A half hour later, Ranulf brooded in silence as the group moved beyond Hunswick and closer to the spot where he first spied her. Her sorrow had not left her eyes, but his men had been oblivious. Indulging them, Bronwyn had chatted congenially, answering questions lightly and enchantingly. His men were infatuated and their every sigh, every verbal fumble only confirmed their condition. Ranulf was just about to halt the ceaseless line of questions when Bronwyn did it for him.
Stopping at a small clearing nestled against the lake’s shoreline, she called out to Tyr, “The geese typically gather just beyond the next bend. I need to check something and will join you in a moment.”
Ranulf gave a quick tug on the reins, halting the large destrier, and signaled Tyr to keep moving. Then he waited till the group passed before prodding Pertinax toward the very spot where he had first spied her. He remembered that day perfectly, including the man who had attacked her. The memory served as a sharp reminder that he had yet to find out just who her tormenter was and if she was still in danger.
Asking her would be fruitless. She first would have to own up to her identity, and she wasn’t about to do that with the sparks of animosity flying between them. He needed to get his possessiveness under control and that wouldn’t happen until he knew she was his. Not just in his own mind, but in everyone else’s.
Bronwyn issued Ranulf a look of surprise as he slipped off his horse and tied it to the same bush she had used for her own mount. His comment about her choice of dress had hurt deeply.
She, too, had received material for a gown from her father. Hers was a shimmering dark silver, which accentuated her eyes, but it had been one of the few things she had packed and taken to Syndlear. Still, she had spent extra time that morning preparing her hair and had especially chosen Lily’s yellow dress because she thought it might make her appear more like the women of court whom Ranulf had been with the past few years. It was a little snug and the color didn’t suit her like it did her dark-haired sister, still Bronwyn thought she looked pretty.
But Ranulf had hated it. Everything in his demeanor and expression screamed for her to go back to her room and change. Pride had caused her to snap back, and as a result, a gulf of misunderstanding now lay between them. He had ignored her so she had done the same, keeping her conversations with his men or Tyr, whom she found affable and very interesting. And today, very informative.
She kept her back toward Ranulf and pulled at one of the leafless orange and yellow flowers covering a bush just to the side of her tree.
“What is that you are picking?”
“Witch hazel,” Bronwyn answered as she spun the slender dark yellow stem in her hand. She inhaled its scent and sighed. “It grows in the winter when so few flowers do. That’s why my mother loved it. It’s bright and pretty and it smells sweet, like spring.”
“So you planted it near her favorite tree.”
Bronwyn turned just her head around. “How did you know this was her favorite tree?”
Ranulf shrugged. Bronwyn’s wistful expression matched that of the tune she had been singing, the haunting sounds of remembrance. “I saw you here before.”
“That’s right. You were here that day.”
Ranulf didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. Instead he waved his arm at the view. “I can see why you like this spot.”
Bronwyn strolled closer to the water’s edge. Boulders randomly lined the shoreline and extended into the water. As a child she used to jump from rock to rock. “This is where I come to think. After my mother passed, I would come here every day and just cry. His lordship—your cousin—knew but he never said anything, never stopped me. He knew that for some reason it gave me comfort. I am going to miss it.”
Ranulf moved to stand by her left side, bringing her back into his limited line of sight. “I’m not an ogre. You can continue coming here in the future.”
Bronwyn nodded and gave him a quick placating smile. “So, tell me, just how long have you known the king…I mean personally?”
Ranulf pivoted and followed her with his vision as she went back to the prickly bush to pick more flowers. She was shutting him out and he didn’t know just what it was she was protecting or why. But pressing would not gain her trust. “Not long and yet forever,” he finally answered.
Bronwyn’s mouth curved into an unconscious smile. “You know, that is exactly how I feel about you.”
As soon as the words popped out, Bronwyn immediately bit her bottom lip. She shouldn’t have said her thoughts aloud, but in a way she was glad she did. She wanted Ranulf to know after she left for Scotland that he hadn’t been just anyone and that his company these past few days had been important to her.
