Ronan's Bride (13 page)

She chanced a touch, a mere laying of her hand on his indented buttock behind her, moving and flexing his sex into her. “I’m not as fragile as I appear.”

Ronan pushed her leg so that it was bent. He rose over her, her other limb between his as he thrust harder and deeper. It was raw and hot, fast and deep, sexually rough but needful. Before ‘twas over, they were both slick with dew.

Bending to kiss her breasts after his climax, he whispered on growl, “You touched me.”

She had, stealing a touch first on his back, feeling layers of scars, hard and ridged. She had found his nipples, knowing there were scars even there, but teased and tugged them. They repulsed her not. Overall, he was a strong and well-made male. All male.

She put her hand on his head. “Did you not enjoy it?”

Obviously disgruntled he admitted, “Aye. I did.”

“Then I need not lie and apologize. I need to touch, as much as you.”

He left the bed. She waited for him to return before going to wash the sweat and seed away. Sefare knew he sat up in the bed. Returning, she sat on his side but keeping her eyes on the far wall.

“If life did not extend beyond the morrow, what regrets have you, save those in the past?”

“In what manner?” He asked.

She scraped her teeth over her lips. “In this manner. Between us.”

Ronan did not answer right away, but eventually intoned gruffly, “That I had not the experience and must be led by you…in the bedding.”

She laughed. It seemed very much a male thing to say. “I have said, My Lord, that men of experience make not good lovers. In truth, Ronan. I am, as you are, having nothing to guide me. I have only instinct and what you inspire me to desire. I am not experienced in… love-making.”

He nearly grouched, “I desire not to harm you. To bring you pain. I am twice your size, Sefare.”

He was, but she assured, “You won’t hurt me.”

He moved swift and then was pulling her back. He covered her eyes and rolled her under him, keeping his weight off her, his legs between her own. “Am I crushing you?”

“Nay.” She licked her lips. Arching her hips up then, to rub herself against his half-hard sex. “Let me see your eyes. I won’t look down.”

He moved his hand away. She stared into his eyes in the mask, reading so much there, his pleasure, his need, his surprise, and his caution.

“Ride me,” she husked holding his gaze. Her slender legs raised and her knees rested on his sides. “Come, my knight…My Lord, Ronan….I am wet and waiting, heated and hungered.”

“Jesu!” He grit through clinched teeth and surged into her. “You provoke me past caution.”

She grasped the sheet, an unexplainable need to be taken and claimed by him filling her. “…Take me, Ronan.”

He did, swift, yet with the grace of strength. Grinding, moving his hips, and lifting her with his whole body, stroking her sex until she cried out and grasped his hair, making it loose from the tie.

Arching under him, grinding back, the ride took them to the deepest hour before dawn. “My blood as if fire in me, Ronan.” She cried out, drowning in pleasure.

“As is mine.” His thrusts drove deeper and he leaned back on his heels, his thumb stroking between the lips of her sex. When she was flying, he soared with her, their bodies shuddering with the force of it.

Sefare lay still when he left the bed, seeing by the shadows while he bathed and dressed. She felt her eyes burn, having touched more of him in his lost moments—and weeping for him, because of the pain he had endured. However, hurriedly before he noticed, she wiped her eyes, and was calm when he came to her, sitting with her robe over his leg.

“Daykin will enter soon.”

She sat up and slid the robe on, then climbed from the bed. Latching it, she turned and cupped his masked face before he could stand. “Be safe, and worry not.”

He pulled her to him, kissing her passionately though both their lips were tender from doing much of it all night. When he parted, he said gruffly, “Go, and write your account.”

Sefare went and took the implements from her trunk to sat down to write the long account. Including the abuse, which she was sure, would be refuted. However, the truth would be on record. Sefare wrote of her father, her brother, and of how her husband died. She sanded and sealed it, and knocked on Ronan’s door.

When it opened, she paused abrupt. Ronan was in black and crimson. His hair already a deep pitch was smoothed back, braided down his back. A crimson mask with studs and swirls, black breeches, and boots, blouse and heavy crimson velvet tunic, stitched richly and with the silver wolf. A mantle of crimson, black, and silver, hung back from his broad shoulders.

He looked fierce, large, and as intimidating as ever...

Save for his eyes, for they were on her and the secrets of the night before, their intimacy, was there.

She handed him the scroll and even as Ualtar entered and stood watching them, waiting as Daykin was, with his trunk and armor, she said clearly, “I feel purged, healed in some way. Moreover ‘twas hard to feel the old pains when I wrote them. All that I could think of was our night of pleasure.”

His lips curved slightly and she thought were he not masked he may have flushed. He said gruffly, “Should you get yourself in danger whilst I am gone, I may beat you yet.”

She laughed and wrinkled her nose before turning, “You must return for that, My Lord.”

* * * *

When she had gone, Ronan glanced at a smugly grinning Ualtar and then away. He said, “Let us go.” And picked up his sword, buckling it on. However, in the yard, where he mounted, and two more guards were with him, the Celt nudged him.

“Up there.”

Ronan looked to the top most of the castle and spied that white blond hair. He raised his decorated gauntlet.

She blew a kiss. Most the men chuckled.

They turned in unison and rode out, Ronan privately amazed and reluctant to chance what he had found with Sefare through the night’s intimacy. “This best work. I hated lying to her,” he voiced to Ualtar.

“Particularly after the night you just had, eh?”

Ronan growled, “If she is harmed, you are first on my death list.

The Celt smiled but shrugged, “‘Tis the only way to lure out the spy among us. Asides, the king wants something out of it, and feels you owe him. He can gain much from this if it works. In addition, Prince Edward has a personal grudge against Guardi di Matteo. Fitzwilliam did your arguing to Henry for you. There is this plan—or you lose more than simply your precarious peace.”

