The Christmas Knight (26 page)

Bronwyn’s heart swelled, nearly choking her. Ranulf claimed no love for her—nothing of the intense feelings that she had for him—but he did want to please her and care for her. It was enough. It was time to let go of how and why they came to be married and to just love him.

Taking another step back, she slowly began to undo the ties of her bliaut. Her fingers shook with nervousness. Undressing in front of a man was not something Bronwyn had ever done before, and last time, Ranulf had removed her gown in a whirlwind of passion that had completely overtaken her senses. Tonight’s coupling would be deliberate.

The silver shimmering mass fell to her feet. Seeing his shocked reaction, she gained more confidence, and leisurely, she slipped her hose off each leg. “You won’t fail, Ranulf. You have never failed at anything before.” Then standing before him wearing nothing but a diaphanous undergarment, she leaned toward him and said softly, just above a whisper, “I trust you. I always have.”

Ranulf felt her hands upon his chest and stared down at her, unbelieving fortune could have changed to his favor. This morning, he had been doomed for a dismal eternity, but instead, standing before him was a woman giving him everything he had dreamed of but never thought he would possess.

He laid his forehead against hers, breathing in her scent while collecting his thoughts. Ranulf craved to pick her up and carry her to his bed without further prelude, remembering how she felt, all soft and willing pressed up against him. His body quickened at the thought, and he silently cursed his own weakness. This time he refused to rush. Tonight was about her.

Bronwyn arched her head back and softened her mouth into the barest of smiles. She couldn’t believe it, but she was nervous. Last time, passion had dictated everything, not allowing enough time or the ability to think about what she was doing. But now, Ranulf was restraining himself for her sake. She was appreciative, but what she really wanted was for him to make unrestrained love to her and show her once again what it felt like to be beautiful and desired.

Pulling back the opening of his shirt, he felt her lips kiss the warm skin of his chest as she inhaled his musky scent. “Angel,” he groaned in a deep guttural voice as her mouth seared his skin. She lifted her head and he stared down at her. Bronwyn flicked her tongue over her lips and every muscle in his body seized. He turned her around in his embrace and she leaned back against him. How was he going to keep things slow? His blood was roaring in his ears as it raced like liquid fire through his veins. He closed his arms around her and began to loosen the ties of her chemise.

As the garment fell to the floor, he leaned over until his mouth touched the smooth white skin of her throat. A soft sigh escaped her lips, causing his loins to throb with increased need. Keeping her facing away from him, he quickly disrobed before scooping her into his heavily muscled arms. In three long steps, he reached the side of the bed and tenderly placed her among the pillows.

Shy of her own nakedness, Bronwyn reached out to him and tried to sit up, but Ranulf placed his hand against her shoulder, compelling her to lie back. The firelight flickered over her body and his heated gaze swept over her, taking her in from head to toe. She was beautiful. Perfect. His.

His jaw tightened and he closed his eye. How could he have ever believed that he could spend even one minute in the arms of another woman after being with Bronwyn?

Unable to wait any longer, he lowered himself until he covered her body with his own. His mouth swirled around her ear as his hand molded to her side, tracing a path to her breasts, making her bend to him. A low rumble of satisfaction escaped from deep within Bronwyn. She raised her head and pulled his lips down to hers, opening to him, tasting him hungrily as his thumbs cruised gently over her nipples, relishing her response.

Eagerly she pressed her body against his, and he felt himself grow harder. “We need to slow down,” he said in a thick voice, feeling the throbbing mass of his erection nestled against her thigh, begging for release.

“I don’t want to,” Bronwyn replied, her fingers running up and down his spine. Lacing them through his short hair, she met his driving tongue, thrust for thrust, taking and giving back in turn.

He had wanted to touch her, kiss her, take the time to explore her entire body in every way he could before their lovemaking became heated, fueled by need. He wanted to connect with her body and soul.

Bronwyn closed her eyes and wished Ranulf would break free and take her like he had before. He tongued a path between her breasts and gingerly outlined them, bringing the pink tip to a crested peak. She quivered and arched closer to his lips until she felt his mouth take her nipple in. She moaned.

