Ryen turned to face him fully. “The stables,” she replied. “You have beautiful stallions.”
“You were there all day?” he wondered dubiously.
She felt the silent accusation even as the low timbre of his voice sent ripples down her body. “No. I wished to see your castle, and you were not here to escort me.”
He paused just before her, his eyes boring into hers, searching for something. Then they shifted to her soft hair. He raised his hand, and for a moment, Ryen thought he was going to touch her. She gasped in anticipation of his hot stroke.
Bryce pulled his hand back and in his fingers was a piece of straw. Together they stared at it.
Suddenly his arms were around her, crushing her tightly to him, so hard that she could barely breathe.
“Oh, Angel,” he whispered.
Ryen could have sworn she felt his body tremble, but then he pulled back to look into her eyes. Ryen’s knees grew weak as the intensity in his ebony depths warmed her and chased away the night chill and the doubt. Then, she saw the dark rings lining his eyes. She lifted a hand to his cheek. “You were looking for me.”
“I’d forgotten how cold a bed can be,” he replied.
Ryen sighed in contentment as she stared at his handsome face, his chiseled beauty, his mysterious eyes.
“You had many people worried, Ryen. No one knew where you had gone.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize how tired I was…”
“I believed Count Dumas had somehow returned for you.”
Her hand lowered from his cheek and she studied his worry through admonishing eyes. “And did you think I would willingly go?”
Bryce turned away from her. “I am not sure how much you miss France.”
Ryen stepped up behind him. The fire from the candles cast a white hue over his ivory tunic. She gently laid a hand upon his shoulder and felt the warmth of his body soak into her palm. “Bryce,” she whispered, “it is true, I do miss France. Yet if I were to be separated from you, my longing would be unequaled.”
Slowly Bryce turned to her. His eyes shone in happiness as he took her into his arms. “You may have the run of my castle, Angel.”
Ryen smiled into his chest. “I know.”
“On one condition,” Bryce added. When Ryen raised questioning eyes to him, he continued, “Never leave me.”
Ryen grinned, feeling his arms grow heavy around her shoulders. “That is not a hard promise. I remember how cold a bed can be.”
Bryce crushed Ryen in his embrace, then dipped his head and kissed her. She responded with a passion born of love and desire. His hands wandered across her breasts and down the sides of her body.
He loved her again, slowly and thoroughly, tantalizing her until the earth shattered and they rode together on a cloud of passion.
Ryen listened to Bryce’s steady breathing, relishing the comfortable weight of his arms across her shoulders. His smell, the scent of clean air, and a vague scent of something wild surrounded her. It was on the sheets, in the pillows. Ryen loved it.
Yet even in the safety of his arms, Ryen’s mind was not at peace. Her thoughts were violated by images of Vignon. A French spy, in Dark Castle! I should tell Bryce, she thought. What if he wants to cause Bryce harm? What am I thinking? Betray my country?
Carefully, Ryen slid out from beneath Bryce’s arms and walked to the window. The land below her was dark and vacant. She crossed her arms against the chill breeze that suddenly engulfed her.
She felt her duty weigh heavily on her shoulders, pulling her away from Bryce. Yet her people had scorned and ridiculed her. Her brothers were dead. Her father had turned his back on her. Still, she wished she could see her father. Make amends with him, look into his eyes and see respect. Something she would never see now.
Still, what was left of her honor demanded that she remain silent about Vignon. After all, Bryce was the enemy.
But was he?
The flame of hope she carefully protected in her heart leapt higher. Dare I trust him? Can he love me? Can he truly think I am beautiful? Or is he deceiving me again?
Doubt plagued her as she thought back to the agony she had experienced at believing he was dead. Again she pictured him perched on the window ledge. Every muscle in his body coiled, ready for action. She reached out a hand and ran it along the sill.
“Angel?”
Ryen jumped, hearing his voice so close to her ear. She could feel the heat of his body, the power. Then, his arms wrapped around her waist and he pulled her against his chest. He had no clothing on and she gasped at the heat that radiated from his sleek body. He laughed low in his throat and she relaxed back against him.
