He nodded. He must have seen enough of Cormac to believe her. “How can you be so sure this woman is not the real Temair?”
Part of her wanted to end the farce and tell him, Because I’m the real Temair. But she would gain nothing by it, only a return to living under her father’s rule. So instead she said, “Aife has seen the woman claimin’ to be Temair with her own eyes. There are…differences.”
“Still,” he argued, “it makes no sense. Why would he use an imposter? ’Twould be surrendering his bloodline. He might as well simply hand over his holding to the crown.”
She hesitated. She was reluctant to share so much with the man who was meant to usurp her claim.
On the other hand, betrayed by his men, Ryland was stuck with the woodkerns now. Since he wasn’t going to reign over O’Keeffe, she might as well tell him.
“He planned to get her with child himself.”
After a shocked silence, he exploded with, “What?” Then he spat out a curse. “He meant to bed my bride and make me believe the babe was mine?”
She nodded.
“But surely the lass would never stand for that,” he argued. “Sooner or later, the truth would come out.”
“So ye would think, wouldn’t ye? But that’s not always the way o’ things. I’ve seen it before. Lasses who suffered in silence. Who wouldn’t speak up for themselves.” The hatred Temair harbored for her abusive father made her blood boil. As she spoke, she felt her tongue getting away from her. But she couldn’t seem to stop it. “Out o’ fear, they wouldn’t lift a finger in their own defense. Or confide in anyone who could help them. Or take the hand that was offered to her, even when I…”
She broke off. Unexpectedly, her words had conjured up the haunting image of her sister. Beautiful, innocent Ailleen. At the mercy of their vile father. Violated. Damaged. So broken and suffering that she was compelled to take her own life.
In her mind’s eye, Temair saw her sister falling. Over and over. And there was nothing she could do about it. Nothing but feel remorse for not somehow saving her.
She felt suddenly overwhelmed, sick with sorrow. She staggered, and a sob escaped her at the horrible memory.
“Are you all right?” Ryland clasped her shoulder in concern.
All at once, she couldn’t breathe. Her throat ached with unspent tears.
What was wrong with her? She’d thought she was past everything. She’d thought her feelings were shut away, locked safely deep inside, behind that wall of stone.
But now the horror lurking in her soul surged like a river threatening to burst through the wall.
Ryland, with a few gentle words, removed a single rock.
The wall shuddered.
He drew her into his arms.
She felt the foundation dissolving into dust.
She buried a sob against his shoulder, appalled at her lack of control.
“That’s all right,” he murmured. “’Tis all right, m’lady.” One reassuring hand went around her waist. One cradled her head. “I’m here.”
His tender gestures of compassion were too great to withstand. The wall collapsed all at once, releasing an enormous river of raw grief.
Temair keened softly against his chest for her sister. For her lost innocence. For her helplessness. At last, she surrendered to heartfelt sobs of pure anguish.
Through it all, Ryland held her tenderly, rocking her, stroking her hair, murmuring reassurances.
“’Tis all right, m’lady. I’m here for you. Cry all you wish.”
She clenched her fists in his shirt, drenching it with her tears. She mourned her mother, her sister, her clann, and the precious years of her youth. She mourned for all she had lost and all she would never recover. She mourned the unfairness of life and the way evil men could triumph while good ones languished.
All the while, Ryland never wavered in his sympathy, holding her until her weeping finally subsided to an occasional hitching breath.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“Hush,” he said. “There’s no need to be sorry.”
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“There’s nothing wrong with you.”
“I’ve ruined your tunic.”
He chuckled softly. “Tossing me in the stream ruined my tunic. This is nothing.”
She gave him a weak smile.
He was such a good man. So kind. So good-humored. So understanding. It was a bittersweet reality that if things had been different, she might have enjoyed being his bride.
She lowered her eyes to his mouth. His lips were still curved in a smile, and she couldn’t help but recall the compelling pressure and release of his kiss. She longed to feel that heavenly sensation again, to taste the desire on his tongue, to feast upon his delicious flesh, to rain kisses over every inch of him…and more.
She gulped. She could do it now. She could tryst with Ryland.
No bride awaited him. So he was no longer bound by fidelity. He could make love to her without guilt. They were free to…
Before she could finish the thought, he cupped her chin in his hands and swept down to claim her with a forceful and lingering kiss.
Ryland could no longer resist her—the fresh scent of her hair…the soft silk of her skin…her sweet, sad smile…the way her trusting hand curled upon his chest…how perfectly she fit into the crook of his shoulder…the way she warmed him where their bodies met—nor did he feel compelled to.
The temptation to kiss her was beyond his endurance.
And there was something else.
Something he’d never expected.
He was in love with her.
How it had happened, he didn’t know. But seeing her lead the woodkerns, listening to her passion for the poor, watching her play with her wolfhounds, sharing laughter and tears with her, he had fallen in love. Deeply. Desperately. Hopelessly.
Which made falling into an embrace with her as easy as tumbling into the stream.
And once in the currents of their shared yearning, he found that love growing stronger and stronger, pulling him down in pleasure, threatening to drown him in joy.
