They left, still muttering. The host, as he left, gave questioning glances from Alys to Ranald, but said nothing.
* * *
Once the door closed, Alys ran to him with a little cry. He made the mistake of enfolding her in his arms and holding her sweet warmth close.
"Oh! Ranald!" She all but sobbed into his shirt. "I thank you from the bottom of my heart. I was so afraid. Indeed, you envoys are the noblest men in creation."
His body was not acting nobly, not with two layers of fine linen between his skin and hers. He stepped back, holding her at arm's length. "Alys, let me go deal with them and settle this. Wait here."
She nodded. "What if they return?"
"They will not."
* * *
What it was to be so trusted! What it was to be so tempted.
Leaving Alys in her chamber, Ranald returned to his own, pulled on breeches and boots, and fastened his sword at his side. He did not trust those two to leave. Not without strong encouragement--at the point of a sword if necessary. A few minutes later, wearing his authority like a mantle, Ranald crossed the stable yard where his host, the stable keeper, and a couple of lads gathered--all in various degrees of undress.
The host looked more than exasperated.
"You have identified the beast in question?" Ranald determined to play this to the end.
"The very one!"
"Here is the chit, under the monarch's sigil." They both peered at the paper. "This is good for three days stabling on the road."
The shorter one, who Ranald now saw had a bad squint in his left eye, muttered, "We need a bridle and leading rein."
Was there no end to their demands? "You came looking for a stolen pony and brought no tack to restrain it?"
"'Twas not horse restraints we--" he began, but stopped at a scowl from the other.
Ranald dreaded to think what restraints they carried, and the ill Alys might have suffered in their hands. "I'm sure, for a fair price, the stable manager can supply tack. I wish you a speedy journey back to Wenmere. Be assured, once Lady Alys is reunited with her family, without doubt they will pursue this matter. I charge you to take good care of the animal."
That seemed as good a parting barb as any. With a nod to the host, and a look Ranald hoped he'd understand, Ranald turned toward the inn door. He was weary, worried, and angry to his core. When he finally completed this mission, he'd ask to lead a contingent to examine justice in the eastern lands.
When...if...
No, he would prevail. In two or three, at most four days, he'd have Alys safe in the western territories. He'd stay long enough to see her safely established and then resume his mission. The monarch waited.
* * *
So did Alys, in Ranald's bedchamber.
She was seated on a stool by the fireplace, her cloak wrapped around her shoulders, as the fire was all but dead. She looked tired, cold, and worried. As he stepped though the door, she stood, slowly, as if she'd been half asleep. "Have they gone?"
"They will be away at first light. Mine host is not offering them beds, but a chance to sleep on the floor of the hall."
"But they are taking Braniv with them?"
"Yes."
She bit her lip, shook her head, and blinked as if fighting back tears. "I owe you gratitude for saving me. They would have forced me back with them if I had been on my own, but..." She sniffed. "I did not steal him. I paid Farmer Bram a fair price. Truly I did!"
"Alys, as if I could doubt you? I know you did not steal."
"Oh!" It was part moan, part cry, and all sheer relief, as she stepped forward into his arms. Against all reason, letting the urges in his body overcome the solemnity of his vows, Ranald held her close, glorying in her sweet womanliness as she rested her head against his chest. In the days before his vows of service, he'd known the joy of joining with a loving woman and now...he rested his lips in her hair, inhaling the sweet scent of Alys, and lost himself in his body's desire.
"Ranald," she whispered into his shirt. "What happened? Why did they come for me?"
He felt her fear through her skin. "Who's to know? Perhaps the farmer reported the pony gone..."
She pulled back and, looking up at him, shook her head. "No! Not possible! Farmer Bram was my father's friend. His wife and my mother boiled jam and made cider together. He would not turn on me. 'Twas he who directed me to leave the village via the woods and ford the river upstream, rather than cross the village bridge. He warned me they might try to impose taxes and impound my money. He helped me get away."
