The Christmas Knight (20 page)

“I have to. My sisters…” Bronwyn argued, but she did not pull away.

“You said ‘younger sister’ the other night. I was told that Bronwyn was the eldest.”

Bronwyn instantly stiffened and stepped out of the embrace.

Ranulf remained where he was. “Angel, whatever it is, you can tell me. You can trust me.”

Her blue eyes studied the single auburn pool staring at her. In it was so much sincerity. She wanted to end the farce. Have him call her by her real name and not just “angel.” To know if he would repeat his words with equal tenderness if he knew she was not his intended but the comparatively ugly older sister.

She was saved from deciding when the deafening unique sound of honking geese filled the air, making it impossible to continue their conversation. When the sounds started to die down, Tyr emerged into the clearing announcing that they had found the flock. With a frustrated grimace, Ranulf gestured that he and Bronwyn should mount and rejoin the group.

As soon as they arrived at the place where others were gathered, one of the village hunters proudly held up four monster birds. “Look, my lady, won’t this be a great addition to the night’s meal of pig and lamb?”

Tyr’s hazel eyes grew large as he moved his horse closer. “Did you say pig and lamb?”

The hunter bobbed his head proudly. “Everyone at Hunswick is eating especially well this year since her ladyship”—he paused to nod at Bronwyn—“cleared all the storages of meat, giving us villagers and farmers a share. Won’t find a man around who won’t be willing to help out to replenish what we took for the feasts.”

Ranulf nudged his horse forward until he was beside Bronwyn. Pivoting in the saddle, he arched the brow over his good eye and said, “Devout follower of Advent, eh?”

“Maybe I should have said recently devout,” Bronwyn clarified.

A roar of laughter broke over the crowd. Tyr wiped away the tears forming in his eyes. “Oh, she got you, Ranulf. I
told
you not to evict a woman from her home. They have all kinds of ways of exacting revenge, and keeping a man from enjoying a good meal…well, that was brilliant and evil.”

Bronwyn waited for Ranulf’s rebuke, but instead, he joined his friend, and within minutes, the whole group was laughing, though only a handful truly understood why.

Three hours later, the geese had dispersed and the group, which was now almost to the other side of Bassellmere, was starting their ride back. Additional hunting would be needed to replenish the other meats, but they had more than enough to satisfy everyone’s hunger that night as well as for the first few Twelfthtide celebrations.

Surprisingly, Bronwyn had enjoyed the outing immensely. Whatever tension that had been eating at Ranulf when he awoke that morning was now gone. Instead, she was able to witness how he was with his men, relaxed but with a cunning sense of humor. In return, they treated him with a respect and ease one only felt after years of companionship. And she had been welcomed into that small community through both teasing and the acceptance of her snappy returns. Best of all, Ranulf didn’t seem to mind.

He rode beside her, most of the time, almost as if he were announcing to everyone that she was his future wife. That she belonged to him. She was living a fantasy but she couldn’t bring herself to end it.

She had fallen in love. Deeply, irrevocably.

She had not intended to give her heart away, and never dreamed she could have done so in such a short period of time, but she had. She had started falling while arguing with him that first day on the battlements, but it wasn’t until last night that he’d claimed her whole heart. There would never be another for her. She intended to soak in every minute, revel in every smile so she could relive this day over and over again in the future. Ranulf would learn the truth soon enough. Tomorrow she would ask to visit her sisters, knowing she would never see him again. And once safely in the confines of Syndlear, she would send word with the truth of her identity and why she had lied, hoping Ranulf would at least understand, even if he could not forgive her.

A shout from one of the men got her attention. They saw some deer, which tended to be quite elusive in the winter months. Ranulf waved them ahead, indicating that he and Bronwyn would follow but not to wait.

Bronwyn maneuvered her horse around a large thistle bush and pulled her mount to the right to wait for Ranulf. It was becoming increasingly more natural to adjust her position so that she remained on his right side and within his line of vision. “Tyr says that you are quite rich and that is why you can afford so many men.”

Ranulf frowned. “Tyr speaks too much.”

“But it’s true, isn’t it?”

