Knight's Prize (30 page)

And
so she did. She rolled him over and rode astride him, slowly at first,
languorously rising and falling upon the saddle of his hips, enjoying the
delicious tug of his flesh within hers. But her slow ride soon turned into a
rollicking, rocking gallop. Her eager movements jostled her breasts and tangled
her hair as she tossed her head in rapture.

Rand's
eyes were closed tight, his jaw clenched, his brow beaded with sweat. He seemed
to suffer an agony of pleasure. Watching his beautiful, tortured face increased
the intensity of her passions, and very soon she found herself riding toward
that cliff's edge, leaping off into the deep chasm of release.

He
followed her, furrowing his brow as if in anguish while every muscle tightened
with amazing power. When he found his own climax, he cried out like a wounded
man, pumping deeply into her still-contracting womb. When he was spent, he
relaxed beneath her, trembling like a weary palfrey after a hard day's ride.

Her
heart swelled then, both with the heady thrill of controlling the wild steed of
their desire and with the affection she felt when she looked down at Rand. He
lay quiet now, as limp as a shipwrecked sailor washed up on the shore. Yet
there was no mistaking his bridled strength. A moment ago, he'd raged like a
thunderstorm. Yet now he seemed as vulnerable as a child.

Overwhelmed
by a flood of tenderness and weary from lovemaking, she sank onto his chest,
resting her head in the hollow of his shoulder, and closed her eyes.

His
arms enfolded her, and the sound of his heartbeat, her complete satiation, and
the warmth of the sunlight streaming in the window combined to make a lullaby
that sent her drifting off to a pleasant oblivion. There she dreamed of wet
kisses and sparkling brown eyes and marrying Sir Rand.

************************************

Rand
had no bones left in his body. He was sure Miriel had melted every one. Never
had he felt such fierce joy, such utter completion. By the Saints, 'twas almost
as if
he
had
been a virgin till this moment.

Miriel
had taken him to a place he'd never been before, to a safe harbor of love and
acceptance. And he didn't want to sail away from that harbor. Forsooth, making
love to her felt so right that he didn't want to lie with another woman the
rest of his life.

'Twas
a startling realization, yet he'd known for several days now that if she was
willing, and if her family approved, he intended to make Miriel his bride. He'd
have never been able to accept the gift of her virginity otherwise. He'd grown
to appreciate Rivenloch—the lush landscape, the engaging castle folk, the
magnificent fighting force. But his love for Lady Miriel exceeded everything
else.

He
cradled the lovely lass against his shoulder while she dozed. The sound of her
slow breathing was comforting, like the soft patter of rain on thatch, and her
breath warmed the place over his heart. He rested his chin atop her head and
idly rubbed a lock of her hair between his thumb and finger, marveling at its
silky texture.

She
was an amazing woman. On the surface, she seemed as fragile as a rose. But the
more time he spent with her, the more he realized that the frail flower had a
stem made of steel.

Mayhap
other men would be repelled by such a maid. They preferred their wives docile,
mild, and compliant. But Rand admired women of strength and wit, courage and
conviction. Though he was still only beginning to graze the surface of Miriel's
character, and though she seemed to take great pains to hide her brave and
independent nature, he sensed she was such a woman.

He
saw it in the mischievous twinkle of her innocent eyes, heard it in the clever
lies she told without blinking, felt it in her brazen, passionate lovemaking.

Miriel
was a singular woman. Mayhap, he dared to hope, she was unconventional enough to
look past his bastard birth and forgive his past sins as a common mercenary.
He was half noble, after all. His father might be a drunken monster, but he was
a lord. And as for Rand's occupation, he would gladly give it up for a place in
Rivenloch's army.

Mayhap
he could prove worthy of Miriel's love.

The
precious damsel sighed in her sleep, and her hand curled upon his chest as if
laying claim to him.

He
didn't mind. Not at all. There was naught he wanted more than to belong to
Miriel of Rivenloch.

Chapter
18

M
iriel
was accustomed
to getting her way. No matter how submissive
she appeared, she could manipulate her way into almost anything. So while she
mimicked Sung Li's
taijiquan
postures
by the light of the rising sun, her mind was a thousand miles away, musing over
the ways she could entice Sir Rand to ask for her hand.

It
had to be soon. Miriel was not naive. She knew there was a slim possibility
he'd planted a babe in her womb yesterday. Forsooth, the idea that she might
already carry his child was curiously pleasing.

"Do
not smile," Sung Li intoned over his shoulder. How the old man could tell
she was smiling, Miriel didn't know. Perchance he had eyes at the back of his
head.

She
tried to comply, but all she could think about was the soul-shaking intensity
of coupling with Rand the day before and the heart-melting pleasure of lying in
his arms afterward. She never wanted to lose that bliss.

Sung
Li lunged slowly to the right, and Miriel mirrored the movement, though her
legs quivered from the exertions of yesterday's lovemaking.

She
couldn't tell anyone what she'd done, of course. Not her sisters. Or Sung Li.
Especially Sung Li. They would call her careless and irresponsible for
surrendering her maidenhead to a man not yet wedded to her.

But
she intended to remedy that. Very soon.