His slow gentle approach was driving her wild, creating a torrent of desire that was taking over her body. She wanted nothing more than to feel him on top of her, inside her, exciting her to new limits. She writhed under his touch, begging him to take her into his mouth once again. When he didn’t, she slid her palm down his chest, across his belly, and lower.

The moment she touched his flesh, he shivered violently and jerked back. “I can’t—” he began, but his body refused to listen and pushed forward into her palm.

Bronwyn had never considered the idea she had the ability to arouse his desire. At least not like this. It was empowering. But just as she was starting to experiment, cradling him in her palm and stroking him gently, he pulled her hand away. Bronwyn was about to argue, but when the heat of his fingers pressed against her intimately, all ability to think stopped.

As his hand closed gently around her, a deep tremor shook her and Bronwyn heard herself cry out. Slowly he stroked her, parting her with his fingers, opening her as he eased one in and out of her snug passage. The pace he had set was torment. She needed more of him inside her and started lifting up her hips until they pressed against his hand, demanding release.

“Ranulf,” she breathed, going half crazy with need. Unmoved by her pleas, he continued to stroke back and forth, slowly drawing forth the wet heat, stroking the flames until she was writhing uncontrollably with desire.

Ranulf waited until he could hold on no longer, and with a low groan, he eased himself slowly and deeply inside her. She closed around him, hot and wet and so tight that it almost undid him. Then he began to move within her, slow and careful and very, very thorough.

Bronwyn called out his name, begging him with her voice and body to quicken his pace. And as her hips began to thrust, he obliged, bringing them into a passionate rhythm until their breaths turned into short gasps. His back was slick with sweat and his muscles trembled beneath his skin. He needed this. He needed to feel alive again, to block out past fears that she had abandoned him.

He increased the pace until she clenched around him and any semblance of control he may have had was obliterated. Once, twice more he thrust deep inside her then she cried out in elation. Barely a moment later, her own name was uttered from his lips in an ecstatic gasp, and he collapsed in blackness. Nothing else existed. Only the feeling of being surrounded by heaven.

Bronwyn felt him shudder inside her and then the slump of his body falling heavily atop her, his breathing still affected by the exertion. She smiled and closed her eyes. The crazed passion of before had not been present, but even so, she felt replete, with the throb of his last thrusts still echoing within her. Once again, he had moved her in ways she would not have believed possible before meeting him. Tonight had not been about a rush to quench a thirst. Ranulf had desired above all else to give, and as a result, he had made her feel special.

“Thank you,” she murmured against his skin, placing light kisses across his shoulders.

Ranulf flipped over to his side so that he lay next to her, enabling him to run his fingers up and down the soft skin of her arm and hip. “Imagine, angel, a lifetime of this…of you and me.”

Bronwyn nestled her backside closer to him and nodded. She wanted that lifetime. She would never leave him, and even better, he would never let her go.

Light from the morning sun poured through the window, revealing the long-healed burns covering Bronwyn’s upper back. Ranulf studied them thoughtfully, caressing the uneven skin with his fingertips, glad she could not remember the excruciating pain the fire must have caused. Slowly his thumb traced them down her spine. They were more widespread than his own, but her skin could not have been exposed to the fire for long for she had maintained the use of her muscles. Yet, the very scale of her injuries…it was a wonder she had not died. Any worse, and she would have.

Bronwyn stirred.

“Sorry I awoke you.”

“Don’t be,” she purred, stretching her toes.

“Nothing,” he vowed, “nothing like this will ever happen to you again.”

Bronwyn froze as she realized what Ranulf meant. “It’s strange, I can’t remember the fire, or the pain. I can remember being trapped in bed next to my mother for long periods. My father remembered it all, and practically rebuilt Syndlear as a result. He never wanted his family going to sleep and being trapped in flames again.”

“I can’t blame him. I would do the same,” he replied huskily, still outlining the contours of her back.

“Really?” she asked, flipping over. “Spend your fortune on expanding a keep that provides no additional room, no added protection, nothing but tiny escape holes in the wall that couldn’t barely fit one adult, let alone a family?”

“Does fire scare you?”

