“Please,” she half whispered, half pleaded against his lips. He answered her demand and closed both hands around her heated flesh, gently at first and then tighter. It wasn’t enough. Her nipples were throbbing, tightening against his palm, straining for release. Still she wanted more.
Bronwyn reached out for Ranulf’s tunic, but he caught her hand. His want was too great and the bare wisps of control he still had would soon be gone. He needed to bury himself deep within her, but he was determined to do so without scaring her. This would be her first and in many ways his as well. He was finally going to make love to a woman and be made love to in return. He was not going to allow either one of them to rush their inevitable union.
Ranulf caught her chin between his fingers and tipped up her face. He then kissed her. Hard. And when he felt her shudder against him, drawing her back under his spell, he began to unlace the back of her gown, not daring to raise his mouth from hers for fear that he might somehow lose her. Slowly, he pulled the strings until, several moments later, the golden material cascaded into a pool at her feet.
Her body pressed against him and his chest heaved with the effort it took to breathe. Ranulf felt the pent-up tension of passion grow as she ran her tongue across his lips. His legs began to tremble and he felt her own begin to quake. He needed to lay her down before they both fell.
Sweeping her up into his arms, he caressed her back, feeling the textured skin beneath his fingertips. All he could see and feel was stunning beauty. He laid her down on her discarded linen shift, wishing he had a bed, or was on the fur rug in front of his hearth as he had imagined multiple times the previous sleepless night. But he wasn’t going to let this opportunity pass. His angel was his in mind and soul, and soon she would be in body.
Bronwyn watched as Ranulf stood back up again, naked beneath his gaze, and began to yank impatiently at his clothing, until they were all discarded and he stood nude before her. The hair on his chest was nearly black as the night, and the muscles of his torso formed a perfect V. Across his shoulder and upper chest, the mottled scars of burns long healed were far from unpleasant; rather they gave her a sense of protection. Here was a man who would fight and survive.
Her gaze trailed downward past his lean hips to his powerful legs and what was between them. Bronwyn had never seen a man like this before. She had heard much over the years and knew what to expect, but she doubted many men looked like Ranulf. He was hard and thick, almost begging to be touched. Instinctively, she reached up, but her efforts were immediately stymied before they reached their goal.
“Do not…do that,” he whispered hoarsely.
Bronwyn recoiled, regretting her impulsiveness. “I’m sorry.”
Ranulf squeezed his good eye shut and shook his head, knowing she misunderstood. But he was scarcely breathing, barely restraining himself, and if she touched him, it would be over. “God, no, angel. Another day it will be my turn. This time, let it be all about you,” he said with a quiet plea, lowering himself slowly on top of her, his gaze never leaving hers.
With the feel of her flesh against his overheated senses, he pulled her into one more mind-drugging kiss, fearing that she might suddenly realize just what was happening and ask to stop. But her welcoming response assured him that she wanted their union as much as he did. He splayed his fingers possessively over the soft skin of her belly, feeling the pounding of her heart. Bracing himself on his elbow, he cupped her face with his other hand and whispered, “You belong to me…do you understand?”
Bronwyn nodded, biting her bottom lip as a single tear fell down her cheek. His dark amber gaze glittered with renewed passion as he once again closed the distance between them.
She felt his hands touch her everywhere, caressing, learning every inch of her skin. Never had she dreamed hands so large and hardened with use could also feel so warm and gentle. His mouth closed over hers for a long, searing moment, and once again his fingers were on her swollen breasts, rubbing his calloused palms against the pebbled nipples. She shuddered in response. Splaying her own fingers over his back, she began to trace the tense muscles they found, drinking in his strength.
Then his lips were gone, returning to tantalize her as they moved down the length of her neck, pausing at her shoulder before moving lower. Then he stopped and hovered above her chest. Bronwyn’s breath quickened and her breasts heaved in expectation. Desire washed over her and instinct forced her to arch her back until she made contact.
He took the hardened nipple into his mouth and flicked his tongue once across the tip. And then again, and again until she could take no more. “Ranulf,” she whispered between heavy breaths and pressed his head to her bosom. At first, he refused to increase the pace, continuing to toy with the sensitive flesh, but at her protest, he began to suckle.
