but I want you. I want you to want me like this. With this fire, and passion.”
“Jesu, Sefare.” He paused and caught his breath. “I cannot go through a lifetime feeling as I did when you were to be kidnapped. As I did, when I saw your battered face. I will kill half of England.”
She laughed on a groan. “If I must live worried your enemies will strike at any time. You can chance it with me.” She cupped his face, and made him look down at her. “And if we share the same bed—if you sleep beside me, my Crimson Knight. We can protect each other much more securely.”
He kissed her palm but went back to thrusting and thrust firm, hard, possessively until his body shuddered.
It was late in the night hours. They had bathed and Sefare finally coaxed Ronan to strip and crawl into her bed, once the drapes around it were pulled closed. Through only one slit, she could see his mask and his unbound hair, which glowed blue black on the pillow.
He had watched her cautiously from the time she had come to bed. Watching to see that she did not touch him where he wished her to not touch.
Sefare’s anger and resentment had left before she reached the castle, truthfully. She was still in awe of the pleasure he brought her. His voice, his eyes, his mouth—his passionate lovemaking. She was still fascinated that a hardened knight, a champion and warrior showed equal prowess and intuitive skill in the bedroom. Most of her adult life she had feared that part of her dead and shut away. She had many private fears that this scarred and yet strong champion had banished.
Sitting up at his hip, she eased her hand under the cover, seeing his eyes observing her, his lips tense as she touched the tender skin of his lower stomach, then the curls around his sex. She felt the length of his sex thicken and grow while she touched lightly at the base.
“May I kiss you?”
“Aye,” he sounded winded.
She pushed the covers back and dipped her head.
He caught it. “God’s mercy, not—”
She touched her mouth to the smooth head and flicked her tongue across it. Hearing him suck in his breath, feeling his thighs jump, Sefare kissed it more and then whispered, “Trust me.”
He grunted and his fingers weaved through her hair. “I cannot let…”
She sighed and sat up, turning her body so that she lay opposite him. “Might I tempt you with some distraction?”
His guttural curse was explicit and raw. She felt him touching her sex. Sefare lifted and turned, her body crouched over him, and when he caressed her sex then his finger sank in deep, she lowered her head and took him into her mouth.
His groan a deep rumble sounded just before he grasped her hips and was devouring her, laving and thrusting his tongue in her. Sefare suckled and laved him sensually, kissed him, intent on driving him mad as he did her—until holding him between her lips, she climaxed and he sank two fingers into her honey and drew it out.
She sucked him rhythmically until he whispered a plea and exploded with shudders.
It was not until later, lying in his arms that he could apparently speak.
“I never thought a woman would touch me as you do.”
Sefare lifted her head, gazing down into his watching eyes. “I never thought I would feel again. Never knew that hunger to feel more. I feared he had taken all pleasure from me. 'Tis why I offered you everything but that. But then, you touched me during that storm….and it opened every floodgate.” She sighed. “‘Tis apparently the same when I am angry at you.”
He caught her hand as she pressed her fingers to his lips. Ronan kissed her fingers and then settled her against him once more. In a whisper he confessed, “You were the most beautiful creature I had ever seen. That has not changed. I cannot tire of looking at you, tasting you. You you’re your own fire, strength and courage, Sefare.”
She felt her eyes water. “You are too wonderful. Ronan of Duhamel.”
He snorted.
She smiled. “I suppose we could find something to shout about, at least once a fortnight.”
Ronan cupp
ed her breast, his thumb brushing her nipple softly. When he slid her up in the bed so he could suckle, she sighed and whispered, “You stir the embers without that, however.”
* * * *
Fawston Castle. Dover.
The castle was as impressive and as splendid as Ronan claimed. It boasted the most beautiful gardens and fountains, an undulating landscape of grasses, wild flowers, and jutting white rocks. Sheep grazed around it. In the valley below, her newly purchased mastiff romped with the white steed by the winding stream.
The majority of the servants had stayed at the old castle, as it was closer to their familiar towns and villages. However, Isola had come with her, and now the apprentice did most of the heavy work, whilst the Smith began fashioning more swords and daggers in an impressive stone structure between barracks and stables.
