The Christmas Knight (27 page)

“Maybe, but luck often runs out. I just hope she can handle it the day hers does.” Groaning, Ranulf took one nipple into his mouth and sucked, sending a shudder of excitement through them both.

Bronwyn felt herself liquefying and her hands started circling his broad back of their own accord. No longer able to speak or think, she crushed her lower body against him, rhythmically flexing and arching her hips.

Stimulated by her response, Ranulf’s tongue delved lower, across the curve of her belly. His hands slowly caressed the insides of her thighs, stroking, teasing until she was trembling violently. Sinking down on his knees, he placed himself between her legs, ignoring his own sexual tension seizing his insides.

Hot, burning breath fanned the juncture of her legs as Ranulf kissed the inside of her thigh and then again, higher. At the unfamiliar caress, she gasped and tried to move, but Ranulf held her hips in position, allowing him to give her the most intimate of all kisses.

She couldn’t move or think as he continued to taste until she was writhing, reaching for him, begging for what only he could give. And then he was there, at the core of her body, driving deep, seeking release and reassurance that she wanted him as much as he wanted her. Her own body clenched around him with every stroke, craving the hot, thick feel of him inside her.

Ranulf cried out at the intimate connection and instinctively pulled back and thrust again, sinking even deeper into the snug, tight channel of her body. Her nails dug into his back as he pressed his face into the curve of her neck, inhaling her sweet rose and womanly scent. Unable to slow or control the rhythm of their lovemaking, he plunged harder and faster. She in return wrapped her legs around him, spreading herself as wide as she could to bring him in farther.

Then he could feel her body seize and go into hard tight convulsions that carried her right over the edge as she cried out his name in surrender. Unfathomable feelings of possession slammed into him and he plunged one last time. Life stopped and eternity began. Never would he get enough of her.

Ranulf had no notion of how long he lay weak and satiated, unable to move or feel anything but her soft kisses on his hair. He held her tightly to him as he regained control of his limbs, and slowly rose to his elbows, taking great pleasure in the dazed and replete blue eyes staring back at him.

“Are you going to answer that, or should I?” Bronwyn asked, squelching a giggle, letting her hand slide downward over his body until her fingers curled gently around him.

Ranulf’s body instantly responded. “Answer what?” he grumbled, as the sound of knocking penetrated his senses. When it did not stop, he roared at the intruder, “Go away!”

“I will not!” came Edythe’s very short and surly reply. “The sun rose hours ago and we have been waiting patiently for Bronwyn’s help with the evening’s events.”

Ranulf moaned. He couldn’t believe Bronwyn’s wantonness, teasing him when she knew her sister was on the other side of the door. Stilling her torturous fingers in a firm grip, he gritted out, “We’re still deliberating your fate since you were so kind as to determine ours. So leave us alone.”

Edythe let go a single, but audible “hrmph” in disgust and retreated. Bronwyn arched a playful brow and said, “Shouldn’t we get up?”

With unexpected strength, he grabbed her waist and rolled over at the same time, positioning her so that she was astride him. “I don’t think so.”

Bronwyn licked her lips. “It is Saint Stephen’s Day. The people will be waiting.”

“For their pots full of money.”

“So you know the custom,” she purred, letting her fingers play with the hairs on his chest.

“Of course,” he groaned. “I ordered the clay pots as soon as we got back after we went hunting. I’ll pass them out tonight.”

“Did you know that you, too, get a present?” Bronwyn asked as she leaned down to kiss his navel, smiling with delight as his stomach contracted.

Ranulf grinned back. “Really? And just what is in my clay pot?”

“Your present doesn’t come in a pot,” she purred, smiling as her hand slowly moved lower, making a trail for her mouth and tongue to follow. “And even more lucky, you don’t have to wait until tonight either.”

M
ONDAY
, D
ECEMBER
27, 1154
S
AINT
J
OHN THE
A
POSTLE’S
D
AY

Ranulf swallowed. Bronwyn was stretching in her sleep, her hand touching him innocently in ways that created an instant lesson in self-control. He curled his arm around her middle and pressed his lips against her forehead, causing her to remove her hand, roll to her side, and snuggle closer to him. The kiss had been a natural solution to her unconscious embrace, one he had performed without forethought, as if he had done it a hundred times over several years.

One of her legs was lying haphazardly over his thigh, her foot nestled below his calf. Her hand now rested on his chest, tickling him whenever the tips of her fingers moved. Her nose was buried against his neck, and her hair, free from its braid, lay sprawled over her back and shoulders so that he inhaled whiffs of rose and witch hazel each time she moved. Ranulf was not sure if having Bronwyn in his bed provided more rest or less.

Yet whenever she rolled to the edge of the bed, the sudden feeling of loss grabbed him, arresting him from his sleep. He had not realized how unbalanced his life had been, but he had finally found true happiness. And if he ever lost Bronwyn, he would no longer be able to survive the loneliness he had previously endured.

He loved her. Fully and completely. She had, in just a few days, become his everything.