“I’ve wondered what you were thinking about that day, before that man…disturbed you,” Ranulf remarked, taking a risk, encouraged by her admission.
“It doesn’t matter now,” she answered with a semi-shrug. “But you should know that I will always be grateful for your interference that afternoon. I normally can handle men and have been protecting my younger sisters for years, but I’m afraid to think of what would have happened if you had not been there.” She paused and took a deep breath, seeking the courage to continue. “I have never needed saving before. People always come to me for help. It is nice to know there is someone else who will take my place.”
Her small speech rattled Ranulf, but it shouldn’t have. After that first day, ordering her and her family off his property, of course she believed he wanted her gone. He hadn’t talked of marriage and that was because she hadn’t been truthful with him about who she was. And she wasn’t ever going to admit to her identity while believing she was going to have to leave.
He gave in to the compulsion to pull her into his arms. “You’re not leaving.”
“I have to. My sisters…” Bronwyn argued, but she did not pull away.
“You said ‘younger sister’ the other night. I was told that Bronwyn was the eldest.”
Bronwyn instantly stiffened and stepped out of the embrace.
Ranulf remained where he was. “Angel, whatever it is, you can tell me. You can trust me.”
Her blue eyes studied the single auburn pool staring at her. In it was so much sincerity. She wanted to end the farce. Have him call her by her real name and not just “angel.” To know if he would repeat his words with equal tenderness if he knew she was not his intended but the comparatively ugly older sister.
She was saved from deciding when the deafening unique sound of honking geese filled the air, making it impossible to continue their conversation. When the sounds started to die down, Tyr emerged into the clearing announcing that they had found the flock. With a frustrated grimace, Ranulf gestured that he and Bronwyn should mount and rejoin the group.
As soon as they arrived at the place where others were gathered, one of the village hunters proudly held up four monster birds. “Look, my lady, won’t this be a great addition to the night’s meal of pig and lamb?”
Tyr’s hazel eyes grew large as he moved his horse closer. “Did you say pig and lamb?”
The hunter bobbed his head proudly. “Everyone at Hunswick is eating especially well this year since her ladyship”—he paused to nod at Bronwyn—“cleared all the storages of meat, giving us villagers and farmers a share. Won’t find a man around who won’t be willing to help out to replenish what we took for the feasts.”
Ranulf nudged his horse forward until he was beside Bronwyn. Pivoting in the saddle, he arched the brow over his good eye and said, “Devout follower of Advent, eh?”
“Maybe I should have said recently devout,” Bronwyn clarified.
A roar of laughter broke over the crowd. Tyr wiped away the tears forming in his eyes. “Oh, she got you, Ranulf. I told you not to evict a woman from her home. They have all kinds of ways of exacting revenge, and keeping a man from enjoying a good meal…well, that was brilliant and evil.”
Bronwyn waited for Ranulf’s rebuke, but instead, he joined his friend, and within minutes, th
e whole group was laughing, though only a handful truly understood why.
Three hours later, the geese had dispersed and the group, which was now almost to the other side of Bassellmere, was starting their ride back. Additional hunting would be needed to replenish the other meats, but they had more than enough to satisfy everyone’s hunger that night as well as for the first few Twelfthtide celebrations.
Surprisingly, Bronwyn had enjoyed the outing immensely. Whatever tension that had been eating at Ranulf when he awoke that morning was now gone. Instead, she was able to witness how he was with his men, relaxed but with a cunning sense of humor. In return, they treated him with a respect and ease one only felt after years of companionship. And she had been welcomed into that small community through both teasing and the acceptance of her snappy returns. Best of all, Ranulf didn’t seem to mind.
He rode beside her, most of the time, almost as if he were announcing to everyone that she was his future wife. That she belonged to him. She was living a fantasy but she couldn’t bring herself to end it.
She had fallen in love. Deeply, irrevocably.
