A Knight of Passion (13 page)

Sir Bryant’s deep voice pulled Riana from her thoughts.

“The duchess will not find me an easy victim.” He laid his hand on hers and squeezed.

She looked down at his larger hand covering hers on the table beside her plate. He was trying to comfort her, let her know that he would protect her as well as himself. But she knew better. The duchess would not stop until Riana complied—or Sir Bryant was dead. Riana would not let him give his life for her.

She startled from the vision of a burial mound covering Sir Bryant’s powerful body. The serving girl standing beside her snapped into focus and Riana realised the girl had said something.

“The pears,” the girl said, and Riana shifted her gaze to the tray she carried. “Mrs Carpenter made them especially for you. You do like poached pears?” she asked.

Riana became aware of Sir Bryant’s scrutiny and took a whiff of the fruit. “They smell heavenly,” she said.

The girl beamed and spooned a healthy portion onto Riana’s plate, then did the same for Siusan, who sat beside her. Riana took a bite of the pears, keeping her attention on her plate as the girl then reached between her and Sir Bryant to fill his plate. The syrupy sweetness slid across her tongue just as she’d known it would. Sir Bryant fell into conversation with Sir Dunbar, and Riana chewed slowly, afraid the tears she’d barely kept at bay would rise before she could stop them. The fact she wouldn’t see him again after tomorrow morning seemed like a bad dream. Desire to confess all to him rushed to the surface. Riana forced back the idea. She wouldn’t sacrifice him simply because she couldn’t bear to leave him.

  
“You do not look pleased.” Sir Dunbar’s voice brought her head up. “You are not happy to be away from Arundel?” he asked.

 
 
“I cannot believe my good fortune,” she answered honestly.

Sir Bryant smiled. “It is my good fortune.”

She stilled. An echo of the words
my good fortune
was followed by memory of the words
mine to love.
By all that was holy, he did care for her.

Chapter Eighteen

Riana stared out of Sir Bryant’s bedchamber window. Torches lit the deserted inner bailey. Tall figures on the battlements were silhouetted against the night sky. Tomorrow morning, she and Siusan would ride through those gates for the second and last time.

There was no doubt what was on Sir Bryant’s mind throughout the evening meal. The looks he cast her way during the evening meal were explicit. Riana should have been relieved, but each passing minute pressed in on her like the increasing weight of every shovelful of dirt tossed upon her grave. She had to live with the consequences of leaving him, but the disgrace she would bring upon him by deserting him wasn’t so easily dismissed.

Cold wrapped around her heart. Why should it bother her that by this time tomorrow he would believe she had betrayed him? He must be made to believe she had used him. All tender feelings for her would die, but he would live long enough to find happiness with a woman worthy of his trust.

Behind her, the light scrape of the wooden door on the stone floor sounded. He had arrived. Silence followed. How long would he stand in the doorway staring at her? Riana turned. Her husband locked eyes with her for a long moment, then he closed the door and crossed to the corner table where sat a pitcher and two goblets. He filled both glasses, then picked them up and strode to her. Once within reach, he stopped and extended a goblet. She took it.

Sir Bryant threw himself onto the cushioned bench beside the window and lifted a brow. “Need I worry about the wine?”

 
“What reason could I have to poison you? You are my saviour.”

He took a long draught of the wine. “Only an hour ago, you were angry with me.”

“If I poisoned every man who angered me, there would be a string of bodies in my wake.”

He took another drink of wine. “And you did pour out the poison before leaving me in your bed.”

She gave him a recriminating look. He hadn’t been sleeping at all. “I have no taste for murder.”

“For that, I am eternally grateful.”

The words were spoken with amusement, but Riana saw only the assassin’s knife barely missing a vital organ in his body.

“I will be all right, Riana.”

A quiver radiated through her belly. He couldn’t have read her mind, couldn’t know what she planned, but he had read her concern. “Aye,” she replied. She would see that he, at least, was all right.

