His hands lifted her skirt. He turned to stare at her long, long legs. “God,” he whispered, as he raised a trembling hand to reverently touch her silken skin.
Bryce pulled her close, kissing her lips urgently, his hands expertly unfastening the buttons of her dress. He moved away from her only to slide the dress and chemise up over her head. Rising up on his arms, he gazed at her gleaming flesh. With the weight of his body, he leaned into her, pushing her down onto the bed. Like clouds, the velvet and silk of her dress surrounded them.
Bryce tasted her lips again, drinking from the honeyed pot of her mouth. Gently he brushed his fingers over her nipples. As Ryen began to respond, unconsciously moving her hips, Bryce grew bolder, kneading and squeezing the mounds, until he could stand it no more and he lowered his lips to the rosy peaks.
Ryen threw her arms about his head, holding him against her heart. She floated on his love, high above the world. His fingers worked magic over her body, heating it until she thought she would die if he did not enter her. But he continued his exploration, bringing her to heights she had never known.
His fingers slid down to the spot that needed, nay, demanded him. When they plunged inside her, Ryen gasped, closing her eyes. She arched her back to receive more of his feathery touch, his moist kisses.
Bryce pulled away. Instinctively, Ryen reached out to him, wanting to pull him back to her. Bryce shed his clothing with shaking fingers, almost ripping the cloth from his body in his hurry to return to her. Cold assaulted his body; but the fire burning through his veins kept him hot as he looked down at Ryen, her hair spread over the pillows like a fan, her lips swollen with passion from his kisses, her cheeks heated with desire. He fell on her, his naked body covering hers. With his knees, he gently guided her thighs apart.
Ryen felt the pressure at her womanhood. She looked up into his dark eyes to see the moonlight reflected in his ebony depths, then placed her hands on his large shoulders, tugging him closer. “Please, Bryce,” she whispered.
He plunged deep inside her.
Ryen froze, pain stilling her passion. But Bryce bent his head, his lips searing his own passion into her, warming her with his desire. When he started to move again, Ryen was surprised that there was no pain, only hot yearning. She moved with him, their bodies locked together as one.
Bryce’s gentle caresses and kisses washed warmly over her until desire ran rampant through her. It was stronger than revenge, more powerful than bloodlust. Ryen felt it fill her until she exploded, her entire body tingling and shaking with the impact. When the feeling left her, she was breathless and weary. She looked up at Bryce to find him smiling at her. His gaze was filled with all the tenderness that she had ever dreamt of seeing in his eyes. Ryen reached up and embraced him tightly.
He began to move again. He had not thrust more than twice when his body stiffened and he groaned.
For long seconds they lay together, exhausted and sated. She loved him. Oh God, Ryen thought. This warmth, this happiness, was what it was like to love someone. She smiled into his neck, nuzzling his throat.
“Does this mean you liked it better this time?” he asked quietly.
“Aye,” she whispered. “Much better.”
Chapter Thirty Eight
Ryen lay in Bryce’s arms, held tightly against his strong chest. She could feel the muscles beneath her cheek, hear his heartbeat. She had never felt so wonderful, so warm and safe.
His chest rose and fell slowly, and his arm draped loosely over her waist.
Ryen languidly ran her hand over the planes of his stomach, marveling at their hardness. She ran her fingers to the edge of the blanket that covered half of his glorious body. Slowly, carefully, she lifted it, desiring to see the part of his body that had given her so much pleasure. Then a rumble of throaty laughter caused her to drop the blanket as if it had suddenly burst into flame.
“Little vixen,” he said, grabbing her wrist. “I yielded to your insatiable appetite last night, wasn’t that enough?”
Ryen watched the blanket magically rise before he easily flipped her onto her back and straddled her body.
His black eyes caught the rising sun in their depths as he smiled down at her. He held her wrists in his hands.
Ryen smiled, her gaze hungrily devouring his handsome face. She was surprised to find the hot flames of desire flaring through her body again, even after a night of lovemaking.