She was a true artisan, Sefare knew.
Sitting in her trousers and linen shirt, her feet bare, Sefare’s back was to the white stone defense wall, her hair teased by the early fall breeze, and her nose breathing in the damp earth from a recent rain mingled with the sea.
Ronan had been called to the King’s side a mere two days after they arrived. She smiled sheepish though, recalling how she had grilled even the royal messenger on the truth of that, making him produce the summons, reading it ten times until, Ronan had dragged her to the round open solar—a favorite chamber in the towering circular keep, and laved her into a climax, then made passionate love to her.
She had fallen asleep and awakened to find him at the doorway, fully clothed and crimson armored—eyeing her nude curves amid the silver and crimson covers.
His gray eyes had gone over every inch of her before he said, “This is our home, Sefare. I will come back to you.”
She swallowed now and sighed. He likely had not had a home in that sense from boyhood. She certainly had never had one with the Count and his family. She was also happy, having gotten word that Illara and Pagan expected them at Dunnewicke this winter for the birth of their child and the Holy days.
She had no word if Henry had sent him from England, or if it was about the Count’s brother and those trials. She was still a bit amazed at the intensity between them, at the mingling of her feelings, because he could be tender and protective, and yet challenging and dominant. Certainly, he was more of everything compelling, than any she had known, save her own father and brother.
“Sefare.”
She looked up as Isola leaned over the wall, the woman’s hair sliding around as she grinned. “Are you still watching that road for your knight?”
Severe snorted. “No more than you wait around for shadows…”
Isola smiled sourly and then climbed up and jumped down to join her.
Setting her boot heels in the soil she leaned back, hands brushing down her thighs. “I sent a letter with Ronan, asking permission, to show the king some of my work. And, present him with gifts of my best.”
“He’ll be impressed. I am.”
“Perhaps. If he grants me my wish. I can fashion both dress swords and battle weapons. I have a collection of daggers that I have been working on for years. Very delicate, but deadly.”
Sefare looked at her. “Perfect for a spy or assassin?”
The redhead shrugged. “He is nobility. Your brother.”
“He’s simply Mshai.”
“He has women.”
Sefare snorted.
“He told me that he does.”
“What sort of conversation was that?” Sefare laughed.
The Smith looked up at the sky. “The sort where I offered to be trained by him. To help him.”
“And he thought you meant—”
“Aye. It made me angry at first. Not to be taken seriously. I did mean it seriously. I would love the challenge of having a duel role.” Then she lowered her eyes. “But I also wanted him. ‘Tis strange how he draws me—with just his eyes.”
Sefare took her hand. “I don’t know how to help you. I would miss our friendship. However, I would rather you have what you want. Mshai has always been like the night wind. And he has always been, a little mysterious, even to me.”
“I know. It will be fine. I’ll have half my wish anyway. If the king approves. I’ll be rich and in demand, and I’ll be more than a blacksmith.”
“You always were, my friend.”
Isola stood and nodded. “I think I was destined to be.” She headed around the wall. “By the by, Word has come that Ronan should be here on the dawn.”
Sefare jumped up. “By the…what…” She laughed as the woman chuckled and took off at a run.
Sefare whistled for her mutt then went to the gates and entered the courtyard, nodding absently to the guards as she hurried up to the solar.
That night she bathed and braided her hair at the crown with pearls, and drew on a sheer chemise. She dozed but awoke before light and cleaned her teeth, drew on a robe, and went to the window in time to see the party of eight guards and her Crimson Knight return.
After the grooms fetched the horses, the guards had been greeted, and he entered the castle, she heard the ring of Ronan’s spurs as he took the spiraled stairs.
It seemed forever that he was in the bathing chambers, and longer still before he was standing in the doorway, his wet hair down, his mask on but nothing else. She had left the room dark, allowing only moon and stars to light in the arched windows. It glowed on her hair, the silk robe and bathed her for his sight.
“Was it the trial?”
“Aye. There was no hanging. Only fines, and Guardi cannot step foot on these shores. If he does. He must face me.”