Bronwyn had never felt anything so wonderful. His mouth let go and he moaned uncontrollably as he moved to kiss the slope of her breasts. When he reached the other pink bud, she refused to wait and arched up into the heat of his mouth. He complied, branding her with his tongue as his other hand gently caught the other hard nipple between his fingers and squeezed carefully. She cried out, the sensation almost too much to bear.
Ranulf could feel her hands running through his hair pulling him closer, her abandoned response only adding to his own pleasure. His desire had become painful, and very soon he would no longer be able to deny himself release. He kissed the sweet, scented curve of her breast and trailed his fingertips down until they laced through the soft thatch of hair between her legs.
Bronwyn simultaneously tensed and gasped in astonishment. He closed his hand gently around her and whispered in her ear, “You are so beautiful, you take my breath away. Trust me, angel.”
Bronwyn stared up at him with a mixture of confusion and vulnerability, but she didn’t move, didn’t even breathe until his lips touched hers. Then she sighed as he kissed her softly, reawakening the passion that had been building within her. Her last formed thought was this was not real, but it dissolved as her hips began to move against his massaging hand, her body now craving his touch. She would not stop him. This was her chance to discover what it was like to be consumed, savored, loved by a man. The memory would have to last her a lifetime.
Slowly Ranulf drew his fingers through the hot dew gathered between her legs, proof of her own need. He had been taught what excited a woman, but rarely practiced it, uncaring if his partner enjoyed the experience. Sex had been a physical release, nothing more. Until now. Of all things, he wanted her to know the intense pleasure that he could create. They both had been alone for too long. Never again. Every night could be like this.
Ranulf moistened his finger and then coaxed her small bud of desire into a tingling fullness. Her body began to vibrate with liquid fire and she opened her legs to him, rocking against his palm, unconsciously beckoning him for more. Slowly he parted her with one finger and slid into her, exploring her with deliberate possessiveness. Bronwyn moaned and lifted herself against his hand, pushing him deeper inside.
He introduced another finger and began to separate them, stretching her gently, widening the slick, hot channel. She trembled and began to writhe beneath him. His already painful arousal demanded release.
As slowly as he could manage, he settled himself between her silky thighs and probed gently, dampening himself in the moisture between her legs. Her body clenched in reaction. He kissed her and looked down. Her eyes were squeezed shut in anticipation. “Angel, look at me.” When she finally did, he said in a hoarse whisper, “Don’t be afraid of me. I could never hurt you.”
His amber gaze had turned dark, unfathomable, with a fierce need for her to believe him. She had been terrified, but his sincere entreaty restored her calm and she began to relax. Every sensation he had introduced her to had captivated her, driving her to the brink of this. He seemed to know exactly how and where to touch her so that she only half understood what he was doing, but she did know that she didn’t want him to stop. The tension suffu
sing her body was screaming for some kind of release, which Bronwyn knew only Ranulf could give. She just wished he wasn’t so big.
Feeling her thighs ease, Ranulf opened her and began to make a place for himself in the very heart of her. He wanted to wait and go slowly, letting her drive the pace, but the throbbing had become unbearable. Every muscle had tightened almost to the point of pain. Never had he experienced this obliterating level of need.
He moved his hand on her thighs, urging them farther apart, pausing when he felt the shield of her virginity. Then he slid into her in one swift thrust that wrenched a cry of surprise from her throat.
She gripped his shoulders very tightly and he started to stroke away the pain, until her body was once again vibrating with liquid fire. Everything about their union was right. Bronwyn was meant for him and he had been meant for her and no other woman. He had finally found his home.
Instinctively, she lifted herself. Ranulf grasped her hips and guided her in the primal rhythm. He tried to slow the pace but control eventually escaped him. She was mindless with passion, writhing as their souls communicated. Every sense, every thought was caught in a whirlwind. The air around them turned into steam as he felt his release welling up from the base of his spine, rushing like an immense wave, until with a great shudder, he surged forward into her one last time. He heard Bronwyn call out his name as his whole body pulsated with erotic release. A triumphant groan of satisfaction escaped his lips before he sagged against her.