Their lips collided again and again as they feasted on earthly delights. Holding her face between his hands, he teased her mouth open with his. He tasted her fully, reveling in her awe as their tongues met and mingled.
He moved his palms out then to bury his fingers in her hair. She moaned and leaned into his kiss.
Her hands, once placed innocently on his chest, now roved over his shoulders and slipped around his neck, pulling him even closer.
Desire poured like warm honey over his body. And like a bee to a flower, he fed upon her sweet nectar again and again.
Soon he felt the familiar ache of lust between his thighs. Caught up in the seductive moment, he nudged that part of him against her, hoping to ease his pain.
She gasped against his lips, and he backed off, afraid he had hurt her.
But she ground her hips against his again with a reassuring groan of need, pressing him back until he was pinned against the cave wall.
There was no mistake. She wanted him.
Chapter 24
Temair wasn’t sure whether it was rabid lust or a hunger for power that coursed through her veins as she held Ryland prisoner against the wall. All she knew was that she was burning with need, craving his touch, and she meant to have her way with him.
Which luckily seemed to coincide with his wishes.
He withdrew his hands from her hair, exploring her with unbound eagerness, letting his fingers trace her throat, her shoulder, her bosom, cupping the leather armor that shielded her breasts.
His caress was heavenly. But she was still unsatisfied. She released him long enough to drag the top of her léine down, baring herself to his touch.
“Oh, m’lady,” he sighed, gazing down at her. His tongue slipped out to lick his lips, and he closed his eyes in yearning.
She shivered with desire as his palms grazed her flesh, kn
eading her tenderly. He nuzzled her neck, kissing the place beneath her ear that sent lightning coursing through her. Her hands closed into fists as she sipped a breath between her teeth.
He licked his way down her throat, and she turned her head aside to grant him access. He moved lower, tickling her with his thick curls. Then he lavished attention on her breasts, lifting them up to kiss her responsive flesh, bathing them with his tantalizing tongue, sucking gently there until she felt like sobbing in hunger.
She burrowed her fingers in his hair and tipped back her head, reveling in the hot vibrations traveling through her body.
The craving between her legs was strong now. It would not be denied. There was nothing to stop him taking what he wanted. She only had to make him want her.
When he had laved her thoroughly, she pushed him back against the wall and unbuckled his belt. He made no protest, not even when she cast the belt aside and boldly reached inside his braies for the treasure within.
He let out a ragged breath as she enclosed his firm, smooth warmth in her hand. Drunk on her own dominance, she rubbed against him, delighting at the way he shuddered in response.
“I want ye,” she whispered.
“I can see that,” he growled back.
“Do ye want me?”
He chuckled once. “You can’t tell?”
Her smile was smug.
But not for long.
In the next instant, he wrapped an arm around her waist, picked her up, and turned to pin her against the wall.
Her outrage was quickly replaced by naked lust as he pressed the heel of his hand against the throbbing place between her legs. When he circled slowly, grinding against the bone there, she cried out in pleasure.
“Hush,” he whispered. “They’ll hear you.”
“Don’t hush me,” she hissed. “’Tis your fault.”
“What?” He circled over her again. “This?”
She clamped her lips against another outcry.
He chuckled as he reached under the hem of her léine. She squeezed her eyes shut with anticipation. His hands glided over her naked buttocks. Then he slid one hand to the front of her, caressing the curls guarding her womanhood. While she held her breath, he slipped a fingertip between her curls to delve into her most secret place.
“Oh!” She clenched the top of his shoulders. “Faith…what are ye doin’ to me?”
“Don’t you like it?”
At first she couldn’t decide. She liked it. But it felt…forbidden.
At her lack of a reply, he withdrew his hand. “You don’t like it?”
“Nay, I…” She felt strangely bereft without his touch. “Aye, I like it.”
“Are you sure?”
“Aye.”
“Because I can—”
“Aye!” She groaned in relief when he replaced his hand.
“Shh,” he said on a laugh. “They’ll all come running in, thinking I’ve molested you.”
“Ye are molestin’ me.”
“Aye, that I am.”
As he continued to rub across her—sometimes in long, fluid motions, sometimes in flurries that made her tighten and swell as if she might burst—she felt an increasing ache deep inside, a yearning for something more.
Still, a tiny voice of reason spoke to her in the haze of passion. She knew she should pay heed to it.
“I should tell ye,” she gasped out. “I’m a virgin.”
“I should tell you,” he replied. “I’m not.” Then he smiled, kissed her tenderly on the brow, and promised, “On my honor as a knight, I vow I’ll be gentle.”
She shuddered as a particularly strong wave of desire surged inside her. “I can’t make ye the same promise.”
He must have sensed something then, for he slipped his hand away and murmured against her hair, “Let’s find a softer place.”
There was a stack of straw-stuffed pallets beside the cave wall. He quickly pulled one down and threw one of the winter coverlets over it to form a makeshift bed. He helped her onto the mattress.