Before her, the concept of love had seemed vague, and when described, it sounded like a child’s whimsy and not to be believed. Too many times he had witnessed a man or a woman swearing their love and then soon after moving their affections to someone else. So he had concluded long ago that love and lust were synonymous, a potentially powerful craving that, when satiated, disappeared. But lust did not explain what he felt for Bronwyn. He had been falling for her since the first night she had poured out her heart thinking him asleep. He had learned everything he needed to know then. She had captured his soul thoroughly.

Finding happiness scared Ranulf, but knowing that he possessed the power to ruin it terrified him. For Bronwyn believed all their dishonesty was behind them. And while he had been careful not to lie to her, Ranulf had kept one vital truth to himself. A secret he intended to keep. At least for now. Bronwyn had feelings for him, deep ones, passionate ones, but they were not necessarily the emotions that bound one to another. Even if he held her tight, Bronwyn would slip through his grasp if she knew the truth. He needed to secure her heart before she ever learned the events of that awful day.

Ranulf needed Bronwyn to fall in love with him.

The realization frightened him since he hadn’t the slightest idea about how to woo a woman and make her fall in love. Rolande had often touted the expediency of a good love poem, but Ranulf could hardly string together more than a few sentences. Love songs were out of the question. He had never been inclined to making music, whether it was playing an instrument or singing. That left gifts.

The castle was fairly plain and undecorated. He could start there. She had one silk gown, he could procure more. And jewelry. Bronwyn wore very little. Did she not like jewels or was she never given them? Well, he knew she enjoyed horses. He would give her a stable of them to ride. Anything she desired she would get.

Bronwyn finished lacing up the ties of one of her newest, and therefore nicest, bliauts. Never before had she cared about how she looked and she found it secretly amusing that her concern began only after she already had her man.

She glanced out the window to the courtyard below. Ranulf was talking with Tyr and the steward about where to build the night’s bonfires. Her husband appeared relaxed, almost a different man from the one who had defied her while overlooking the North Tower battlements. Bronwyn wondered if she had also outwardly changed. She certainly felt different. As if she had finally found what she had been searching for…and she hadn’t even known she was looking.

A light tap on the door interrupted her musings just before Lily burst in the room and launched herself onto the rumpled bed. Seeing Bronwyn’s raised brows of disapproval, she sniffed and said, “I saw your husband downstairs so I knew I could come in.” Then her gray eyes welled up with tears until they began to spill and run down her cheeks.

“Good Lord, what is wrong?” Bronwyn asked, suddenly concerned.

“I was just trying to talk to that monstrous Highlander when he told me that he wasn’t at all affected by my flirtations and to practice them on someone else.” She wiped the tears away with the back of her hand. “Can you believe he said that? Like I would flirt with him.”

Bronwyn gave Lily a reassuring smile and sat down beside her. “I would be careful when it comes to Tyr. If he hasn’t noticed you yet, he probably never will and you would only look foolish if you kept trying.”

Lily opened her mouth to argue but was prevented by another knock on the door. Once again, it opened without leave. This time by Constance, who entered in a huff, wagging her finger. “If you don’t come down and deal with the kitchen servants, the festivities planned for the night are doomed.” Disregarding Lily and the possibility that she and Bronwyn might have been talking about something important, the old nursemaid dropped down into one of the chairs. “And don’t tell me to see the steward, for he’s a good part of the problem. The man has been with his lordship all morning, and as a result, no one is doing their work.”

Bronwyn licked her lips and attempted to wrap the snood around her wet hair. “What happened, Constance? They kick you out of the kitchens?” The old nursemaid gave her a withering side glance and Bronwyn knew she had guessed correctly.

“No,” Constance lied. “I wouldn’t go near the place with the cooks demanding help to prepare tonight’s feast. The baker is barking at everyone, insisting on having his own help, and those trying to clean from yesterday’s festivities are getting frustrated with the ones who are already trying to decorate the windows and doors for tonight.”

Bronwyn sighed and tugged at the net, pulling it free from her damp mane. She tossed it onto the bed, deciding to leave her hair down. Her short treasured respite was over. “Lily, we’ll have to talk later,” she said wearily and left.

The dark gold of Bronwyn’s hair gleaming in the morning sun caught Ranulf’s attention the moment she exited the Tower Keep. People immediately starting flocking to her, accosting her with questions. Just watching the mayhem made him tired. He had seen Edythe manage a few issues, Lily received none and therefore dealt with nothing, and his steward had been occupied with him all day. Everyone had been waiting for Bronwyn. Unfortunately, his wife’s management style, while obviously beloved by all, was clearly hectic and exhausting for her.

Stopping in midconversation, Ranulf marched over and swung her into his arms. He announced to everyone within hearing that all questions were to come to him and the steward for the rest of the day and then proceeded toward the Tower Keep. The rigidity of Bronwyn’s frame and her sullen expression made it clear she was far from pleased, but Ranulf didn’t care. He was enjoying the fact that he could pick her up and carry her in front of everyone instead of sneaking around their home.