Ronan grunted. “I trust Fitzwilliam. I do not trust this plan will keep Sefare safe.”

“If something runs afoul, I will be the first to charge in with you. Let’s get it over with.”

Ronan rode at speed with the Celt, and it was a day and many miles before they arrived at the meeting point.

Spread across the hill were armored knights, and in the center a cowl covered figure in long pitch black robes, black gauntlets and boots, nothing visible save the black mount he rode on, and a blood red bow and quiver on his back.

The knight beside him was also in black armor, unmarked and having only eye slits in the helm.

Ronan got off his horse and went to one knee in front of the black armored one, his fist over his heart. “My liege.”

His knights and the Celt followed one by one.

Chapter Six

The burials were seen to swiftly because of the heat and circling fowl over the inner bailey. The child, called Alid, was recovering. She swiftly became somewhat adopted by Sir Osburn, who came to see her and sit with her often. Sefare knew he had lost his own wife and children in death when he was but in his twenties.

It would be good for the both of them, and the girl was obviously fascinated by the knight and drawn to him in a trusting manner. His fatherly and protective instincts would see that the girl had the best of life, and all the strength needed in these times, to hold onto it.

Sefare was surprised on the third day of Ronan’s absence when a knight called Fulco, one of her trusted men, offered to escort her for the morning ride she usually took with Ronan.

“Is that wise? Did my husband not forbid it?”

“Forbid it, no,” the strong, bull neck’d man replied. “I myself have led scouts through the village and between, to assure ‘tis safe. I am sure your husband did not mean for you to stay prisoner here. He, like we, who came with you, know that you are more than able to defend yourself. Not that such a thing is likely. It seems the Count has decided to use the king to do his dirty work.” He shook his head in disgust.

“I shall think upon it.” Sefare looked at the walls, truthfully, she too thought it safe, but… “I think ‘tis too soon after the attack on the village. Let us wait a few days and if the scouts see no threat, I will ride a short ways.”

“I am at your service, as I was always, My Lady.” The knight bowed and smiled at her. “It is a great privilege to serve Lord Ronan. And we are all glad to have come with you.”

As he left, she went to find Isola, and put the suggestion of picking up the daily rides to her. The woman was polishing a shield vigorously, and sat back, pushing her wine hair from her face. “I think whomever helped us, killed them all. Those in the woods…Moreover, as Fulco said, ‘tis likely the Count is going to use these lies to the king. Aye, give it a few days. I will go with you.”

Sefare nodded and went back to the keep, spending an hour with the child, who now had clothing and a mantle sewn by the servants, and supple boots on her feet. The face wound was healing but scarred, her leg was still covered with a bandage, though aired often so t’was healing fine.

Sefare went through the daily chores with the servants. It seemed eerily normal, as if none of the events had happened, save for the amount of graves in the valley below—and that one lone child now remained from a village of people who did not deserve to die.

For the next two days, she practiced with Isola. Even Sir Osburn went with the scouts and saw no fresh tracks. It was warm, in the midst of summer, and after seeing to entire castle, save the dungeon—she had nothing to take her mind off Ronan and his meeting with the king. As well as nothing but anxiety for her brother to think upon. She had never underestimated that family, but she had, for a brief moment, hoped that life, at last, may offer some peace, some time to have the “normal” things that had been dreams indeed when she’d wed the first time.

Unable to be still and sleeping only fitfully, Sefare spent too many evenings gazing out the castle windows into the distance. She despised the unkowns. Hated—not knowing if the King too was going to use this incident to get something from Ronan, or if he would be sympathetic to them. They were newly wed after all. Ronan had been proved a loyal Knight. She hoped, prayed, he would read her account, and feel the truth in it. God’s teeth, but she was tired of having her life written by others, her most basic needs, love, home, perhaps some laughter some reason to be light of heart, robbed by others who wanted to use herself or Ronan.

There were times she would imagine her night with Ronan and his passion for her flushed her body with an inward ache, as much as her response to him, the very feel of his rounded muscle and hot skin stayed vivid in her memory. Other times, her childhood came to mind and it would end abrupt—so she wished for the thousandth time she had never wed, that she had been less romantic and more knowing. However, such thinking always brought her the darker thoughts of her marriage. Sefare she wished Ronan there, to turn to, to touch, just to remind herself that she was free of that, and she belonged to Ronan now. Even if he was grunting, grumbling, she felt a certain tenderness touch her heart at it.

It was the anger finally, that gave her a frustration with the current events. That the family could still control, intimidate, still make her a prisoner….make her weep at their cruelty, made Sefare seething mad.

She was indeed the Crimson Knight’s bride. She was more the old Sefare, and she could be as brave as her husband. She wanted to be. She would stand before the king, before anyone, and defend not only herself but her brother too.

After a span of time without incident Sefare alerted Fulco that both she and Isola would ride one morning providing there was a guard. She did not intend to go far, but would be armed for added measure.

As large as the castle was, she still would not be able to stay behind the thick walls week after week, day after day. The hunters were going out, and the scouts seemed confident enough to assure her no threat remained. Thus on the morning assigned, she donned her breeches, boots a tunic of leather, and her sword. Isola was likewise garbed, save she also had a dagger in her boot.

Fulco made up the guard of six, who surrounded the females, giving the area around them their attention, until Sefare soon relaxed. She and Isola spoke of the terribleness of the attack and the grace of God that young Alid lived.

They dismounted after passing through the beauty of the forests. Only broken limbs, a few dead torches left, to mark the attackers were there, or that they died there.

Walking their horses to the river to drink before crossing over, “I wonder if he is still here,” murmured Isola.

“As have I.” Sefare saw the guards watering their mounts and then mounting again, each surveying the areas on all sides.