Bronwyn fought to catch her breath. Nothing—nothing—had prepared her for this. What they shared was a raw act of possession. In his arms, she had stopped thinking, only feeling. He was everything she had ever wanted in a man.
Drawing in deep breaths to abet his own recovery, he finally mustered the strength to roll over. Bronwyn threw a leg over his and cuddled next to his side, sighing as he stroked her hair. Complete and utter contentment. Why he was born and had been allowed to survive finally made sense. It was all to bring him to this place and this woman. A lifetime of her…of this…everything they both had endured had been more than worth it.
Bronwyn rose up on an elbow and smiled at him. Feeling inspired and empowered to touch and do whatever she wanted, she began to trace the scar on his forehead, following it down over his eyelid and onto his cheek. “Does it ever open?” she asked about his missing eye.
Ranulf grinned back. No one had ever asked him before. And he suspected many had wanted to. “No. I can lift the lid, but to open on its own, the muscle needs the support of an eyeball.”
“Hmm,” she hummed, outlining his facial bone structure. “You never wear a patch.”
“They hurt.”
“So?”
Her answer startled him for he always thought it a good reason. If the retort had been from anyone else, he would have disregarded it, but coming from Bronwyn, he wondered if she wished he did wear the dreaded item. “Do you want me to start wearing one?”
Bronwyn rolled her eyes and playfully slapped his chest. “Don’t be daft. You don’t need to wear a patch for me or anyone at Hunswick. But I do think you should in certain company.” She settled her chin on his shoulder, but kept her eyes locked on his. “Anyone can be shocked, but they shouldn’t be judged for that first encounter when they are. You can’t intentionally try to bate someone into a reaction and then be mad when they do.”
Ranulf remembered her father saying something similar. “Enough talking,” he said and pulled her up into a long, lingering kiss.
He loved her. He had from when he first saw her. Their coming together had been inevitable since that morning when he awoke and heard her speaking about him. He had hoped it would happen under the veil of honesty. But it didn’t really matter. She was his now and there were other ways to get her to admit the truth before they married, which could now not be soon enough. It was going to be torture staying away from her bed until the priest arrived tomorrow.
All of a sudden, a much colder and stronger wind whipped around them, reminding them that a winter storm was coming. Ranulf felt Bronwyn’s body shiver. “We need to dress and return.”
Bronwyn sighed and moved to get up, but just before she rose, Ranulf drew her down into one final embrace. “In the spring, we are going to have to come here and try this again,” he mumbled against her mouth.
Bronwyn pulled back, bit her bottom lip, and started to dress. As she laced the sides of the bliaut, something along the distant ridge caught her eye. The vegetation didn’t grow thick around Syndlear, and any movement, especially if someone was wearing metal, could be seen on a bright day. Disguising her endeavors, she stole several more glances at the remote hills. She was sure the men she saw belonged to Luc, sent to watch Syndlear and to keep her from doing exactly what she planned…running away. Making their escape from her childhood home would no longer be easy.
Bronwyn considered telling Ranulf everything, but again as she played out the consequences in her mind, it was just not an option. Her blissful fantasy with Ranulf was over. With Luc spying on Syndlear, she and her sisters would have to depart from Hunswick, and the moment Ranulf saw them, she would have to tell him the truth and live with the consequences. But she had no choice. “Ranulf, I was wondering if my sisters and the servants who accompanied them can come down and have Christmas at Hunswick? Syndlear had not been prepared and—”
“And nothing,” Ranulf answered, interrupting. “Of course they can come back.” Her question was an answer to several prayers, including a new one for he, too, had seen movement in the hills while he had been dressing.
He needed to get back and speak with Tyr. Before the night was out, Ranulf intended to know just who had hired the mercenaries to watch him so closely. In his experience, lords and barons often liked to study their neighbors—especially new ones—and learn their weaknesses and strengths. It was usually accompanied with a brief show of power.