"Then no doubt the warden cooked up a deceit to take you back." She shuddered against him at his words, so he held her even closer until the shakes eased and she was warm and soft in his arms again. He brushed the hair off her face and dropped a kiss on her forehead. And felt the response ripple down her body. He was not the only one aroused.
It had been so long and his body sang for hers, but she needed comfort, not seduction. "No one can hurt you or take you, Alys. I will not permit it."
She looked up at him, eyes damp with tears. "How am I to travel without Braniv? I cannot carry all my baggage on foot."
"You will not go on foot. If mine host does not have a mount to spare, you will ride with me."
"What if they come back?"
"No one will accost you, Alys. You have my sworn word on it! Come!" He swung her into his arms and crossed the room, settling her on his abandoned bed. "You will be safe here," he promised. "I will bolt the door from the inside."
He wanted so much to join her between the sheets, but he was not made of worked metal. Just touching her drove his needs to fever pitch, and a night beside her would be torture. "Sleep well and safe, Alys. I will be in your old room. If they do dare return, which they will not, they will have my weapons to contend with." He would have repaired to the other chamber there and then, to sleep alone and lonely, but she grasped his shirt. "Ranald, what if they wait for us on the road?"
He sat down on the woolen coverlet. "Alys, even rough men such as those two would not dare waylay an envoy of the monarch." Or so he hoped. "You have nothing to fear." Not while he lived and breathed.
Her cold hand touched his. "I know, Ranald. With you I feel safe, but..." A shudder of remembrances shook her. "When they burst into my room 'twas as if my worst nightmare had come alive."
"There will be no nightmares," he promised. "Not while I am here."
She took a deep breath and smiled at him, full lips parted as her warm breath brushed his face. "I know." Her fingers meshed with his, the pulse in her thumb swift against his hand. "Please don't leave."
How could he? Knowing her need, understanding the yearning that mirrored his own, he brushed his lips on her cool forehead. "I will stay, Alys--as your protector."
He yanked off his boots, discarded his coat, but had the sense to leave on his breeches, and was beside her in moments.
It was wonderful to feel her warmth and softness alongside him. It was foolishness.
It was dire temptation.
It was her need that touched him most, as she eased herself into the contours of his body. She was obviously innocent, but hearkening to her body's needs. He was experienced and sworn to celibacy. What bedfellows indeed! But how right the weight of her head felt on his shoulder, and how wondrous the soft brush of her auburn curls against his chin.
"Thank you, Ranald," she said as she nestled closer. "May the Goddesses bless you for your goodness."
And may they give him strength to last 'til morning and keep her virtue intact! It was the most delicious torture of his life. Yes, his vows were a burden now, but he could not abandon them. His honor was her protection. If he gave in to his desires, how could he face the world with the justification of a pure heart?
She shifted a little, to brush her soft lips against his shoulder. The kiss burned through the fold of linen and his body responded like a match to tinder.
* * *
CHAPTER SEVEN
A wise man would
leave this instant. Or would he? Alys was honest, brave, honorable, and his. That much had become clear of the past few days. She needed the comfort of his presence, and yearned for the solace of his body. That, he could not offer, but satisfaction was his to give.
"Alys."
"Yes?"
"You wish me to stay?"
"I do. If it so please you."
"How could it not?" His soft chuckle echoed in the quiet room. "Do you know what you ask, Alys?"
Her sigh came like a soft breeze through aspen trees in summer. "I know enough to know what I want is impossible. I would not be the one to cause you to be forsworn." She moved to sit up, but he stayed her.
"Alys, my sweet. Let me at least gift you before we must part."
"Gift me with what?"
"The gift only a lover can offer. Sweetest joy."
"But your vows!"
"Trust me, my sweet Alys, my vows cannot be harmed by one as sweet as you." If he were strong enough--and he would be. His weakness would not be her guilt. Rather, he would show her what a woman of her courage should expect from a man.
