The Warrior (44 page)

Ariane gave a faint moan of frustration, impatient with his delaying tactics. She pressed against him, straining toward his seeking mouth, blindly searching. It was only when she fumbled beneath the split skirt of his hauberk that he broke the embrace.

“Ranulf . . . please . . . take me . . . here . . . now . . .”

“Aye, sweeting . . . presently.”

Urging his horse forward, he found a patch of grassy meadow partially surrounded by a wooded copse, sheltered from prying eyes. It seemed an idyllic setting for a lovers’ tryst—fresh and sweet and tranquil. Above in a gentle blue sky, fleecy clouds floated by, while the melody of a thrush serenaded them sweetly.

Dismounting, Ranulf set his helmet on the ground, then turning to Ariane, reached up for her.

She came willingly, eagerly, into his embrace, her mouth finding his unerringly as her arms encircled his neck.

Her naked urgency made Ranulf shake his head as he whispered against her lips, “Go slowly, sweeting . . . We have time . . . all the time we need.”

Ariane took a deep, steadying breath as she allowed him to set her on her feet. She did not think she could wait or find the discipline to go slowly with this fierce craving burning inside her, but she would try.

Quelling her need, her turbulent emotions, with supreme effort, she forced herself to concentrate on the difficult task of undressing Ranulf . . . helping him to remove his heavy mail armor, and then his clothing beneath. Yet when his undertunic had been tossed aside, she couldn’t deny herself the pleasure of pressing her lips against his chest, relishing the powerful expanse of naked flesh. Beneath the soft whorls of hair, she could feel his hot skin, the tightly curving muscles.

She felt his body tighten, and gazed up at him longingly. His thick raven hair glinted with blue highlights in the sun, while the harsh angles of his face had softened with tenderness. His amber eyes seemed warm as melted honey, deep enough to drown in.

Her trembling fingers loosened his braies and drew them down over his narrow hips and strong thighs. Finally, at last, he stood naked before her, detailed by the probing sunlight. Beautiful, powerful. All rippling muscle and sinew. His erection swollen thick and thrusting. Ariane drew a sharp breath at the sight.

He reached for her then.

“ ’Tis my turn now,” he murmured, his voice a husky, erotic whisper.

And yet to her frustration and dismay, Ranulf seemed content to draw out the process. First he unclasped her mantle and laid it on the grass to make a pallet. Then he slowly, sensually, attended to her clothing. It was long, long moments later before he had partially completed his task and she stood clad only in her filmy chemise.

He turned his attention to her hair next, taking down the coiled braids. His eyes uncharacteristically soft, he combed his fingers slowly through the luxuriant tresses, till it gleamed a glorious, shimmering mass of pale copper, falling around her shoulders in lovely, wanton disorder.

How can a man so harsh, so ruthless, be so gentle?
Ariane wondered dazedly.

For a moment Ranulf gathered her close and simply breathed in the fragrance of her hair, his fingers continuing their stroking. Presently, finally, he bent to catch the hem of her chemise and drew the garment over her head, leaving her completely naked.

He began touching her elsewhere then, everywhere, caressing her skin . . . the fine-boned curves and hollows of her face . . . the thickly beating pulse in her throat . . . the delicate lines of her body . . . the gently trembling limbs . . . rising again to her breasts.

Almost reverently Ranulf cupped the soft, graceful swells beneath his palms. They were high, firm, made as though to fit in a man’s hand. His fingers spread, fanning over her breasts in deepening strokes, his thumbs passing in scorching circles over her nipples.

Ariane lost pace with her breath. Blindly, her hands caught in Ranulf’s hair, pulling his head down to hers. “Kiss me . . . please,
please . . .
”

He complied . . . but only for a tantalizing instant. His mouth brushed hers fleetingly, and then drew back . . . even as he skimmed his palm downward over her flat belly. His hand lightly cupped the rise of her silky curls, his sensitive fingers discovering the warmth below. Ariane moaned.

He barely touched her sex, barely brushed the moist flesh, and yet the effect was like a jolt of lightning, inciting a throbbing ache in her lower body, teasing the feverish flush of her skin. Her breathing deepened in quick and steady arousal, while her hips strained against his hand, seeking release from the fiery sensations streaking through her.

This time he allowed it when she dragged him back into the kiss, when she arched into him, her seeking mouth insistent and urgent. And yet he refused to give in to her demands. He maintained control, defining the pressure and rhythm.

His restraint was pure torment.

Her fingers clenched in Ranulf’s hair until finally he deepened the kiss with satisfying force. The sweetly probing eroticism of his tongue elicited small involuntary whimpers from her throat. His lips stroked against hers, drinking in her desperation, feeding the fire flowing between them. Ariane shuddered helplessly. His fingers were moving on her back, sending cascades of shivers through her.

“I crave you. . . .”

When he spoke the words against her lips, she answered him thickly, her head swimming. “Yes . . . yes . . .”

Her cheeks were hotly flushed, her knees weak. When he broke from her, she was trembling so badly that he had to support her with his hands.

With unhurried grace, Ranulf led her to the bed he had made with her mantle and settled himself there, then reached his hand up to her. Shaken by the pleasure-promise in his keen golden eyes, Ariane sank to her knees beside him.

Perhaps it was the breath of spring breeze that cooled her fevered skin, perhaps it was the bright look of male triumph in Ranulf’s eyes, but somehow she found the will to temper her desire, to control her fierce need.

