Her fingers twisted in the dirty fabric of his shirt. The faint lamp light from around the corner gave everything a midnight air, reminding her how dangerous it was to be here.
She stood on tiptoes to whisper a hair from his lips, “I’m already yours.”
He claimed her lips with more passion than his weakened condition suggested possible. Even after imprisonment and starvation, he was still all hard muscle. Hands cupping her chin, he broke the kiss so that his lips could glide over her cheeks, her jawline, her neck.
An ache flooded her body. She arched her back, pressing her breasts against the bars. They had to contort themselves for his lips to reach all the places he wanted them to visit.
Her breath rushed in and out. He dragged his hand down her arm and then cupped her waist, giving her a squeeze as though to see how much meat she still had on her bones. A flush of warmth radiated out from everywhere his hand explored. Her own lips were aching with a need to touch and taste.
She found his lips again, pouring all of her frustration over the last few weeks into the kiss. He matched her emotion, nipping and grazing at her bottom lip.
She slipped a leg through the bars, wrapping it around Rangar’s calf muscle. He dropped a hand to grab her by the thigh, lifting her leg higher. The cell bar rubbed between her legs, and she gasped as a sudden throbbing stirred to life.
Rangar pulled her skirt up over her knee, digging his fingers into the bare skin of her thigh.
Eyes hooded, he whispered, “I had every intention of bedding you the proper way after we’re married, but I’m seriously tempted to take you right here in the dungeon.”
Her heartbeat pounded harder. They would have to contort a little, but it could be done. Her leg was already around his hips, her groin pressed close to his.
She could feel the space between her legs grow wet at his words.Saints.Should she let him take her here like some prisoner’s whore? She sucked in a breath, meeting his eyes.
Then, something fell around the corner. It sounded like a clatter of a plate or book.
They both froze.
Eyes widening in fear, Bryn went silent. Rangar pressed a finger to his lips. His hand holding her thigh slowly lowered it back to the ground. With his attention aimed in the direction of the guard station, he whispered, “You should go.”
She gripped the bars hard. “I’ll come back.”
“No—don’t. It’s too much of a risk. Tell Carr instead that you want to see me in chains for yourself. He’ll oblige if you lean on his pride. Make him feel powerful for having caught me.”
Her breath came stilted. “I don’t want to leave you.”
His hands wrapped around hers on the bars. “We’re under the same roof, Bryn. Our souls know it. It’s only a matter of time before we’re together.”
He settled his lips over hers in a final kiss. She broke away reluctantly at the sound of another clatter coming from the guard’s station.
“I love you,” she whispered.
He touched her chin softly. “Love doesn’t begin to describe how I feel about you.”
He pushed her gently away from the bars, urging her back toward the secret passage stairs. One of the hardest things Bryn had ever done was to turn away and leave him there.
Chapter
Twenty-Seven
A BOTCHED PROPOSAL . . . orange biscuits and roses . . . the water shrine . . . a ruined woman . . . arrows
In the morning, Bryn was awoken by one of the guards rapping on her door.
“Lady Bryn? Are you well?”
She sat up groggily, squinting at the window. Bright sunlight streamed in. She must have overslept after staying up well past midnight to abscond down to the dungeon.
“Yes—one minute!” she called.
She took a moment to sink back into the pillows, letting her eyes fall closed as she breathed in, hoping to catch a trace of Rangar’s smell still on her skin. Seeing him again felt like taking a long drink of water after a grueling hike.