She nodded, knowing he would have insisted upon that, even to his king. “Is that all?”
“Nay.” He walked gracefully toward her, graceful for such a big knight. “Your brother sends his love.”
She smiled.
His bloomed slower behind the mask before he brushed a hand down his chest. “I have brought my message home personally.”
Sefare stood and let the robe drop. She walked to him, standing in the last bit of rays, but reaching her hands to touch him in the shadows. Her palms on his shoulders, she whispered, “And mine has been waiting….aching to feel and see and hear you, once more.”
Ronan lifted her up, his long mane sliding over his shoulders while he carried her to the large bed. Sliding the chemise up her thighs, which were on either side of his hips, Ronan laved her nipples through the mesh before he kissed her lips and murmured against them, “I have never seen one so beautiful…never felt one so giving… It is all I have dreamed of whilst gone.”
She arched her hips, rubbing her sex against the thrust of his. “I have missed our morning rides.”
He chuckled deep as his sex sank smoothly into her. “How far shall I take you, My Lady?”
“To the very stars…” She arched her neck as he rode her with a cadence and grind of his sinewy hips. “Oh, Ronan…I think I was made for this. For you.”
He held her hands above her head, curling himself into her. “Some power beyond my dreams has eased the curse I saw my life to be. God’s truth, Sefare, I forget all save this feeling when I am with you.”
“I too.” She curled their fingers tighter together. “Love me. Love me, and let me love you.”
Ronan did. He made love to Sefare in that bed, then again, standing by the window. She took him beyond flesh as his bronze frame trembled on the fur before the unlighted hearth.
Somewhere distant he knew she touched where he wished her not to—sometime in the rolling and sensual moving, the glide of tongues and hands, he felt her moving down his chest and kissing, felt her shape his thighs and calves with hands that were soft like silk. However, even when the pink blaze of dawn threatened to light the room, he was aware that even apart from her, no night terrors came, only thoughts, memories, of Sefare.
“I am almost ready for your surrender,” she whispered as he grit his teeth, sweat bathing his face behind the mask, and his hands in her hair.
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He felt her lips hold his sex captive between silken hot walls. “I accede…to your mastery. Od’s blood, I surrender, willingly,” he managed before the implosion of his climax rocked him.
Later they dozed, tangled in the sheets and her body half over his. In late evening, the scrape of servants setting trays by the door awoke them. Sefare crawled to the end of the bed, letting him cover himself if he wished.
Her nude backside, heart shaped, met Ronan’s lifted lashes. His blood spiked. “Perhaps we should bathe first. Shall I join you?”
She grinned and hopped off the bed. “I’ll meet you there.”
It was past midnight before they opened the door and dragged the tray inside.
“Did Isola obtain…?”
“—Aye. She will be leaving in a week’s time. Will you miss her?”
“Of course. But I want her to succeed.”
Ronan rubbed a hand up her back. “Odd but so does your brother. He took the letter to the king personally.”
Sefare smiled in the dark. She yawned. “We must ready for travel to Dunnewicke. I cannot wait to see Illara.”
“Aye. And there will be a child…an heir.”
She kissed his chest. “After a bit of sleep, I will tell you of your own.”
He sat up. “What!”
She laughed. “Not yet. We are still working on it, Sir.”
“But I thought—”
“I have a feeling that a love this healing, will bring us many such gifts.”
Ronan rolled her over, kissing her until they both groaned.
“My lips are sore.”
He laughed. “Aye. Other parts of us too.”
They laughed and chuckled long at that, more until it filled the castle.
Somewhere in the laughter, Sefare saw tears poised in his eyes. He grasped her to him tightly and she scarcely heard him whisper in desperate wonder, “I had forgotten what joy and freedom felt like. God’s mercy…though death and danger shadow our every step, I will fight with my last breath to hold onto this, to you.”
Sefare’s own tears bathed his scarred neck. She whispered back, “You found my heart, and I yours. My Crimson Knight. When you are inside me, my soul feels bathed, cleansed, by the power of your own. Your courage, your willingness to love me, make love to me, even when you feared to show your own body—awes me.”