“Until you, I had never gone to sleep dreaming of some handsome face I might have glimpsed in the village or awakened feeling lost and confused, wondering if my heart would stop in my chest, it beat so soundly and painfully in panic. Until you, I had never known what ’tis like to know I would lay down my body to protect yours. I would do so for many, Jack, Mrs. Simpson, Friar Tucker—these people are my family. But I do not awaken in the morning with this feeling that if anything should happen to one of them I would rather die than live another day alone.”
She scraped the heel of her palm across her cheek. “If this is love, then I love you so much it frightens me into wanting to run away as far as I can. Every time I look outside my bedroom window, I want to run back to the abbey where I once felt safe. To allow something so powerful into my heart and my soul scares me as nothing ever has. Does this manner of cowardice make me a self-contained, ignorant girl? Aye, probably. I am quite proficient in thinking only of myself.”
His hands flexed. He had no defenses against the surge of emotions that trapped his words in his throat.
“I have missed you,” she whispered.
His heart was pounding so loudly it sounded like an ocean’s roar in his ears. Before she could say another word, draw another breath, his mouth covered hers. His hands glided from her hips to her neck and cupped her face. Alow moan escaped him. In answer, her slender arms rose around his neck and she pressed her body against him, drinking in his kiss, and he never realized just how sensitive his tongue was, how it could distinguish so vividly the textures of her mouth. Above them, wind gusted through the branches.
Closing a fist in her hair, he drew her back. The intensity of her eyes was a caress. “I have missed you as well, love.”
He looked up at the sky to measure the clouds and need to get the horses inside. “Come.” He grabbed her hand as the first plop of heavy rain fell. “We may not want shelter from the storm. But the horses do.”
The stable had stone floors and stone walls much like the one at Stonehaven. Straw littered the floor. A door and window balanced each end with stalls in between. The slatted window near the pitch of the thatch roof let in the early-evening air mixed with sounds of the storm.
Up in the hayloft, Ruark and Rose lay on her cloak in a cozy nest made warm by the rasp of their bodies and the measured tempo of their breathing. Her dress was somewhere behind them in a crumpled heap, near his shirt and boots that lay like crumbs leading to where they had finally fallen in the straw.
“Have you ever made love up here?” Rose lay with her legs wrapped around Ruark’s thighs, his weight resting on his elbows as he pulled back to look into her face.
He chuckled against her lips. “Pray tell, why that question now?”
“You seem to be familiar with the stable and this loft in particular. And I find I am jealous of any woman from your past.”
Her petticoats cradled her head, pale against the spreadof her hair. He brushed his lips against hers. “Nay, love. You are the first.”
With a subtle deepening of her sirenlike smile, she came back for a second taste of his lips and lingered. “I like being the first,” she said as he settled his hips more firmly against hers, knowing the tension inside him was because of her.
The inevitable effect of her words spread through him like liquid heat, and he was no longer content just to feel her. He drew back and thrust.
She gasped slightly when he moved. Their kiss deepened into a luxurious and mutual exchange that crowded all other thoughts from his mind, until only their breathing filled the small space in the loft. Until it was she and him and the rumble of thunder above their heads. He rolled onto his back, taking her with him, her body sheathing him, even as her hands braced her weight against his chest.
A low moan escaped her as he cupped her breasts, swirling his tongue around the sensitive ruched flesh of her nipples. Instinctively, she arched her back so that her breasts rose to meet his caress. He slid his hands into the silken tangle of her hair and brought her mouth down to his, parting her lips under the growing pressure of his, nibbling, seeking the response from her that was burning in him. He found it. Her fingers wound in his hair. He slid both palms down her shoulders over her waist and hips.
Her body yielded easily to his touch. He clasped her bottom, holding her against him, watching her rock in restless abandon. This was not the first time she had willingly come to him, but this was the first time more than willingness lay between them, more than desire.
Then she was climaxing around him. Her eyes, heavy lidded, watched him until he drove into her, shuddering in release.
They both smiled at the same time, concurrently—their emotions easily surrendered. Strangely enough, she was his, but suddenly he began to wonder how he could hold on to her. He didn’t understand why the thought struck him as it did, as if it was a premonition.
Her hand touched his face. “What is it?”
His kissed her. A gust of wind slapped rain against the slats as he gathered her in his arms. “The storm looks like ’twill be a long one. I am thinking neither of us has had supper.”
She smiled. “Do you think the watchman minds that you stole his wine and bread?”
Ruark chuckled. “He should feel grateful I allowed him to remain on his cot bed in your schoolhouse.”
Rose snuggled her head against Ruark’s shoulder. The remains of a meal lay beside them on the cloak. He sat propped against the wall, his knee drawn to his chest, one hand dangling a wooden cup over his knee and his other arm casually draping her as she leaned her back against him. He had found a flint box, and a small lamp now burned in the corner. The dim light fell in a circle around them. She wore his shirt. The rain drumming against the thatch roof provided a cozy backdrop for the intimacies of their quiet conversation in the twilight of a fading day. Rose closed her eyes as thoughts of a darker nature began to intrude upon her peace.
“You have been silent for a full minute.” Ruark pressed his lips to her hair. “What is it?”
She raised her head from his shoulder and twisted around to look up at him. “I have been plagued by a question I feel I need to ask that concerns us both. I will still stand by you no matter what your reply, but I need to know. I hope you will be honest.”
Lanthorn light defined his nearly black eyes under thick lashes. “I will try, Rose.”
Yet the tenor of his reply told her he was not certain of his honesty, and she realized, despite everything, there were still many aspects of his life that he was not ready to share.
Drinking from the loosely held cup in his hand, he awaited the question.