He abruptly stood and set his wine on the small desk beside the window. He took her goblet and set it beside his, then brushed aside the curls that had worked free of her plait.

“It has been too long.” He trailed his thumb down her cheek. “You miss my touch.”

It wasn’t a question.

She arched a brow. “You are sure of yourself.”

A corner of his mouth twitched into a smile, making his eyes crinkle at the edges. She hadn’t noticed that before.

“I know when a woman craves my touch.” He grasped her shoulders, turned her, and began unlacing the back of her kirtle.

He freed the laces to her waist and Riana closed her eyes, lost in the feel of the long fingers that grazed her skin as he inched the sleeves down her arms. He shifted and warm breath bathed the sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder. Gooseflesh raced across her exposed skin. Moist lips trailed kisses along her neck to the ear lobe. When his teeth closed around the lobe, she shivered.

“I have not given you a proper wedding night,” he breathed into her ear.

Her heart pounded.
A proper wedding night.
What man cared about such things after he’d already fucked a woman twice?

He pushed her sleeves downwards, dragging the bodice over her breasts. Pleasure spiked from the sensitive areolae like thin strands of spider web. Sir Bryant grasped her waist and pulled her against him. She sucked in a breath at feel of the hard ridge that rode the curve of her arse. A tingle began deep inside her. Playing the new bride would be an easy role. Too easy. And would make leaving tomorrow all the more difficult.

Sir Bryant shoved her kirtle down further so that it hung around her hips. She leaned in to him as he thrust against her again. A picture flashed into her mind of him entering her from behind as he had that first night, only tonight, their joining would be all the more intimate, with no one expecting a performance. Her heart broke. No. Tonight she performed for this man alone.

He dipped his fingers between the kirtle and her hips, and shoved the fabric and low hip belt downwards. They pooled on the floor around her feet. Cool air washed over her legs, a strange contrast to the heated hands he slid around her belly. Riana remained motionless as he continued to run one hand around her waist while the other inched downwards. Her legs felt like pudding. He hugged her tightly against his solid warmth as he grazed her nubbin with his long fingers and dipped them into her moist folds.

“By God,” he muttered. “You are so wet.”

She closed her eyes. He wanted her.

He slipped a finger past her cunt lips and into her opening. His palm brushed tantalising strokes across her pleasure point as he thrust inside. Her breath quickened. She would come before she’d had a chance think. Pleasure radiated through her. He’d only begun and already she wanted him more than any man she’d ever known.

Forgive me, Stuart.

Forgive me
,
Sir Bryant.

“Come for me, sweet,” he whispered.

With trembling hands, Riana reached behind her and grasped his arse. His muscled backside tensed beneath her touch. She dug her fingers into him, bracing herself as she pulsed against the fingers fucking her. He breathed kisses on her neck, his lips moist. She shivered. Clawing fingers of pleasure stretched through her. Pressure built. She pulsed faster. He rammed his fingers deeper. Searing rapture fractured through her. Riana cried out.

He yanked his fingers from inside her and quickly massaged her nub. Her core tightened. Riana ground her mound against his hand. A second spasm rolled over her before the last had completely faded, and her legs gave way. He yanked her hard against him, riding the wave of her pleasure, massaging with his finger, allowing her to float down from the euphoria that clouded her mind. At last, he gently cupped her curls and she became aware of the engorged cock nestled between her buttocks. Even through the thin layer of his hose she could feel the steel rod pulse as she gained her legs once again.

Sir Bryant turned her to face him. “Well done.”

She couldn’t help a laugh. “It is you who have done well.”

He grinned. “You inspire me.”

Riana covered his cock with her palm. “What of you, my lord?”

Despite the desire that flared in his eyes, he shifted his gaze to the plait on the right side of her head. “We will get to me soon enough.”