For a moment they stood that way, gazing out over the black land. Then his voice came to her on a breeze. “You are not happy here.”
Ryen twisted in his arms to look at him. “Why do you say such a thing?”
“You leave my bed in the middle of the night. Do I not please you?” he asked, his voice earnest.
Ryen grinned as she turned and faced him. She placed her palms against his broad chest. “Oh, Bryce.” His eyes were unreadable in the darkness, his lips black in the night.
Ryen lifted up on her toes and pressed her mouth to his. She gently ran her tongue over his lips until they separated and his tongue clashed with hers. She felt his passion growing as he pulled her closer.
Suddenly, he stepped back and gazed down at her, his brow furrowed. “Why did you leave my side? What troubles you, my Angel?”
Some loyalty would not allow her to reveal the spy. Instead, she replied, “It’s foolish, really. But I have always wondered how you escaped De Bouriez Castle when I was sure you had died.”
A soft chuckle reached her ears and he tugged her toward the bed. “Dress,” he commanded.
“What?” Ryen stammered.
“We ride,” he replied, pulling on his breeches.
The night’s darkness filtered through the clouds, combing the land with trails of darker shadow. Ryen rode behind Bryce’s stallion on the second most beautiful horse in his stables, a white mare. They galloped past the sleeping village and the silent farmland to the forest, Ryen admiring Bryce’s mastery of the animal, his strong thighs pressed into the dark side of the horse, the way he seemed to command without any tug of the reins.
He led her to an impassable wall of trees. Here, Bryce dismounted and Ryen followed his lead. Grinning, he took her hand in his and led her toward the trees, commanding, “Leave the horses.”
The branches and leaves seemed to part magically before him as he moved into the foliage. Ryen listened to the crickets, and somewhere an owl hooted. The bushes and small trees were growing so closely together that Ryen could not see more than two feet in any direction. Finally, they stepped out into a clearing and Ryen gasped at the sight that greeted her. Awash in a magical light, a glittering waterfall cascaded over a sheer one-hundred-foot cliff, its water gleaming and sparkling as it tumbled into the churning white water below.
“Oh, Bryce,” Ryen whispered in awe.
He moved up behind her, his long, tanned arm stretched upward before him. “See the rock next to the waterfall?”
Halfway up the cliff, Ryen spotted the brown, flattened ledge and nodded.
“Keep watching,” Bryce said, and disappeared silently into the forest.
Ryen approached the water until she came to the bank, her eyes remaining on the ledge Bryce had pointed out. It was far above her head, a flat rock, protruding slightly from the falls.
Ryen’s gaze shifted to the water as it tumbled over the slope, then followed the waves down the sheer drop until they crashed against the water pooled in a glistening lake below. Her mind flashed back to the time she had almost been swept over the edge of another falls. A shudder slid up her spine. But somehow, in the moonlight, it seemed different…somehow magical. She looked back at the rock. It had not changed.
Ryen’s mind dwelt on the waterfall that had claimed Runt’s body. Bryce had let
his son go to save her life. Why hadn’t she realized then how much Bryce meant to her?
She glanced anxiously over her shoulder at the silent forest behind her. Where was Bryce? Then a movement caught her eye and she looked up at the rock. Bryce stood there, his splendid body glowing in the moonlight. He spread his arms out to the side as if worshipping the black sky.
She stepped forward, her eyes riveted on Bryce as he raised his arms and bent his knees. Her heart skipped a beat as fear clamped a cold hand around her.
She could not move, could not breathe. Then, like a graceful cat, he leapt, diving head first like a spear toward the shimmering pool.
“No!” Ryen finally screamed, hearing only a small splash as his body pierced the turbulent water. “No!”
She searched the pond for him, but the surface was unbroken. “Bryce!” Ryen ran forward, moving toward the falls, cutting the water with her body as she waded in. The black liquid rose from her ankles to her waist and then to her shoulders. She began to swim, searching the water and shore with her eyes as she moved. She could barely breathe for the terror that gripped her chest. Over and over again she saw the brackish moat below her window at De Bouriez Castle. All those weeks of gazing at it had carved the image into her memory. All those days of hoping and praying that Bryce was alive. And now, as she pictured Bryce’s body lying broken on the rocks, she found herself praying again.
