My Lord Raven (Knights of the Royal Household)

Chapter Twenty-Six

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

The night air was brittle, her breath frosty. In the scant light, Catrin picked her way across the deserted and silent grounds of the bailey. A deep thrill of anticipation sliced through her, making all her senses come alive.

At the door to the mews, she stopped a moment, breathing in the sharp midnight air. Whatever befell her on this night, she knew she could not go back. For better or for worse, she’d act the part of wife and let destiny fall where it may.

Wrapping her cloak firmly about her, Catrin pushed open the door and entered the dark, spacious quarters of the mews. Surprised she could stand upright once inside, she inhaled the tart scent of sawdust and the smell of long ago bird droppings. Empty perches stood like ancient crosses in rows across the floor where once Olwen’s father had kept his collection of proud and temperamental peregrines, gyrfalcons, and sparrow hawks.

Now only one bird remained. Bran’s raven was barely visible in the darkness. Catrin saw its beady black eyes were focused directly on her, following her every movement with curious intent. She crossed herself. What did this malevolent harbinger of impending doom know? As some believed, could it see into the future?

Trreeck!

Startled, Catrin jumped back a pace, her hand flying to her lips to keep from crying out.

“She will not hurt you.”

Turning toward the sound of Bran’s hushed voice, Catrin was keenly aware he watched her in the dark. “So you say.” She proudly lifted her chin.

“My lady, I never lie to you.”

She heard the rustle of fabric as he materialized from out of the shadows and walked toward her, tall and foreboding. Enough light filtered through the open door allowing Catrin to see his dark hair tumbled loose, tangling on his shoulders. She could not see his face clearly, only its angles and shadows, yet she sensed the power of his presence. An ache of sudden desire swelled full-blown within her.

The King’s Raven, so like his ominous namesake, cloaked in midnight and mystery, enthralled her with his dark, seductive promise.

He halted a few steps away from her with his legs braced in a wide stance and his arms crossed as if challenging her not to come nearer, but at the same time, almost defying her to do so. The gap between them seemed insurmountable.

Catrin drew a breath, searching his dark eyes, half-hidden by black lashes. “Your bird symbolizes death,” she said in measured tone.

Bran stared at her face, unmoving. “Ravens are intelligent, inquisitive creatures, my lady.”

Catrin looked toward the black bird. “They frighten me. ”

“They need not,” he said, closing the space between them, staring down at her just inches away. “In Wales, they are believed to bring prosperity to the houses where they perch.”

She let go of a jagged breath and lifted her gaze to his. Through the heaviness of her cape, she felt the warmth of his body. “Has this bird brought prosperity to you?”

His own breath came roughly. “In a way.”

Catrin fought to hold his gaze, running her tongue over her upper lip. “How so?”

“You can say Mair has brought me you.”

His breath skimmed her forehead. She held herself stiffly, refusing to yield to her impulse to go to him. “I thought the king bestowed Northbridge upon you.” Her forced laugh was short and husky.

“Northbridge—and its mistress, cariad .” He used the Welsh term of endearment, his voice low and filled with hunger.

She felt hungry herself, but could not stop her dangerous banter. “What the king gives, he can take away.”

“The king will never take you from me.” He made a growling sound and placed his hands against the side of her face, devouring her with a poignant look filled with yearning.

“Why?” she gasped, relishing the feel of his calloused hands upon her cheeks. “Because I am your possession?”

“No, because Holy Church has made us man and wife together. No king can deny that claim.”

She trembled at the very nearness of him and at his words, however false she knew them to be. “A king can do his will. You cannot stop him.”

A tremor shook him. “Then I will take what is mine and flee to the mountains of Wales. I will live like an outlaw and defy royal command.”

His assertion was wild and rash, yet somehow the words thrilled Catrin. Her breast rose and fell. “As did Llewellyn, the Prince of Wales?” she whispered, unable to resist the sting of truth.

“Why did you come here? To taunt me?”

His sad eyes stabbed her soul, causing an attack of compassion and more than a little shame. “To tell you I’m sorry for your loss,” she said softly, letting her lashes drift down over her eyes. “I know you cared for Rhys.”

“Aye, Rhys was a good man.”

She heard his voice break. Not looking at him, she sensed his perplexity. “I hoped to bring you comfort.”

He dropped his hands from her face and turned away. “There is no one who can comfort me.”