Vacating Syndlear was now a priority. Ranulf had only a few men, but they were some of his finest and could match a much larger unskilled army. But it would be easier if they were all together so he could react more effectively if needed.
Meanwhile, he needed to form a plan to compel Bronwyn into confessing her feelings and the truth. Given her request, he was fairly confident she was ready to divulge the latter, but he needed to be secure in her feelings for him as well, if not more.
It may have been a while since a woman had warmed his bed, but Ranulf was well enough versed in the act to know that what he and Bronwyn had shared was unique. And what made it so special was that it was not just a physical act, but an emotional, even spiritual one. Together they had given pieces of themselves and he needed her to admit she felt the same.
Luc pulled his horse behind a thicket of trees to avoid being spotted as the couple left to return to Hunswick. He had wanted Bronwyn for as long as he could remember. Everyone loved to point out the beauty of her sisters, but neither had ever held any interest for him. He had been the first to recognize Bronwyn’s splendor, and had coveted his unique appreciation of his golden angel.
For years, his father had tried to entice him to marry other more powerful, wealthier women and he had refused. As a consequence, he had endured his father’s brooding anger. But now that he was baron, he could do what he wanted. And he wanted Bronwyn.
When news came that the new Lord Anscombe had evicted Bronwyn and her sisters from Hunswick, Luc had been elated. He had immediately set out for Syndlear, eager to comfort his bride and try once again to convince her of the futility of refusing his hand. Then, he had learned from her little insipid sister that Bronwyn had been forced to stay behind at Hunswick.
Luc could only imagine Bronwyn’s challenging response to such coercion and headed south to Hunswick. He had hoped to encounter her again on one of her solitary walks and finally play the part of hero.
But today she had not been alone.
Luc had been frozen, staring, unable to turn away as the couple entangled themselves in the act of making
love. Slowly, a coldness crept over him and in its wake left an emotional void.
Deadeye Anscombe had taken what was his. And Bronwyn had gone willingly. In doing so, she had forsaken not only him but the future happiness of her sisters.
Soon. Very soon…all would pay.
Bronwyn passed through Hunswick’s gates determined to enjoy her last night with Ranulf. Tomorrow would come soon enough and with it the end of her happiness. Until then, she was going to bask in the warmth and acceptance she had found in Ranulf’s arms.
Just as she emerged into the courtyard, one of the younger farm boys ran up to her side. Tears streamed down his face as he murmured something about how no one was letting him be in the play the village was preparing. Bronwyn slipped off her horse and handed Ranulf her reins. When he popped a teasing brow, she asked, “I give you a choice, take care of the boy or my horse.”
“Don’t think such maneuvers will always work,” Ranulf cackled and jumped off Pertinax’s back, keeping her reins with him.
Bronwyn’s laughter filled the air. “You chose wisely, my lord. Little Robert here can be quite a handful.”
“Huh. Well, I’m going to send someone for your sisters and I’ll see you at dinner.” Ranulf gave her a wink.
“Soon I hope! I’m starving,” she declared, beaming him an enormous smile as she escorted the boy back across the courtyard.
Ranulf watched appreciatively as she disappeared around the corner toward the Great Hall, focusing her attention on the now very rapid discourse from the want-to-be mummer.
Turning to face the opposite direction, Ranulf guided both horses toward the stables. Halfway to his destination, he spied Tyr and he wasn’t alone. Two women were next to him, and both were very beautiful. Bronwyn’s sisters had obviously jumped to the same conclusion and decided to return to Hunswick despite his orders to stay away.
Edythe was exactly as Laon described, petite and full figured with vibrant dark red hair marking her maternal Scottish heritage. Her sister was tall, her frame similar to that of Bronwyn’s—lithe and naturally graceful. Her striking raven-colored features would make most men cave to her every desire, and he could see, even at a distance, that she was well aware of the fact. The flirtatious interplay between her and Tyr made it obvious she was in many ways still a child and had yet to mature into her body. Experience, wisdom, control—these things she had yet to gain and never would until she was allowed to face and triumph hardships. Her family had not done Lillabet any favors protecting her like they had. Thank God he wasn’t going to have to marry her.
The Christmas Knight Page 19