Bryce bent his mouth to hers.
Later, as Bryce led Ryen to the stairs, her arm in his, she asked, “Who wove that tapestry hanging in your room?”
“You mean the one that was hanging until a little wench decided to use its pole for a sword?” Bryce said, his voice light.
Ryen grinned. “Yes. That one.”
Bryce stopped and his eyes grew distant with memory. “My mother,” he answered quietly. “It was the last thing she ever did.”
“I’m sorry,” Ryen whispered at the longing in his eyes and the pain that tightened his jaw. When he did not acknowledge her, she attempted to change the subject. “Do you have any brothers and sisters?”
“Not blood, no.”
Although Ryen waited, Bryce did not elaborate. She turned to look out a window. The day was beautiful. Sun shone on the village; children’s laughter filled the air. Ryen inhaled deeply, savoring the fresh scent of the new day. “Bryce, I have asked you for nothing since I’ve been here,” she stated quietly, thinking to ask him to take her out into the glorious day.
“Except to be allowed into the kitchens,” Bryce murmured with a quiet laugh.
At his casual comment, the image of McFinley knocking over the table while the peasants scattered beneath his rage filled her mind. The thought sobered her and she straightened away from the window.
“What is it?” Bryce asked, suddenly concerned at her pensive state.
Ryen looked away, clasping her hands before her. Was she to enter the hall only to see her work lying in ruins on the floor, mugs scattered and broken in the rushes? She feared Bryce’s knights could never accept her as one of their own.
“Ryen,” he whispered, stepping before her. “Tell me,” he urged, lifting a hand to wipe a stray strand of dark hair from her brow.
She wanted to snuggle into the warmth of his body where nothing could touch her love for him, but the thought of her uncertain future stilled her movements. How could she live with him as an enemy, knowing his men hated her? What could the future possibly hold for them? “What will you do with me?” she wondered.
“Do?” His lips turned up in a grin. “I will make you happy. And since it seems you are happiest in bed –” He swept her up into his arms. “—I will allow you full use of it as well!”
Ryen couldn’t suppress the laughter that bubbled from her throat.
“But you must eat to keep up your strength,” he warned, setting her onto the ground. “I will not tolerate you lying listlessly beneath me.”
“Or on top of you,” she said playfully, hugging his neck.
“Saucy wench. I should take you now.” He stroked her hair, keeping her body pressed closely to his. Very close. He nuzzled her hair with his face and his soft voice reached her ears. “Oh, God. I have never been this happy. Let it last.” When she pulled back to study his eyes, she could not tell whether she had imagined the words or not.
He placed her hand upon his arm and continued down the stairs toward the Great Hall. As they turned the corner, a group of maids scattered. Ryen glanced up at Bryce to find him scowling.
At her stare, he murmured, “They should mind their business.” He clutched her hand tightly.
“Bryce, will you take me riding?” When he turned startled eyes to her, she continued, “I would like to see your English lands through your eyes, my lord.”
He frowned slightly and Ryen thought she saw suspicion etched in the furrows of his brow before he shrugged his large shoulders. “As you wish.”
Just before they entered the Great Hall she took a deep breath to prepar
e herself to face the destruction McFinley had wrought the previous night.
As soon as they stepped through the doors, Ryen’s gaze swiveled to the spot where she had been eating with the peasants. Happiness spread over her. She saw a group of peasants standing before a righted table, their faces aglow with pride.
Everything that had been broken was mended or replaced!
A smile of joy lit Ryen’s face. She left Bryce’s arm and hurried forward to Polly, who held out her pudgy arms in greeting.
“Oh, my lady!” Polly greeted, clasping Ryen’s arms in her hands. “What miracle has allowed ya to stay?”
Ryen stared raptly at the tables. “What happened? Who fixed them?”
“Why, we did, a course!” Kit exclaimed, from beside Polly.