Pressing his lips to her cheek, he dropped a trail of gentle kisses along the side of her face and neck. She arched her shoulders and stretched her neck, offering the sensitive skin to his embrace. Driven by women's instinct, she wanted more, but he kept his kisses soft and gentle. She was young, a virgin, and unprepared. He would neither hasten nor press her. They had until dawn. Stroking her hair and running his fingers though the glorious copper tresses, Ranald continued to kiss her face, her chin, her eyelids. He listened and watched, gauging and testing her response. Alys smiled, murmured, and relaxed under his fingertips.
He eased his hand down to the narrow lace around the neckline of her sleep shift. She shivered at his touch, but his lips on her cheek felt her smile. "Beautiful Alys," he whispered, as he eased open one tiny pearl button.
There were ten of them, each held by a delicate loop. It seemed instinct and desire guided his fingers. He wished he'd taken time to light a lamp, but mayhap it was easier for her in the dark. Ranald parted the two sides of the open neckline and stroked her warm flesh, smoothing his fingertips over the fullness of the top of her breasts. As she sighed with pleasure, he eased his hands lower, cupping her glorious breasts and brushing the already stiff nipples until she whimpered.
Dear holy Goddesses in heaven! Such a combination of innocence and passion. And it was his. He'd not dwell on their imminent parting, but on showing her the wondrous pleasure between man and woman.
He pushed the neckline of her shift wide open and bent his head. His lips touched the warm curve of her breast. Gently, softly, he brushed her soft flesh with his mouth. Her little sighs delighted him.
"Ranald," she whispered, her hand stroking his hair. "Why...?"
He lifted his head just enough to meet her eyes. "Why do I worship your beautiful body? Because, Alys, you are wondrous, you are grace and worth. You are my desire."
Every word came from his heart, and stunned him with its utter truth. She was his dream, his soul mate. By all the Nine Goddesses, their acolytes, and followers, the only vow in this bed, this room, this isolated inn at the rim of the monarch's realm, was Ranald ven Strad's vow to give Alys joy and pleasure.
That he'd fulfill to his utmost.
His mouth came down again and closed over her nipple. His tongue caressed the stiff peak and the warm areola as her hands cupped his head and her fingers tunneled through his hair. There was no doubt she was content--more than content--delighted. As he lifted his mouth to taste her other breast, he caught the faint scent of aroused woman. Would she be concerned at the new responses in her body? It seemed not. She raised her head, smiled, leaned forward and set her mouth on his. Sweet joy! What in the world had ever equaled the pleasure he derived from her ardent lips? With little urging, she opened to him. As his tongue met hers, it was as if he'd been waiting all his life for her ardor and eagerness. She gave and took, thrusting and caressing until it seemed they moved in harmony, her arms closing around his shoulders and her soft body rocking under his touch, awakening to what he offered.
Still engaged in the kiss, he eased his hand down over her breasts and inside her shift to trace circles on her warm belly.
Her groan echoed in his ears.
He would make her cry out with joy before he was through. "Alys," he promised, "this is merely the beginning."
"Is more possible, Ranald? 'Tis so wondrous I fear it is sin."
"No, not sin. Not ever. I will give you joy and leave your honor intact. When morning comes, you will still be a virgin, but I will always be the one privileged to have awakened you."
Her eyes widened. A little gasp escaped her lips as she smiled at him. "'Twas indeed the Goddesses led me to you back at that inn."
"I bless them all for letting our ways cross." Was it only three days ago? It seemed Alys had been in his life forever. He would not think about parting from her; rather, he'd direct his mind and body to pleasing her.
His hand traced her belly again. Her sleep shift obstructed him, but would removing it trouble her? No!
Alys pulled herself up to a sitting position while he tugged the gown over her head. Dear heavens! She was lovely in the dim firelight. How glorious would she seem in dappled sunlight, or framed by satin curtains in a marriage bed...
That could never be, but they did have now. And this wonderful now would last them all their lives. "You are sheer and glorious beauty, my Alys." His hand skimmed her belly and stroked the sweet curves of her hips. She was no slender delicate nymph of a girl, but strong; her muscles well shaped from the hard life of a villager. But she was far, far more beautiful than his wildest dreams: pale skin, lush curves, generous breasts with dark, full nipples, thighs firm and strong from days in the fields, and between them, a wondrous vee of glorious copper hair.