Something slithered about her waist and for a moment she panicked, fighting the grip of death, afraid she would not reach Bryce in time to save him. A soft chuckle came from behind her. “You have not learned yet?” he wondered.
Bryce pulled her trembling body to him, his powerful legs treading water, keeping them both afloat.
Ryen wrapped her arms about his thick neck, relieved in one breath, wanting to strangle him in the next.
“I have been swimming in these waters since I was a child. I learned to dive from the highest cliff. Learned to expand my lungs so I could stay below water for as long as I needed to,” Bryce whispered, a hint of light laughter in his tone.
Ryen could only watch his lips as they caressed each word. Suddenly, she felt the length of his solid body against her, felt the blood pound through her veins like molten fire.
“I had no idea what agony my disappearances caused you, or I would have returned,” he murmured. His lips brushed her neck and he lifted a hand to push her hair back from her shoulder.
Ryen’s arms wrapped languidly around his back, wanting the warmth, wanting his strength.
With a powerful kick, Bryce sent them toward the shore. Ryen’s feet just briefly touched the ground when he swooped her up in his arms and carried her swiftly inland. He slid her against the length of his body slowly, never taking his eyes from hers. His eyes were dark with passion, glittering like two black coins.
Ryen felt the heat blazing from his wet skin. She opened her mouth to sigh, but before she could utter a sound, his lips took possession of her own. She leaned her head back, responding with all her being to the demands of this god of darkness. She pressed her body closer to his and felt the warmth of him, the essence of heaven and the fires of hell. She felt his hands lightly stroking her back with feathery touches that sent currents of flame up her spine.
Her hands caressed the power in every muscle of his back, his chest, his stomach. But what amazed her the most was not his strength. It was the moonlight that seemed to radiate from his body, as if he had swallowed the radiance of the moon and it had formed a halo around his figure. He was a god.
His hand closed over her breast and she arched toward him.
He was wondrously gentle, yet as wild as an April whirlwind as he crushed her body to him. He lifted the tunic over her head to reveal her glorious breasts. They were copper in the waning moonlight and his lips descended over the peaks eagerly. She saw a flash of white teeth as he teased and caressed her. With silken caresses his hand moved down her breeches to her hip.
Ryen pulled his head closer to her heart, wanting more of his touches. She bent her lips over his dark hair, fluttering kisses over his head. She felt her breeches drop away, and when he stepped back she saw his eyes brush over her nakedness.
Impatiently, she put a hand against his chest and gently shoved him. He stumbled a few steps away from her until his back hit a tree. Ryen pursued him.
He reached out to her, but she caught his strong wrists in her hands.
She leaned her entire body into his, pressing her lips to his startled ones. Instantly his surprise gave way to passion and desire, and the kiss deepened sending ecstasy swirling through Ryen. She felt her breasts pressed against his strong chest and couldn’t resist trailing a path of light kisses over his jaw, down his neck, down to his chest. When her tongue circled one of his nipples she heard him sigh deeply. She moved her mouth down over his stomach, reaching around to cup his buttocks.
His hands dropped to his sides and he groaned in pleasure. She planted slow kisses down to his manhood, marveling that it grew as her lips neared. She pulled slightly away and raised a hand to caress him. She had no sooner touched his warm flesh when he grabbed her arms and raised her up to his lips. His kiss buffeted her like the winds before a savage storm.
His manhood pressed firmly into her lower stomach and Ryen groaned, shifting her hips in response, wanting him inside her, needing him.
Bryce lifted her leg to his hip and Ryen felt the pressure move to her womanhood. She gripped his shoulders and lifting her other leg, wrapped her slim thighs around him. He took the invitation, plunging deep inside her with one mighty thrust. She moaned as he took possession of her body. She met the cadence of his thrusts and felt passion rising in her like the sun. Finally it shattered into a million glowing stars, and for one moment she had a glimpse of heaven.