Dragging in a shuddering breath, she pressed her palms against his naked chest, urging him backward, to lie on the mantle. She desperately wanted to please him, wanted to give to him.

The scent of spring grass and wildflowers rose up to meet them; the wash of sunlight warmed their skin. Ranulf lay back unprotesting, letting his senses feast: the soft wool beneath his scarred back, the cool cascade of her hair as she bent over him, the warmth of her lips as she scattered hot, open kisses over his chest.

Shutting his eyes, Ranulf let his head fall back. In all his experience, he had never made love like this. He had taken wenches in the fields, a quick frenzied coupling, the rutting of animals. But never had he known anything like this . . . this sweetness and warmth, this gentleness. This aching need. This melding of desire between two people. The latent tenderness he felt was a bewildering, swelling pain within his chest.

Her hair tumbled forward to spill over him, and he clutched at it, his fingers twining in the silken tresses, as a drowning man clings to a solitary rock in the midst of a crashing sea.

Ariane felt his surrender, felt the hammering of his pulse beneath her lips as they pressed against a battle scar, felt the shudder that passed through him. The scent of his skin was intoxication, his heat a drugging lure.

Some ancient primitive force controlled her hands as she drew them over his beautiful body, feeling the hard lines of bone and muscle and taut sinew beneath her palms, caressing his burning skin. When she reached his groin, her fingers closed brazenly over his rigid member.

The thick length surged in her hand, hot and pulsing and iron hard.

Hardly daring to breathe, she bent closer and touched the thick column gently with her lips.

His chest muscles contracted harshly.

Her tongue gently flicked and circled the aching flesh.

His breathing sharpened.

At his helpless response, she became the aggressor, tasting, sampling, tormenting, using her lips and tongue eagerly, willingly. Reveling in the dark flush of passion on his harsh face, she sucked at him brazenly, first the huge swollen tip, then deeper, taking him slowly, fully in her mouth, driving him mad with need.

His chest rising harshly, Ranulf clenched his fists in the wool and arched his back, his hips straining helplessly against the velvet torment of her mouth, his blood pounding through his veins. In moments the tremors that racked his body, his fierce need to have her, became too much to bear. He wanted,
needed,
to be joined to her.

“Ride me,” he whispered thickly as his grip tightened in her hair.

Urgently, with barely controlled passion, he drew her upward, till she half lay upon him, her lush breasts pillowed on his chest. Settling one leg over his hips, Ariane mounted him, lowering herself onto his pulsing arousal.

At the sudden penetrating sensation, she drew a sharp, shuddering gasp of pleasure that disturbed the quiet of the lengthening day. Astride his thighs, his powerful erection deep within her, she felt fulfilled, complete, infused with a great inner joy at the pleasure she knew she was giving him, at the pleasure he was giving her.

When his hands covered her aching breasts, her passion-hazed glance locked with his. He was so hard inside her, so fiery hot, an exquisite shaft of fire spearing through her. Her back arching gracefully, she rode him as he had taught her, rocking against him, trying desperately to ease the throbbing, fevered ache he had kindled deep within her.

His teeth bared, Ranulf lost his masterful control. Blindly, his hands moved from her breasts to grip her buttocks, working her up and down in rhythm with his thrusts, his hips pumping, his manhood surging deep into her sleek, hot sheath.

“Ranullllf . . .” Her exhalation was a jarring series of broken gasps as he thrust himself to the hilt, impaling her.

In only moments the rapturous shudders began. He convulsed first; his body contracted like a bow, catching Ariane in the wrenching release. His hoarse groan mingled with her rasping sob as searing ecstasy erupted between them.

When the storm at last subsided, Ranulf caught her as she fell weakly into his arms, holding her shaking body. Yet he scarcely had the power to breathe. His own body limp, drained, his chest heaving, he lay there with his eyes closed as the fierce explosions slowly faded.

His hand cradled her throat, soothing her thundering pulsebeat, while he attempted to make sense of the foreign emotions rioting through him. He felt a tranquility, a sense of utter peacefulness, that was completely alien to him. He had never known peace. Yet here, in the soft-dying day, with this woman in his arms, he could almost forget his cruel past, could almost believe his future held more than harsh reality.

Gently, reverently, Ranulf brushed away a sweat-dewed tress that clung to the curve of her jaw, his lips pressing against her temple. He heard her soft sigh, and his chest constricted.

It was the gentleness that startled him most. She made him want to shower her with gentleness. Tenderness ran through him, hot, honeyed, unfamiliar, loosening something inside him, melting the edges of the ice that had encased his heart for so long. He had comforted Ariane, driven away her tears with his passion, but her ardent, needy response had affected him in ways he could not begin to understand.

Pulling her close, his hand gentle on her back, Ranulf stroked her silken skin, drifting slowly up and down. What was it about this woman that turned his vitals inside out? That made him long to hold and comfort her? That aroused this strange yearning within him, a sense of wonder about what might be, a hope for what the future might embrace? What made him hunger to draw out the blissful, soothing peace enveloping him now?

Ranulf exhaled quietly, in a deep sigh. Perhaps he was dreaming impossibilities, indulging in whimsical fantasy, but for now he wanted to believe that the peace of this moment could last.

20

The peace lingered as the day waned. Her body cradled by his, Ariane and Ranulf lay entwined, loath to disturb the enchanted moment.

“I would that we could stay here always,” she murmured on a sigh, voicing Ranulf’s own bemused thoughts.