“It’s wonderful!” Ryen exclaimed. As everyone began to take their seats, Ryen looked for Bryce, only to find him near the large double doors, speaking with Talbot. His black eyes were focused on her, watching her with an expressionless face. Ryen waited for him to indicate that she should sit beside him. But as Talbot spoke, Bryce’s look only darkened.
What have I done to make his so angry? Ryen wondered. She took a step toward him, ready to confront and ease any lie that was being whispered to him. But something called her attention to the front of the room.
Across the great expanse, she could see his whores had taken their usual seats beside his empty one.
Ryen wilted as doubt rained down upon her, eating away at her happiness. What if Bryce took her with him but seated her with his men, at a place lower than his whores? She stepped back to the peasants’ table, watching Bryce.
Polly prattled away beside her about the pudding she planned to make on the morrow.
Kit stood on her other side, speaking of how they had worked through the night to repair the table.
Will I sit with his men if it pleases him? she asked herself. As she stared at him, his powerful presence filled her. Yes. I will do anything he asks to please him, to have him smile at me. She imagined him approaching her, his strong legs eating up the distance between them, and taking her to the chair beside him. Displacing one of his whores – with another, a small voice inside her accused.
Then, he was coming and Ryen felt a shiver race along her spine. She was shuddering, not beneath his anger, but at the sight of his body. It seemed to flow across the room like a river, marvelous in its symmetry. Ryen felt her desire spark as her eyes scanned the current of his movement. Her lips parted slightly as she felt the warmth begin to spread over her body. He was so powerful, so handsome! He could sweep her away with a mere glance from those raging eyes.
He halted just before her. She gaped, not knowing what to do or what to say.
Suddenly, his intense gaze shifted to Polly. “You did an admirable job repairing the table,” he said.
“Thank you, m’lord,” Polly replied pensively.
The peasants began to eat again, studying him intently behind lowered gazes.
How he intimidates them! Ryen thought, and wondered if he realized just how frightening he could be. Something filled her as she stared at his rugged profile. A possessiveness seized her, tugging at the corners of her lips. When Bryce turned back to her, his gaze was softer, kinder somehow.
But suddenly his powerful glance slipped past her and his brow furrowed. “What are you staring at, woman?” he demanded gruffly.
Ryen turned to see Kit watching him with large, curious eyes. As Bryce’s dark look bore into her, Kit gasped, “Gaw!” and lowered her head, stuffing a piece of bread into her mouth.
Bryce’s back straightened. “What is it?” he repeated.
The timbre of his angry voice shook Ryen and she felt dread slither up her spine like a snake.
Bryce’s gaze swept the table, his mood darkening as he saw the peasants staring at him with the same expectant look. He turned back to Kit, pounding a clenched fist on the table. “Tell me!”
The peasants shot furtive glances at one another. Some of them looked as though they were about to flee.
“You don’t know?” Ryen wondered. “Talbot didn’t tell you?”
“He told me that McFinley destroyed your hard work and that there was a swordfight. Needed a little exercise, eh, Angel? I’m glad you didn’t kill him. I would hate to have to replace such a skilled knight.”
“She should have killed the cur,” Polly retorted.
Bryce’s cold glare froze her to the spot.
“He struck Lady Ryen,” Polly said.
Bryce’s eyes locked on Ryen for a moment and she saw the uncontrollable anger that swept him like a hot blaze.
Bryce whirled, his gaze searing across the expanse of the hall, pegging McFinley in his chair.
Ryen held out a restraining hand.
But in that second, Bryce had flown across the room faster than a wolf and lunged for McFinley’s throat. He had toppled McFinley to the floor, large hands locked around his neck, before Ryen could reach them.
“Bryce!” she screamed, pulling at his arms. “No!”
Bryce squeezed his hand tighter and McFinley fought, bucking and clawing at the grip around his throat.
“Bryce!” Ryen shouted, pulling at Bryce’s wrists. “Stop!” She bent her face into his view. “It is my right! He struck me!” Her heart racing, she pulled at his fingers and arms trying to free McFinley, but they were locked in a death grip. “Please.”