Her cheeks felt flushed against the sudden chill where his hands had been. Catrin lifted her fingertips to touch the side of her face and raised her head, staring at his broad back, half-hidden in the shadows. “I too have lost those I love,” she said to him, unable to keep the bitterness and anger from her voice. “I understand your sorrow, for I’m afraid to love another. The risk is much too great.”

He faced her, his expression unreadable. “Then we have more in common than we know.”

She pressed her lips together, gazing up at him, her nerves alive with longing. Finally, she murmured, “I would be your wife.”

He stood stock-still, almost as if he did not believe her words. Yet he knew full well the meaning of them. She was offering him her body. Her duty as a wife. No matter she was a fraud. But he didn’t know, and for a reason she declined to explore, she needed to be his wife tonight. She wanted to give of herself. To ease what suffering he had.

A suffering her actions may very well have fashioned.

With a low sound, Bran released a breath. For once, he allowed her to see his eyes, revealing a poignancy that took her breath away. Silently, he lifted her left hand and kissed the back of it, his lips brushing over the engraved wedding ring that gleamed in the faint light. Her body shuddered at his touch.

“I cannot accept your gift here in the cold, cariad , but I will accept it where it is fitting. Upstairs. Where it is warm. In the master’s bed.”

“Aye, my lord.”

Her words of surrender propelled him into action. In a swift move, he scooped her into his arms, ducked under the door, and marched across the bailey. They did not speak. His countenance mirrored that of a Crusading warrior, intent with purpose.

Catrin pressed her face into the folds of his surcoat, smelling his musky man smell and the faint scent of woodruff clinging to his clothes. She felt his muscles rippling beneath.

Wickedly, she took pleasure at being the cause of his forceful action. Could she tame the wild raven again? Waves of alarming delight pulsed through her, wiping away all reason. Once she had straddled him, nicking his skin with the blade of a knife. That she now wanted to torment him in this feminine way defied all logic.

Her face against the rough fabric, Catrin smiled. She had nothing to lose. Fate held her in its grip. She would play out her destiny now with wondering abandon.

Bran could not believe his good fortune, nor hope to understand it. He didn’t want to try. He accepted Olwen, for once, at face value. His body needed what she was offering. He would take it, her generous offering, as was his right as her husband. Later he would probe the puzzle that was this woman in his arms. Later he would wonder why her mood changed toward him.

He pulled her to his chest, holding her with a mixture of tenderness and a feeling of ownership. Fighting the surge of excitement that raced through him, he strode as quickly as he could through the great hall and climbed the spiral stairs.

The firelight flickered faintly in the solar. The serving woman Meg was dozing by the fire. When he kicked open the door with his foot, she startled and then jumped to her feet.

“Place another log on the fire and get out!”

“Aye, my lord.”

Although she scurried to do his biding, he saw the blatant look of alarm that crossed her eyes. But she obeyed, bobbing a curtsy and fleeing the room. He shoved the door shut and with his wife still in his arms, turned toward the symbol of his authority—the marital bed.

Yet when he dropped Olwen to her feet, his mood changed. Softened. She was his, but she was also an intelligent, caring woman. Her bravery in the face of all that had befallen her rubbed his heart raw with emotion.

“I will make you warm,” he said, lowering the ermine-lined cape from her shoulders and dropping it to the floor.

He stared into her eyes, seeming so innocent. He didn’t want to question their authenticity. He wanted only to feel and react. To let his fingers and lips speak for him.

Anxious, he stripped from her head the flat-topped cap and confining barbette that banded her chin. “How I hate to see your beauty hidden by these things.”

“’Tis the fashion, my lord.”

“Then, I hate fashion!”

Skillfully, he removed the silver crespine, revealing the mass of her flaxen hair, bundled at the nape of her neck. He made quick work with the hairpins, tossing them aside as if he’d done this many times before. The loosened bulk of hair fell heavily onto her shoulders and down her back. Bran caught the silken strands, gently brushing them away from her eyes, and smoothing them so they made their own headdress around her face.

He had only faint awareness of disrobing her, and then she was standing before him, naked, her perfect female body taut in the buttocks and legs from riding, her breasts—half-hidden by her hair—full and enticing.

That’s when Bran remembered to breathe—to inhale the sweet scent of her, lavender and roses, delicate, yet hauntingly sensual. She shivered in the cold.

