“Saints,” she gasped.
“Be quiet,” he threatened. “Or Valenden will stop this carriage to see what the commotion is. I’d rather not have my brother see my bride nakedagain, but his interruption won’t stop me from taking what I want, whether he watches or not.”
Her jaw fell open at his bold threat, but she was buzzing too much to be scandalized for long. Rangar shoved her panties aside and dipped a finger into her cleft. She cried out again.
At his warning look, she clamped a hand over her mouth.
He licked his way from her knee to her upper thigh until he replaced his finger with his tongue. Bryn went breathless as the buzzing feeling intensified. With one hand still clamped over her mouth, she gave soft sighs as Rangar nipped and licked and sucked. Her other hand twisted in his hair, holding on like a stallion’s mane.
Rangar devoted his time to getting the taste he was after, but with the rhythmic rocking of the carriage over the bumpy road, it wasn’t long before Bryn cried out in a rush of unstoppable pleasure, clamping her thighs tightly against the side of his head.
Rangar wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked up at her wolfishly. “That’ll be enough to satisfy me until we stop at an inn for the night. I’m going to have you there.Andthe inn after that.Andthe one after that. I’m going to bed you in every village from here to the Baersladen.”
She was still heaving for breath when Rangar straightened her clothes and opened the curtain again. Her vision had gone blurry from the things he’d made her feel, and it took her a moment to center her sight on the surroundings.
They were beyond Saint’s Forest, on the way to the village of Cinde. She recognized the dairy farm with the long stone fence that, until a few months ago, had been the furthest she’d ever gone from Castle Mir.
Rangar brushed her hair off her shoulder to nuzzle his mouth against her ear. “You have no idea how many nights I lay awake wondering what you’d taste like.” His voice went gravelly. “Honey. It’s honey.”
Chapter 4
THE CHESTNUT INN . . . dangers further north . . . sausage soup . . . talk of war . . . wolves
The road north passed through winter-dead fields where stone cottages’ chimneys pumped out steady smoke. By the second day on the road, they’d traveled into the upper boundary of the Mirien kingdom. Famed for its flat ground and silty soil, the land until then had made for easy travel. But now, taking a turn in the driver’s seat with Rangar, Bryn spied the foothills ahead that would slow their progress.
“That’s the boundary with Vil-Kevi.” Rangar pointed to a ridge line in the distance. “We’ll be there by this evening.”
Bryn drew a wool blanket tightly around her. “Do you think it’s already snowed in the higher mountains?”
“Without a doubt,” Rangar said, glancing at her thin dress beneath the blanket. “When we get there, you’ll wear my bearskin cloak.”
She didn’t argue—she’d seen Rangar tromp practically shirtless through the frigid cold and be utterly unbothered. Butshewasn’t yet so hardy. “I’ll get used to the cold eventually,” she murmured, more to herself than Rangar.
Holding the reins in one hand, he rested the other on her knee reassuringly. “No one expects a princess who spent most of her life in the Mirien’s warm climate to have as thick skin as the Baer people. There is no shame in finding the cold difficult.”
She gave a shrug, still worried. “The future queen of the Baersladen shouldn’t need to huddle by the fire.”
His hand squeezed her knee. “I’ll keep you warm, my love.”
His flirtatious tone made her mood lighten. Watching the road ahead, she shaded her eyes. “Is that an inn?”
Rangar nodded. “It’s the last inn before we enter the forest. We’ll stop for our midday meal before pressing on toward Vil-Kevi.” He knocked twice on the side of the carriage, and after a few seconds, Valenden stuck his head out with a scowl.
“I was napping, you oaf.”
“We’re arriving at The Chestnut Inn,” Rangar informed him.
Valenden squinted ahead to see the inn, then, after a yawn, his face turned serious. “We’ll be ready.”
When he ducked back inside, Bryn asked, “Why did Val seem worried? Do you anticipate danger? The inns we stopped at yesterday were fine.”
Rangar’s jaw was set hard as he steered the carriage horses toward the inn. “Those were closer to Mir Town, where it’s safer. There are Mir soldiers patrolling in those areas. Out here, we’re on our own. As we near the border, there are more travelers from all different towns and kingdoms, and some of them can be desperate.”
“Bandits, you mean.” She raised her eyebrows as she recalled her days on the road with Valenden. “The last time I ran into bandits wasn’t so bad—I was reunited with my sister. I have to admit, it did change my perspective on banditry.”
“Not all bandits are secret dukes and duchesses who give their spoils to the poor,” Rangar cautioned. “And it isn’t only bandits we should fear. When people from different places come together, even the most law-abiding folk can clash.”
The inn was a two-story wooden structure that had seen better days, though it was in good repair. One other carriage was parked in front, along with a few horses tied to a hitching post. An old woman drew water from the well at the side of the building.