She had not intended to give her heart away, and never dreamed she could have done so in such a short period of time, but she had. She had started falling while arguing with him that first day on the battlements, but it wasn’t until last night that he’d claimed her whole heart. There would never be another for her. She intended to soak in every minute, revel in every smile so she could relive this day over and over again in the future. Ranulf would learn the truth soon enough. Tomorrow she would ask to visit her sisters, knowing she would never see him again. And once safely in the confines of Syndlear, she would send word with the truth of her identity and why she had lied, hoping Ranulf would at least understand, even if he could not forgive her.
A shout from one of the men got her attention. They saw some deer, which tended to be quite elusive in the winter months. Ranulf waved them ahead, indicating that he and Bronwyn would follow but not to wait.
Bronwyn maneuvered her horse around a large thistle bush and pulled her mount to the right to wait for Ranulf. It was becoming increasingly more natural to adjust her position so that she remained on his right side and within his line of vision. “Tyr says that you are quite rich and that is why you can afford so many men.”
Ranulf frowned. “Tyr speaks too much.”
“But it’s true, isn’t it?”
“In a way,” Ranulf hedged. Truth was, he was very wealthy compared to most commanders under Henry’s rule. Everyone knew the king possessed a large fortune, and with his frugal inclinations, they did not rapidly diminish under his leadership. Consequently, Henry was able to be very liberal with his money when he chose, and as a result, he let a loyal few keep much of what they reaped in battle. And Ranulf had reaped much over the years.
“I guess it’s nice to know that our new king is generous.”
“If you say so. The last time I experienced his merciless generosity, he made me accept this title. Told me the responsibility of being a lord suited me. Me!” Ranulf scoffed.
“Doesn’t it, though?” Bronwyn countered.
Ranulf twitched his mouth and glanced to his right. “To assume responsibility for men’s lives during battle is one thing, but to assume it afterward means and affects much more, including their wives and children, making the burden far more difficult.”
“I understand,” Bronwyn murmured.
Ranulf glanced at her, surprised by the sincerity in her voice, but she probably did understand. For months, the lives dependent upon Hunswick had been thrust upon her, and just because she had risen to the responsibility didn’t mean she had aspired to it, or even wanted it.
“I doubt many would, but you…you might. Still, I am fortunate. The lands are rich and many of the farms are unmanned, giving my men and their families a chance they never would have had.”
Bronwyn expressed a gentle laugh that rippled through the air. “Those farms were last tilled by Saxons, and as far as the houses on them, only remnants remain. They will have to be rebuilt.”
“My men won’t mind, especially if it means they can settle down. Their wives are even more eager to do so.”
“Wives?” Bronwyn repeated as she ducked almost successfully underneath a low-hanging branch. A stray twig caught her hair net.
“They’re still in Normandy waiting with their husbands and families until spring to journey here. Once they do, we will rebuild houses and fortify Hunswick. Even Syndlear if needed.”
Bronwyn pulled out the small branch but, in doing so, dislodged one of the pins securing the snood. She tried to reach back with one hand to find the errant pin stabbing her scalp, but couldn’t while continually pushing aside the foliage. “I need to stop.”
Ranulf spotted a small gap in the thicket located next to the water and, after she dismounted, guided both horses to the shore for a drink. The grass had turned winter yellow but it still remained soft and thick. The view of the lake from the secluded spot was calming and peaceful…at least to him. He turned to see just what was causing her to mutter irritably under her breath.
Bronwyn was standing there with two pins in her mouth, angrily searching for more. Clearly frustrated, she spit them out and began tugging at the netting, trying to free her mane from it altogether. “Do you miss your old life?” she asked. “I mean, Hunswick and the Hills must seem quite dull in comparison. We do not have the amusements you are used to.”
“No, I will not miss court,” Ranulf managed to get out. She was obviously trying to distract him, but that would be impossible until she stopped wrestling with her snood. With her hands behind her back, her gown was pulled tight across her chest, making each one of the perfect swells he had memorized the night before significantly more prominent.