Their home.
He had never put much value into the idea of a home and realized the reason why was because he never really had one. Ranulf grinned to himself. Here he was, far from battle, in the cold, taking care of what some would call mundane responsibilities, carrying a furious wife in his arms, and he had never been happier or more at peace. What was more, he had the rest of his life to get used to it.

During the whole trip back, Bronwyn’s frustration mounted. One day of marriage and the man was coddling her, taking over her responsibilities, sending her to her room. What was she going to do with her time sitting in the solar day after day? Couldn’t Ranulf see from the deluge of questions he had rudely pulled her away from that he could use her help and experience in running Hunswick?

He kicked open the door, and spying Constance and Lily sitting by the hearth chatting, he snarled at them, “You, nursemaid, go find the steward and make yourself useful. And you,” he directed to Lily, “may be my wife’s sister, but these are
my
bedchambers and the days of you coming in idling in her room are over.”

Both women’s eyes popped open wide as they jumped to their feet. Seconds later, Bronwyn heard the scuttle of footsteps racing out the door. “And Lily better not come back with Edythe,” Ranulf growled loud enough for everyone to hear as he finally placed Bronwyn on her feet.

“I don’t think that will be a problem. No one is going to venture anywhere near this keep after that display of temper,” Bronwyn vented through gritted teeth.

Ranulf ignored her hostile stance and bent down to give her a quick soft kiss on the lips. “Good,” he murmured, massaging her palm with his thumb. “I understand how everyone around here loves you and desires to get a piece of your time, but after all that has happened, I wanted to give you one day to just rest and relax. Two things I am fairly certain you haven’t been able to do in a long while.”

Bronwyn held her breath. Was he really just giving her some much-needed reprieve? “But what about all the problems Constance mentioned?”

“All problems may seem urgent, but you and I know they aren’t. I can handle what needs to be done.”

“But how? You’ve never run a tower, let alone a castle.”

“I’m a very smart man,” he answered, nudging her toward the chair to sit down. “You, love, are no longer alone. You have me. You also have a capable steward who, though old, can help with decisions. And though you think I know nothing about Twelfthtide, I am fully aware that this is Saint John’s Day, the day of bonfires, sacraments, and blessings. You are my blessing as well as everyone else’s around Hunswick, and in deference to all that you give, today is your day off.”

Tears formed in her eyes. Ranulf brushed them away with his thumb. “Is it really so hard to lean on me? To let someone help you?” She shook her head. “Good. Now sit and relax and I will have food brought to you shortly.”

Bronwyn watched as Ranulf moved the other chair in front of her and then propped her feet on its cushions. He was so much more than her husband and lover. He was her friend. He had not wanted to usurp her contribution or belittle it. Instead, Ranulf had done what no one had—he had recognized it. The enormity and pressure of what she did, and for one day, he wanted to relieve her of that burden.

“I love you, Ranulf,” she whispered.

Ranulf was just reaching for the leather strap to open the door when he heard the precious words softly voiced. He was sure that his heart had stopped, his breathing remained half in half out, his eyes refused to blink, almost waiting for her to take it back, to add a caveat, to give some reason, but none came. He glanced back, nervous, the urge to deny her claim welling within him. He had not realized how vulnerable those words…from her…made him. They could undo his soul if not true. But she only stared back at him with misty sea-colored eyes, large and luminescent and undeniably full of love…for him.

As if God had breathed life back into him, Ranulf was back at her side, pulling her to her feet and into a deep embrace. “I am the happiest man alive and vow to make you even happier,” he stated haltingly between kisses across her brow, cheeks, and lips.

Problems be damned. There was no way he could leave, not now. Desire roared in him, not just for her body, but for all the things she had given him—happiness, peace, and above all, love. Lifting her once again, he brought her to the bed and together their bodies and souls became one.

An hour later, Ranulf left her side and dressed. He went to the door and took one last peek at her supple slumbering form. He had to tell her the truth. She loved him, trusted him, and it was time to trust her. On Epiphany, he decided, after Twelfthtide.

They would have until then to enjoy their newfound happiness.

Bronwyn poked her head into Ranulf’s day room. Tyr and Tory were there talking to him but they stopped when they saw her and waved for her to enter. She had left the keep earlier to ensure Lily and Edythe were not emotionally shattered from Ranulf’s earlier decree. Surprisingly, neither was upset by his mannerism and both were actually meekish about their own behavior.

Tyr and Tory quickly left, leaving her alone with Ranulf. He reached out and pulled her into his arms, wearing an enormous grin. “Just why are you so amused?” she inquired.

“Because I finally understand why you married me. I could never figure it out before. We hadn’t known each other very long, and there were many reasons why you should not have, but now I understand.”

Hearing his teasing tone, Bronwyn cocked a brow and mischievously replied, “You forced me to. That’s why.”

“I did not.”

“Yes…you did. I left and you came and carried me back to the altar.”

A wry glint appeared in his eye. “But you could have still refused. Be honest. If anyone else, besides me, had dragged you back…would you now be married?”

“I…” Bronwyn stammered. “How should I know?”