Sung
Li swept his arm out in a broad arc. She shadowed him. At least, she thought
she shadowed him. But when he whipped his head around, and snapped, "Pay
heed!", she realized she was using the opposite arm.

He
scowled in disgust. "You are not worthy of your master today."

She
gulped. He was right. She wasn't concentrating. "I am sorry,
xiansheng."

"We
are finished," he said with solemn finality.

Her
face fell. "Aye,
xiansheng."
She wanted to counter him,
to apologize, to somehow make amends for the insult. But 'twas useless to argue
with Sung Li once he'd made a decree.

The
fact that he'd cut their exercises short was a serious chastisement for
Miriel. From the very first moment he'd come home with her, he'd explained that
his life from that day forward would be dedicated to her, that he would train
her in the ancient and sacred ways of his people. He made her realize 'twas a
precious gift he gave her, a secret knowledge few were privileged to learn.
'Twas a great affront to Sung Li for her to give less than her complete
attention to his instruction.

Perchance
he would forgive her on the morrow, but for now he was clearly finished with
her. He snatched his maidservant's garb from the hook on the wall and shook out
the skirts with a sharp snap before donning them over his linen trews.

Miriel
bowed respectfully to him, then sat forlornly on the bed, letting guilt seep
into her bones.

"The
Night will swallow The Shadow soon," Sung Li said, so faintly that Miriel
hardly heard him.

"What?"

"You
must be ready."

"What
do you mean?"

But
whether for spite or to be enigmatic, Sung Li apparently didn't intend to
explain his cryptic remark. With a grave expression that sent a chill of foreboding
up Miriel's spine, he turned and left her chamber.

Miriel
tried to cheer herself with the fact that Rand was taking her to the fair
today. As she wriggled into her favorite rose red surcoat and chose a matching
ribbon for her hair, she couldn't help but smile as she thought about seeing
Rand again. Had it been only half a day since she'd beheld those endearing
dimples, gazed into those twinkling eyes, kissed that tempting mouth? It
seemed an eternity.

She
hurried into her soft leather slippers and whirled her cloak around her
shoulders, then eagerly rushed down the stairs, unable to keep the grin from
her face.

************************************

When
Rand looked up from his breakfast to see the delicate rose petal floating down
the great hall's steps, he almost choked on his oatcake. Angels in heaven, she
was more beautiful than he remembered, even with her clothes on. What would it
be like to have her run downstairs to greet him every morn?

Nay,
he corrected, smiling slyly, if Miriel agreed to be his wife, he meant to keep
her abed till afternoon.

"Good
morn!" she called, her face shining.

Like
a hound wagging its tail when its master came into the room, Rand's cock roused
at once, instinctively responding to her presence. He supposed 'twas pitiful to
be so easily manipulated, but he didn't care. He would gladly play the slave to
Miriel.

Of
course, he could never let her know the power she wielded over him.

He
swallowed the oatcake, gallantly bowed, then let his eyes glaze over with
feigned nonchalance. "My lady, what brings you downstairs so early? And
why are you so gaily attired? Have you plans to clean out the stables
today?"

She
narrowed her eyes wickedly at him and gave him a
chiding
shove in the middle of his chest. To his surprise, he was pushed backward
several inches. The wee wench was more powerful than she looked.

He
grinned, rubbing at the spot.

"I
hope you've brought lots of silver," she taunted, arching a brow.

"Enough
to buy the moon and the stars."

She
cocked her head at him. "What about the sun?"

"The
sun?" He pretended to consider the idea, then frowned. "I don't think
a lass like yourself should be playing with fire."

She
stepped closer and murmured, "But I
like
to play with fire." She lowered her gaze
pointedly to his rapidly swelling staff.

"Oh,
aye, my wicked lass," he whispered, "that you certainly do."

"Where
are my sisters?" she mumbled, glancing about the hall.

He
lifted the corner of his mouth. "In the tiltyard."

"Then
kiss me," she breathed.

At
that most inopportune time, Rand spied, just over the top of Miriel's head, at
the entrance of the buttery, that infernal maidservant, glaring directly at
him. Instead of the soul-searing kiss he intended, he bent forward and placed a
chaste peck upon Miriel's brow.

Miriel
scowled, obviously disappointed.

"Sung
Li!" he called out, giving the glowering old maid a cheery wave.
"Good morn!"

Miriel's
eyes widened in surprise, and she took a prudent step away from him.

Sung
Li still scowled at him, but he ignored her irascible manner and spoke to her
in warm invitation. "Will you be joining us at the fair?"

Dismay
flitted across Miriel's features, but Rand knew 'twas a harmless invitation.
Sung Li had proclaimed only two days ago that fairs were meant for
you zhi,
children.

Sung
Li sent him an undeserved withering glance as she scurried near, and for one
instant, Rand wondered if the addled crone intended to poke his eyes or curse
him in her tongue for issuing such an audacious invitation.

But
at the last moment, she took hold of Miriel's arm. "Be sure you return
before supper."

"Of
course," Miriel replied.

Sung
Li didn't release her. She pulled Miriel even closer by the arm, and said
distinctly, "The Night will come very soon. Very soon."

Some
secret communication must have passed between the two of them in the next
instant, for Miriel solemnly nodded, then murmured, "I'll be
watchful."