“Then, what about Bristol? Do you miss your childhood home?”
Ranulf swallowed but it did not help as his mouth had gone dry. Between the dress and the slow release of her hair, it was near impossible to concentrate on her questions. “I miss no home, angel, for unlike you, I never had one.”
His voice had become raspy as he remembered the feeling of her arms around him, his lips against hers. That was what home was about. Not a building, but a feeling of acceptance, comfort, safety…and desire.
Bronwyn bit her bottom lip and it was Ranulf’s undoing. Watching her was becoming akin to torture. “Stop,” he ordered and came up behind her. Her hair had become a tangled mass under her endeavors. Carefully, he found and pulled out the remaining pins, as well as a couple more thorny twigs, and removed the snood. Bronwyn sighed with heartfelt relief. Tilting her neck back, she shook her head and let the heavy locks fall. Unable to stop himself, Ranulf buried his fingers in the dark gold and whispered, “With you, I just might have found the home I never had.”
Bronwyn was so surprised that for the space of maybe a heartbeat she didn’t even move. Then slowly she turned around, and seeing the fear in his expression, as if he had revealed too much, she pushed all reason aside and followed an urge she didn’t care if she regretted later. Cupping his cheek in one palm, she slid the other around his nape and curled her fingers into the short crisp hair at the back of his head. Then she closed her eyes and pulled him down so his mouth covered her own.
She parted her lips, and their tongues met, sending a tingling sensation throughout her body. She made a small hungry sound deep in her throat and he lifted her slightly, gathering her closer to his chest to increase the intensity of the kiss.
Ranulf’s reaction to her heart-stopping gift was immediate and profound. He was hard and hot with wanting her and seconds away from being unable to stop himself from laying her down and making love to her in a way that would brand her forever to him. Breaking off the kiss, he lifted his head and sucked in air.
Immediately she rocked against him, going up on tiptoes to seek his mouth again. “Damn,” he muttered and bent his head once more, this time kissing her harder, exploring her mouth with an expertise t
hat made it clear there was no turning back.
Bronwyn met each thrust of his tongue with one of her own, unaware of what it was doing to him. All rational thought had left her. All she could feel were the hot little ripples of pleasure he was creating all over her body, awakening something deep inside that both frightened and excited her. Splayed over her back, his hands were big and strong. She sensed the tension in the arms around her and the rigidity of his shoulders and neck beneath her fingertips. Everything about him was bigger and excitingly harder.
Rocking her against him, Ranulf kissed her mouth, her cheek, her ear, reveling in the ever-quickening beat of her heart, short fast breaths, and trembling frame. His own body quaked, and burned, and throbbed. Marriage, truth, her father—all these things became secondary. Right now, Bronwyn was more than he ever imagined. More than he had ever wanted and the intense desire he had striven to repress now claimed his entire awareness. He needed to see and taste all of her. Consume her until she was one with his soul.
His hands parted the edges of her gown and slid underneath the shift, pushing it from her shoulders. Feeling the soft, delicate skin, he groaned and devoured her lips once more in a desperate claiming to which she submitted willingly, eagerly. His fingers continued their free exploration, slowly caressing the bare skin of her neck and shoulders, getting drunk on the warm silkiness of it. Inch by inch, the sleeves moved down her arms until both the gown and the chemise beneath hung at her waist.
Bronwyn quivered at the first callused touch of his hands as they moved up and cupped her breasts. Her nipple hardened in startled reaction and the hot sweet throbbing between her legs seemed to increase, times ten. She clung to him as his mouth continued its steady, head-spinning assault, kissing him back.
Teasingly, his fingers skimmed and circled her breasts, letting his thumbs periodically stroke and tease each hardened nub. It was torture. It was heaven. His light touch seared her skin and she thought she would never get enough. And still he circled round and round, until she was panting, aching hot for what Bronwyn knew not, but he did.
The Christmas Knight Page 18