Bryce’s hands suddenly went slack. Ryen heard McFinley gasp for air as she raised her eyes to Bryce. He was staring at her, dark eyes peering into her soul. “It is your right,” he said, and stood rigidly.
She was on her knees before him, McFinley gasping beside her. Ryen could feel Bryce’s pent-up anger, as if he were going to erupt again at any moment. She looked at McFinley. Bryce would have killed him, might still kill him, because he had struck her. She felt responsible for his life. How many men had she watched die in battle? Why should she care if one more Englishman was killed or not? But she did care. She cared because something in her had changed. She cared for Bryce’s people as though they were her own, even the ones who despised her.
McFinley turned his gaze to Ryen. She could see the fear in his eyes. She had bested him and she had spared his life. Now, he found his life in her hands once again.
Ryen stood looking down at McFinley. “Rise.”
He averted his eyes, rubbing his neck for a long moment. Finally, he climbed to his feet.
Ryen watched as his shoulders passed her head. She had not remembered him being so tall. “You will serve the peasants at the noon meal.”
His eyebrows furrowed. “You cannot give me an order. If you choose to strike me, that is your right.”
“Your judgment is my right,” Ryen replied confidently. “Now, kneel.”
McFinley glanced at Bryce. “I will not take orders from her!”
“Kneel,” Ryen commanded.
“You will do as she says,” Bryce answered tightly. “Or face my judgment.”
McFinley tightened his jaw and went down on one knee before Ryen.
“Now,” she proclaimed. “Pledge your loyalty –”
McFinley glanced sharply up at her, his eyes glaring defiance.
“—to your lord, Bryce Princeton,” Ryen finished.
McFinley locked gazes with Bryce in surprise before lowering his eyes. “M’lord,” he said solemnly, “I do pledge my loyalty, devotion, and admiration to you, on my honor as a knight. If in any way you are hurt, be it of the spirit or of the flesh, I will be wounded also.”
The quiet spread thin throughout the room until finally McFinley glanced up.
Bryce reached out his hand and clasped McFinley’s. “Rise, McFinley,” he commanded.
Ryen felt the tension in her shoulders lessen and she let out an inaudible sigh at the sight of the two men hand in hand. A grin spread over her lips.
McFinley mirrored her smile of relief as he stood.
Bryce’s closed fist connected with McFinley’s ch
in and the man spun once before plummeting to the floor.
Ryen gasped, putting her hands to her mouth.
“Never insult me again,” Bryce growled. “And be thankful that Angel is more forgiving than I.” Bryce turned his back and strode from the room.
Ryen stood gaping at McFinley. Then she raced after Bryce. Her slippered feet skidded in the doorway as she searched first left and then right. She spotted him down the hall.
“Bryce!” she called, and ran after him.
He slowed and finally stopped, his spine straightening.
As Ryen ran to him, she heard his words. They were wrenched from his body by a forge of remorse. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Ryen blinked, stunned that she had caused him agony. “It was over. I saw no reason…”
There was a long moment of silence before Bryce said, “I cannot take you riding, Ryen.” The words were as cold as the floor upon which she stood.
A great weight crushed her heart. His rigid shoulders were like a wall against her. The silence stretched between them, an impassable abyss.
“I will not allow them to harm you,” he said, before storming off down the hall.
Ryen watched until he had vanished around the corner. She stood for a long moment staring after him. The hallway stretched out before her, the ceiling high, making her feel tiny.
Ryen lowered her head. It took her a moment to realize that she was alone. For the first time since she’d been at Dark Castle, she was free. A weight lifted from her shoulders. At least he trusted her enough to wander without guards. She glanced up at the hallway before her at the sunlight that danced on the walls. She wanted to be outside so badly that she almost ran to the door.
She paused in the archway, staring out at the opening before her. The stone walls that surrounded the inner ward of Dark Castle rose stories above her head. Guards paced the battlements and walkways that ran along the walls.
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