His instinct was to part her thighs, settle himself between them, and fasten his mouth on the soft, sweet skin, and tease her tender pearl of pleasure with his tongue--but she was not ready for that. Yet.
First, she had to learn the joy that could rise between man and woman.
Ranald kissed her belly. "Beautiful," he murmured into her soft flesh. "Wondrous." He licked a line up to between her breasts.
Her giggle was sheer delight.
She was so ardent, so willing, so pure.
Holding his head in her hands, she pulled him close and kissed him. And what a kiss! This was more than mere response. This was taking, giving, grasping, savoring, repaying the pleasure he'd offered. Her tongue took possession of his mouth. How could he last, under this sweet assault? How could he not?
"Alys, love," he said as she released her hold to catch her breath. "My turn!"
She gasped as he fastened his mouth on her breast, drawing the nipple into his mouth, his touch a little rougher than before, and her response magnified in proportion to his demands. She tossed her head back and rocked her hips and he knew he had her for his own. At least for tonight and the next few, but precious days.
He began kissing down toward her navel, when she protested, "You haven't kissed my other breast. Why neglect it so?" Why indeed? "Never could I neglect any part of you, Alys. 'Tis just the choice is so hard. I want to devour you--all of you at one time, forever and ever."
"I will not protest," she replied with a grin, "but you must be fair to this one." She gathered the breast with her hands and offered it to him, as one day she would to a babe. If only he could be the one to make that babe!
Enough! Now was the time for joy, not "if only."
Accepting the welcome of her offered breast, he suckled until she sighed and moaned, and he judged her ready for more.
Kneeling, Ranald looked down at Alys, pale and exquisite in the night. With both hands he stroked the soft roundness of her belly, the curve of her hips and the fronts of her strong thighs. His hands came back to trace circles on her belly until she sighed and her thighs shifted apart.
Yes! She
was ready for joy and he'd been blessed by the Goddesses to be the one to initiate her. He kissed her thighs, parting them with his hands. She shifted anxiously and he whispered, "Be steady, Alys. There is nothing to fear; it is just the abundant joy in your body."
"In the village they say there is pain at deflowering."
Damn that village! "I will not deflower you, Alys. Did I not promise that? And if I ever had that honor, there would be no pain at our joining." He eased a finger between her damp folds, savoring the touch and scent of aroused Alys. "Permit me this, love, and joy unimagined will be yours."
"Dear Ranald," she whispered.
As he stroked her damp flesh, she relaxed on the pillow. "That pleases you?"
"'Tis wondrous! Your kisses were joy, your touch magnificent, but this..." She rocked her hips, instincts taking over. Instincts even that benighted village could not suppress.
"Lie still; permit this, Alys."
"I would permit you anything!" She gasped as he found her clit, and he smiled.
"Soon Alys," he whispered, "soon. Stop thinking. Stop wondering. Just feel. There is nothing more for you to do. Just give your mind and body over to joy."
He'd planned on making it last all night. He'd wanted her murmuring and sighing in his arms until dawn, but she was so ready, so ripe, and her responses so ardent. His thumb worked her clit as he watched her response. Again he regretted the dark, but in his mind's eye he saw the rosiness of her swollen cunt as clearly as his fingers felt her moistness. Alys's little whimpers grew with her rising desire. Her hips rocked in a sweet, sharp rhythm. Her high-pitched gasps echoed off the low ceiling. She was sweating now, her body caught up in the passion. She arched under his touch, her cries sharpening.
"Want me to stop, Alys?"
"Never!"
Smiling, Ranald resumed his caress. She was sweating freely, her skin damp against his. As her passion rose, he increased his pace and pressure until, with a great yell, she came and collapsed in his arms--a joyous, enlightened woman.
"Oh, Ranald," she managed between gasps, "you promised joy unimagined. How could anyone imagine anything so wondrous? You are wonderful!"
PARADOX III Page 6