He surprised her by pulling away the pin that held the plait in place. Riana didn’t breathe as he unwound the plait. When he fisted her loose hair, brought it to his mouth and breathed deeply, she thought she would weep.

“Vanilla,” he whispered,

He took another deep draught, then unbound the other plait. Her hair tumbled over her shoulders and across her breasts. Sir Bryant slid a hand around the back of her neck and pulled her to him.

“You are a witch,” he murmured, and his mouth covered hers.

Her cry died inside his mouth. He hugged her close. Hard muscle pressed against her breasts. The powerful thump, thump, thump of his heart echoed through her chest. He swept his tongue past her lips and inside her mouth. Riana’s legs weakened at feel of the erection that dug into her belly like the animal it was. He broke the kiss and swung her into his arms. In three paces, he reached the bed and laid her on the mattress. He straightened and his gaze remained locked with hers as he pulled off first his gambeson, then the white shirt beneath.

Riana’s breath caught. She’d seen him before in all his male glory, but this time was different. This time, for this moment, he was hers. He shoved his hose past his hips. His cock sprang free, hard, long and insistent. He came to the bed and lowered himself on top of her. Solid warmth enveloped her. His rod lay between them, hot and demanding. Her heart leapt into an erratic beat. She wanted him so badly it hurt.

He kissed her, slowly and thoroughly. She sensed his restraint and grasped his shoulders, kissing him back with the silent command to fuck her with all his might. When she flicked her tongue against his lips, he groaned and sucked her tongue inside his mouth. Sir Bryant thrust against her belly. The velvety shaft slid along her flesh, the wet tip slick with pre-cum.

Riana wrapped a leg around his arse and arched against him. His arms banded around her like steel. Swarms fluttered in her stomach. In his embrace, nothing could touch her. Tonight, for this moment, she was safe…he was safe.

She reached between them and grasped his long, thick stalk. He pulsed in her fingers. She angled her channel and fitted him to her opening.

“Riana.” Her name spoken in a voice hoarse with desire made her stomach do a flip. “I want to move slowly,” he began.

She shoved upwards, sheathing him balls-deep. His groan reverberated in her ear. He pulled out, then plunged deep. He crushed her to him, chest pressed against the sensitive tips of her breasts. Riana wrapped her arms around his back. Muscle bunched beneath her fingers. He thrust harder. Heat flooded her. He pistoned faster. Her breath hitched as the thick barrel stroked her channel walls. A flutter radiated from her core. The friction intensified. Her heart pounded, the rampant beat almost as erratic as his.

Pleasure shot from her core. Riana cried out. Her walls closed around his cock. Cream gushed around him. He shoved onto an elbow, not losing the rhythm of his thrusts, and met her gaze. Her heart stopped. Stark need shone in his eyes. Tears burned in her eyes. His gaze sharpened. She arched her hips, meeting the fierce thrust of his cock. He drew in a sharp breath and buried his face in her neck. He tightened his arms around her and she felt the pulse of his seed shooting into her. Her walls contracted around him. He thrust again, hard, deep, crushing the breath from her. Suddenly, he stiffened, his body a mass of muscle in the instant his release rolled over him, and he collapsed on top of her.

His breathing came hard and heavy. Riana drank in the feel of his hard, masculine body pinning her to the mattress. He lay still but a moment, then slid off her, pulling her into his warmth.

“Witch,” he murmured, and relaxed against her.

Chapter Nineteen

 
Riana winced when Glen stepped from the stall where he had hidden and brought his fist down on the nape of the warrior who had accompanied them from Chilgoriam. The young man crumpled to the hay-strewn floor of the village stables like a sack of potatoes.

“Riana,” Siusan protested, but Riana quieted her with a stern look. The stables looked empty, but if a stable boy had decided to sleep the morning away in one of the stalls, they couldn’t risk giving away the fact that Riana was not going to France with Glen and Siusan as her note to Sir Bryant had said.

“Are we alone?” Riana asked Glen.