Seeing this, Bran ripped his surcoat and tunic over his head and bent to pull off his boots. He hated the restrictions of clothing and the awkwardness of removing them. Finally, standing in only his braies, he ventured a glance at her, briefly speculating about his good fortune.

Olwen stared up at him, as if she too felt the wonder of the moment. He fumbled to untie the strings at his waist.

“Let me help you.”

He trembled at her touch. At last unclothed, he reached for her, but she stepped back a pace .

“No,” she whispered. “I will comfort you.”

Without his consent, she laid her palms on his chest. Shyly, like the maiden she was once, she began to tickle him with her fingertips. He shook under her gentle stroking. Her hands were like soft threads, thrilling his skin in the places where she touched. And then she lifted up on her tiptoes and touched her tongue to a nipple.

“ Cariad ,” he moaned, as if dreaming.

He rocked back on his heels, waves of hot sensation coursing through him. She put her hands on his waist, as if to steady him. The touch only magnified the way his body thundered with anticipation. He fought himself for control so he could allow her to have her way with him.

When she knelt and took his hips between her hands and touched him there with her tongue, he groaned like one dying. “I fear I cannot stand much longer, cariad . Let me put you into bed.”

“No, this is mine,” she gasped, caressing his man part.

“I will let you,” he promised, raising her up and capturing her in his arms in a swift motion that took more strength than slaying an enemy in battle.

He tossed back the fur coverlets and placed her gently on the bed as if she were a precious jewel. She looked so lovely lying there amid the white linen sheets. He wanted to cry. Making a little whimpering sound in his throat, he lowered himself beside her, resting on his side so he could lovingly search every inch of her womanly body.

She did not remain inactive but pushed herself up on an elbow and traced the ragged red scar on his arm, letting her hair drape over his shoulder. Its sweet scent filled his nostrils. “I will comfort you,” she said again in a husky whisper .

With surprising force, she pushed his shoulder until he understood what she wanted and fell on his back, staring up at her and her mass of tangled hair. And then she straddled his waist with her strong thighs. Lowering her head, she kissed him greedily. He slid his fingers down her back and into the curve at the top of her buttocks.

His body arched, and he returned her kisses, his tongue taking her mouth with fierce possession. He touched her buttocks with his erection, craving release, throbbing, near to explosion. Yet she played with him by not covering him with her moistness. He felt her on his abdomen, but she would not accommodate his needs, only tempting him with the promise of her wet heat. Her tongue now licked down his throat to once again flick over his nipples.

“ Myn Duw !”

Still she would not relent, but scorched his skin with her fingers, her tongue, and the movement of her thighs against his hipbones. His muscles quivered from her onslaught. She was torturing him with a pleasure so profound it pained him.

All the while, he was able to watch her with half closed eyes. She dropped her head to let her hair surround them. Then she threw her head back, breathing hard herself, a wicked, wanton smile spreading faintly on her lips. By pleasuring him, she was pleasuring herself, and at the same time driving him mad with her deliberate seduction.

“ Cariad , please.” He made a hoarse sound, raising his hips up, touching her buttocks, begging.

She answered him with a whimper and pushed herself up on her knees briefly. When she lowered herself, she was sitting full on his hard length.

“ Myn Duw ! ”

She was so wet. He burned for her. He reached up to her breasts and cupped them, teasing her nipples until they peaked, and she tossed back her head, her mouth falling open as she panted hard.

Finally, she began to move, rubbing up and down so she drove him beyond madness. He writhed beneath her and clutched her arms. His fingers bit into her flesh. She rose up again and came down gently on the tip of his shaft, hovering there so he felt her slick and throbbing.

She ran her tongue over her lips and gazed down at him with a taunting look. He was hers to control. He closed his eyes and moaned his need. Again she settled around the full length of him, surrounding him with pure delight, letting him fill her. She dropped her hands beside his head for support as she drove against him, pushing him to the brink of despair.

“ Cariad ,” he cried out. “I love you!”

He exploded, thrusting upward, every muscle in his body recoiling and then bursting forth with waves of sweet, dazzling sensation.

Closely after his climax, she shuddered and cried out. “ Mon Dieu !”

He opened his eyes to see sweet torture contort upon her face. Her body shook, out of control, and then she collapsed full length upon him, breathing roughly in his ear.