“In a way,” Ranulf hedged. Truth was, he was very wealthy compared to most commanders under Henry’s rule. Everyone knew the king possessed a large fortune, and with his frugal inclinations, they did not rapidly diminish under his leadership. Consequently, Henry was able to be very liberal with his money when he chose, and as a result, he let a loyal few keep much of what they reaped in battle. And Ranulf had reaped much over the years.

“I guess it’s nice to know that our new king is generous.”

“If you say so. The last time I experienced his merciless generosity, he made me accept this title. Told me the responsibility of being a lord suited me. Me!” Ranulf scoffed.

“Doesn’t it, though?” Bronwyn countered.

Ranulf twitched his mouth and glanced to his right. “To assume responsibility for men’s lives during battle is one thing, but to assume it afterward means and affects much more, including their wives and children, making the burden far more difficult.”

“I understand,” Bronwyn murmured.

Ranulf glanced at her, surprised by the sincerity in her voice, but she probably did understand. For months, the lives dependent upon Hunswick had been thrust upon her, and just because she had risen to the responsibility didn’t mean she had aspired to it, or even wanted it.

“I doubt many would, but you…you might. Still, I am fortunate. The lands are rich and many of the farms are unmanned, giving my men and their families a chance they never would have had.”

Bronwyn expressed a gentle laugh that rippled through the air. “Those farms were last tilled by Saxons, and as far as the houses on them, only remnants remain. They will have to be rebuilt.”

“My men won’t mind, especially if it means they can settle down. Their wives are even more eager to do so.”

“Wives?” Bronwyn repeated as she ducked almost successfully underneath a low-hanging branch. A stray twig caught her hair net.

“They’re still in Normandy waiting with their husbands and families until spring to journey here. Once they do, we will rebuild houses and fortify Hunswick. Even Syndlear if needed.”

Bronwyn pulled out the small branch but, in doing so, dislodged one of the pins securing the snood. She tried to reach back with one hand to find the errant pin stabbing her scalp, but couldn’t while continually pushing aside the foliage. “I need to stop.”

Ranulf spotted a small gap in the thicket located next to the water and, after she dismounted, guided both horses to the shore for a drink. The grass had turned winter yellow but it still remained soft and thick. The view of the lake from the secluded spot was calming and peaceful…at least to him. He turned to see just what was causing her to mutter irritably under her breath.

Bronwyn was standing there with two pins in her mouth, angrily searching for more. Clearly frustrated, she spit them out and began tugging at the netting, trying to free her mane from it altogether. “Do you miss your old life?” she asked. “I mean, Hunswick and the Hills must seem quite dull in comparison. We do not have the amusements you are used to.”

“No, I will not miss court,” Ranulf managed to get out. She was obviously trying to distract him, but that would be impossible until she stopped wrestling with her snood. With her hands behind her back, her gown was pulled tight across her chest, making each one of the perfect swells he had memorized the night before significantly more prominent.

“Then, what about Bristol? Do you miss your childhood home?”

Ranulf swallowed but it did not help as his mouth had gone dry. Between the dress and the slow release of her hair, it was near impossible to concentrate on her questions. “I miss no home, angel, for unlike you, I never had one.”

His voice had become raspy as he remembered the feeling of her arms around him, his lips against hers. That was what home was about. Not a building, but a feeling of acceptance, comfort, safety…and desire.

Bronwyn bit her bottom lip and it was Ranulf’s undoing. Watching her was becoming akin to torture. “Stop,” he ordered and came up behind her. Her hair had become a tangled mass under her endeavors. Carefully, he found and pulled out the remaining pins, as well as a couple more thorny twigs, and removed the snood. Bronwyn sighed with heartfelt relief. Tilting her neck back, she shook her head and let the heavy locks fall. Unable to stop himself, Ranulf buried his fingers in the dark gold and whispered, “With you, I just might have found the home I never had.”

Bronwyn was so surprised that for the space of maybe a heartbeat she didn’t even move. Then slowly she turned around, and seeing the fear in his expression, as if he had revealed too much, she pushed all reason aside and followed an urge she didn’t care if she regretted later. Cupping his cheek in one palm, she slid the other around his nape and curled her fingers into the short crisp hair at the back of his head. Then she closed her eyes and pulled him down so his mouth covered her own.