“No,” Bronwyn murmured, shaking her head. “Accidents do.” She pointed to the dark red scab on his shoulder. “You were lucky. My mother died right after the North Tower was completed while she was helping arrange furniture on one of the floors. I am sure my father also met with a similar misfortune. I just cannot believe disease took him. No, something unexpected, something awful happened. So, no, not fire…accidents are what I fear. They have taken away those who I loved.” With a sigh, she turned back over on her side. “And among those who I love are my sisters. I need to know they are not destined for misery because of me.”

Ranulf sat up and raked his hand through his hair. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, knowing what she was about to ask. “They married good men. Besides Tyr, I trust no one more than Garik. And Rolande…well, he will be willing to settle down as soon as he sees Lily. He has not spoken of it, but I know he has been wanting to cast off his reckless ways.”

Bronwyn bit her bottom lip. “I already knew the men whom my sisters married were good; they had to be if you respected them. But none of us were raised like other noblewomen, to be compliant and quiet. Edythe, especially. She considers herself realistic and tends to prepare for the worst, often coming across as mocking. I have seen her cutting wit injure the pride of many a man.”

Ranulf gave a short grunt and twisted around so he could look Bronwyn in the eye. “It doesn’t take long to understand Edythe, and trust me, Garik is just right for her. The man is intelligent and engages those around him. Edythe will be surprised to find herself liking him, but she will.”

“But why not Tyr?” Bronwyn posed, rising to a sitting position. “He is quick and observant, and what’s more, he will test Edythe’s convictions and I think she would do the same for him.”

“Ha! You mean that they actually search for ways to stump the other. Just listening to them is amusing and
seeing
them fight, with their height difference, is beyond entertaining and something I will be harassing Tyr about endlessly in the future. And,” he interjected, seeing Bronwyn’s mouth open with another question, “of everyone I know, Tyr is the most sincere about his declarations against marriage.”

“You can’t be serious. He’s so…perfect,” she murmured, her eyes wide in astonishment. “I find it hard to believe that
no one
has ever caught his eye.”

Ranulf fought to suppress the twinge of jealousy darting through him, reminding himself that Bronwyn belonged to him completely, and that he—without any doubt—belonged to her. “I’ve never known him to take serious notice of anyone. Although your sister has come as close as any, I hope she understands that his vow is quite resolute. Don’t fear. Garik’s mind is just as fast and sharp. And he’s shorter.”

“Well, that is a plus,” Bronwyn sighed. “But what about Rolande? Rumors don’t portray him as a man desiring marriage.”

In one swift motion, Ranulf bounded from where he sat and straddled her hips with greater agility than Bronwyn would have imagined given his size. His hands nudged her back down onto the bed and he began to reexplore her silken flesh. “He’s my commander and nothing like me. Funny, outgoing, and quick to smile. Like Lily, his greatest asset can also be his undoing—he searches for the good in people and situations.”

Bronwyn bit the inside of her cheek, trying not to let Ranulf see how his touch was getting to her. “Sounds like a bad commander. Don’t you want somebody fierce?”

Ranulf paused. “Fierce? No. I want somebody competent.”

“Doesn’t all that compassion get in the way during battle?”

“I never said Rolande was compassionate, at least not on the field,” he murmured, leaning over her and nuzzling her ear. “But he is quite the focus of the ladies, although I think Lily just might capture his attention. Especially, since—and don’t take offense—these hills are not swarming with competition.”

Bronwyn made an effort to shrug her shoulders and push him back. He only shifted his efforts downward. “Wouldn’t matter if they were,” she gasped. “If Lily wanted him, she would get him. She’s…lucky that way.”

Ranulf’s mouth roamed to the valley between her breasts, chuckling as her body arched in response. “Mmm…maybe it just appears that she is lucky. She’s always had you”—he paused to give her a quick nip—“and Edythe giving her whatever she wanted.”

“Ahh…” Bronwyn moaned, straining to put her thoughts together. “I…I will admit that much of what you say is true, but after you have been around her awhile, you’ll understand that it is not me…Lily really is lucky,” she managed to get out. His tongue was velvet torture and the conversation about the future of her sister’s well-being was no longer important.