When she opened her eyes, he was gazing at her.
A smile tugged at the corners of his lips before his hips began to move again and his face contorted in ecstasy. “Ryen,” he groaned softly, pulling her closer to him. “My Angel.”
Chapter Forty
The next morning, Bryce and Ryen returned to the castle. Ryen sat before Bryce on his horse, his strong arms around her as he held the reins. The white mare trailed Bryce’s stallion. When they reached the inner ward, Bryce slung his leg from the animal. For a moment, they stood face to face, sharing the secrets of the night before in their heated expressions. Ryen’s lips slowly turned up into a grin.
Bryce’s face lit with a warmth that was foreign to the Prince of Darkness. He took her hand and began to walk into the castle.
A miller who had come from town and was unloading his wares paused to follow them with his eyes. Two knights halted as they walked by to stare after their lord and his enemy.
“Prince!” Talbot called, as they entered the castle. When Bryce did not stop, Talbot was forced to hurry to catch up with him. “There is a matter of the harvest you must see to.”
“It can wait,” Bryce said, staring raptly at Ryen.
Talbot halted his steps. Never had Prince declined to see to the proper running of his estates and his people.
Bryce led Ryen to the Great Hall. When they entered, Ryen faltered. Where would he lead her to sit? Ryen’s gaze swept the table where the peasants sat and noticed that the wild-looking people were now at that table. There were seven of them seated in a row. Was that a good sign? she wondered.
Then her eyes were drawn by Bryce’s empty chair at the front of the room, a frown creasing her brow. Lotte and Elli sat on either side of his chair. Would he choose to sit beside them?
Finally, Bryce moved forward. Hope beat in Ryen’s heart, along with desperation. What will I do if he chooses to sit beside his whores? What will I do if he places Lotte above me?
Murmuring broke out around the room as they strolled toward the peasant’s table.
Her heart raced as he stood looking over the table for a moment. She took her usual chair. Bryce’s gaze shifted to Polly, who sat beside Ryen.
Im
mediately, the old maid rose and stepped aside. Ryen watched her walk down the table to the extra place they always set.
When Ryen turned back to Bryce, he was taking Polly’s seat. “Later you will eat at my table, by my side,” he said.
Ryen nodded slightly, numb with happiness.
Bryce stared at the food before him for a moment. He turned his gaze to the peasant beside him. “Take another chair.”
Immediately, the man scrambled from his seat and Talbot, who had followed them, replaced him at Bryce’s side.
Contentedly, Bryce’s eyes scanned the table until he came to Grey. He raised an eyebrow and chuckled low in his throat, shaking his head.
Grey shrugged. “The food’s better.”
The bowls were placed before them and Bryce picked up his trencher.
“M’lord,” Talbot said, stopping Bryce before the trencher reached his mouth. Dark eyes focused on Talbot and he continued, “They know not what to do.”
Ryen and Bryce turned together, following Talbot’s stare. His soldiers sat, whispering among themselves, casting speculative glances at Ryen’s table.
Bryce’s gaze swiveled to Ryen.
“I will have another cauldron made,” Ryen offered. “It won’t take long.”
Bryce nodded, then announced, “Let them eat what we eat.”
Ryen nodded to Kit and the girl jumped up and ran to the kitchens.
Bryce raised the trencher to his mouth, glancing at Grey. “You have not been wrong yet.” He shoved the trencher into his mouth. “Ah!” he cried, and spat the pudding from his mouth. “God’s blood! It’s hot!”
“Of course, m’lord,” Ryen answered, with laughter in her voice. “Here. Allow me.” She removed the trencher from his hand and dipped it beneath the pudding, scooping up some food. She carefully wiped the excess off on the side of the bowl and brought the bread to her lips. She blew gently on the pudding until it cooled and finally moved the trencher to his lips.
A grin curved his mouth as he opened it for her, taking the bread into his mouth. Subtly he drew his tongue along one of her fingers.
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