She parted her lips, and their tongues met, sending a tingling sensation throughout her body. She made a small hungry sound deep in her throat and he lifted her slightly, gathering her closer to his chest to increase the intensity of the kiss.

Ranulf’s reaction to her heart-stopping gift was immediate and profound. He was hard and hot with wanting her and seconds away from being unable to stop himself from laying her down and making love to her in a way that would brand her forever to him. Breaking off the kiss, he lifted his head and sucked in air.

Immediately she rocked against him, going up on tiptoes to seek his mouth again. “Damn,” he muttered and bent his head once more, this time kissing her harder, exploring her mouth with an expertise that made it clear there was no turning back.

Bronwyn met each thrust of his tongue with one of her own, unaware of what it was doing to him. All rational thought had left her. All she could feel were the hot little ripples of pleasure he was creating all over her body, awakening something deep inside that both frightened and excited her. Splayed over her back, his hands were big and strong. She sensed the tension in the arms around her and the rigidity of his shoulders and neck beneath her fingertips. Everything about him was bigger and excitingly harder.

Rocking her against him, Ranulf kissed her mouth, her cheek, her ear, reveling in the ever-quickening beat of her heart, short fast breaths, and trembling frame. His own body quaked, and burned, and throbbed. Marriage, truth, her father—all these things became secondary. Right now, Bronwyn was more than he ever imagined. More than he had ever wanted and the intense desire he had striven to repress now claimed his entire awareness. He needed to see and taste all of her. Consume her until she was one with his soul.

His hands parted the edges of her gown and slid underneath the shift, pushing it from her shoulders. Feeling the soft, delicate skin, he groaned and devoured her lips once more in a desperate claiming to which she submitted willingly, eagerly. His fingers continued their free exploration, slowly caressing the bare skin of her neck and shoulders, getting drunk on the warm silkiness of it. Inch by inch, the sleeves moved down her arms until both the gown and the chemise beneath hung at her waist.

Bronwyn quivered at the first callused touch of his hands as they moved up and cupped her breasts. Her nipple hardened in startled reaction and the hot sweet throbbing between her legs seemed to increase, times ten. She clung to him as his mouth continued its steady, head-spinning assault, kissing him back.

Teasingly, his fingers skimmed and circled her breasts, letting his thumbs periodically stroke and tease each hardened nub. It was torture. It was heaven. His light touch seared her skin and she thought she would never get enough. And still he circled round and round, until she was panting, aching hot for what Bronwyn knew not, but he did.

“Please,” she half whispered, half pleaded against his lips. He answered her demand and closed both hands around her heated flesh, gently at first and then tighter. It wasn’t enough. Her nipples were throbbing, tightening against his palm, straining for release. Still she wanted more.

Bronwyn reached out for Ranulf’s tunic, but he caught her hand. His want was too great and the bare wisps of control he still had would soon be gone. He needed to bury himself deep within her, but he was determined to do so without scaring her. This would be her first and in many ways his as well. He was finally going to make love to a woman and be made love to in return. He was not going to allow either one of them to rush their inevitable union.

Ranulf caught her chin between his fingers and tipped up her face. He then kissed her. Hard. And when he felt her shudder against him, drawing her back under his spell, he began to unlace the back of her gown, not daring to raise his mouth from hers for fear that he might somehow lose her. Slowly, he pulled the strings until, several moments later, the golden material cascaded into a pool at her feet.

Her body pressed against him and his chest heaved with the effort it took to breathe. Ranulf felt the pent-up tension of passion grow as she ran her tongue across his lips. His legs began to tremble and he felt her own begin to quake. He needed to lay her down before they both fell.

Sweeping her up into his arms, he caressed her back, feeling the textured skin beneath his fingertips. All he could see and feel was stunning beauty. He laid her down on her discarded linen shift, wishing he had a bed, or was on the fur rug in front of his hearth as he had imagined multiple times the previous sleepless night. But he wasn’t going to let this opportunity pass. His angel was his in mind and soul, and soon she would be in body.