For a moment, she felt too vulnerable, too exposed. Without her armor, on her back, she was at his mercy. He loomed over her—a massive, rutting beast that could smother her with the coverlet or throttle her with one hand.
But in the next instant, her fears were put to rest. With exquisite tenderness, he cradled the back of her head in one hand, brushing the hair from her brow with the other. By the faint firelight flickering through the vines, she could see him gazing down at her with such adoration that it took her breath away.
He bestowed upon her a sweet kiss, not of lust, but of cherishing…a kiss so full of love and wonder that it made her feel like a precious jewel in his hands.
Slowly, he reached beneath his long linen shirt to untie his chausses, removing them and his braies, and freeing his staff. Then he stretched out beside her, propped on one forearm.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured.
His words moved her.
“May I?” he asked, lifting the hem of her léine.
Amused by his polite request, she took the léine off over her head herself.
To her satisfaction, his gaze turned smoky. He used his free hand to trace her contours, leaving ripples of desire everywhere his fingertips touched, until she was quivering with need.
“May I?” she asked him, snagging the hem of his shirt.
His smile twisted, and he bent down to let her do the deed.
She was unprepared for the effect the sight of his broad shoulders and naked chest would have upon her. While it was true he possessed nothing that not every man possessed, somehow he was different—more powerful, more magnificent, more commanding.
And the quick glimpse she’d had that night of what nestled in his black curls hadn’t prepared her for the bold manifestation of his hunger for her.
Her eyes widened. Her heart throbbed. Her breath quickened.
“Are you afraid, m’lady?” he whispered.
She shook her head. She wasn’t afraid. She was aroused.
He leaned down to murmur in her ear. “I’ll take care. But it may hurt the first time.”
She knew that. The woodkerns could be quite forthcoming with the details of their sexual exploits.
“I’ll take revenge later,” she vowed.
Her humor took him by surprise. “I believe you will.”
Then he moved above her until their bodies were mere inches apart. She could feel the heat between them as if it were a living thing. Supporting himself on one brawny arm, he nudged her knees apart until she opened to him like a flower.
When he lowered his body, and their skin made contact, the sensation was so divine that she let out a drawn-out sigh of bliss. It felt as if they melted together like candle wax. His body was warm and vital, firm yet yielding. She arched up against him, delighting in how the muscles of his chest compressed her breasts.
He kissed her then, and this time it was a slow, deep, intense kiss that seemed to draw her soul from her body. When his hand moved betwixt her thighs, it was with a leisure that belied the raging lust he displayed.
Simultaneously possessed of both the need to pursue and the desire to surrender, she floated in a curious enthrallment, captive and captivated by her own emotions.
Again, he intruded upon her most secret spaces, coaxing her with his fingers to yield. Again, she soared upward to a heavenly realm until she was gasping against his mouth and liquid need filled every vein.
Then, just as she thought she could fly no higher, he surged forward with a groan, embedding himself inside her like a dagger.
She rasped in a gasp of shock.
He froze, but didn’t withdraw.
“Oh, god, I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice laced with a strange mixture of regret and ecstasy. “I didn’t mean to injure you.”
Injure her? He hadn’t injured her. Not really. She had known far worse pain, growing up. This was but a sting.
He clasped her head between his hands. “�
��Twill get better, I promise. Try to relax.”
She nodded.
It did get better. Much better.
Soon, as he glided smoothly within her, she began to ascend again. His beastly grunts and the sweat of restraint that glistened on his brow excited her almost as much as the seductive friction of their movement.
Together, they rode a wave of increasing passion until, breathless with yearning, they crested the wave to explode into a thousand droplets that scattered across a shimmering sea of release.
Ryland grimaced, fighting the need to bellow in rapturous relief.
But Temair cried out, and he had to quickly clap a hand over her mouth to stifle the sound.
As they struggled to catch their breath, he thought he’d never felt such a union before, such a perfect blending of body and spirit. She’d entrusted him with a precious gift, and he felt honored and completed and more in love with her than before.
He hoped he hadn’t hurt her too much, for that was the last thing he wished to do. As he uncovered her mouth to press a worshipful kiss to her lips, he thought he must be the luckiest man alive.
“Are you all right?” he whispered.
“Nay,” she croaked.
“Nay?” He furrowed his brow.
“Ye’ve won the battle,” she said, gasping. “I’ve been soundly defeated.”
“Indeed?”
“At least if I die from my wounds, Sir Ryland de Ware, I shall die content.”
He grinned. She’d made him unimaginably happy. Exhausted with pleasure, as he gently rolled off of her onto his back, he admitted, “Then we shall both die content, for you’ve defeated me as well. I fear I shall ne’er rise again.”
A lazy grin curved her lips as she looked over at him with shining eyes “So say ye now.”
Then she turned away from him, snuggling back against him, her lovely backside teasing his loins. If she wasn’t careful, he would rise again.
Still glowing in the aftermath of ecstasy, he enveloped her in his grateful arms. “Ah, lass, I love you.” The words surprised even him as they dropped easily off his tongue.
In answer, she took a deep breath and exhaled a long sigh of contentment.
Desire’s Ransom Page 18