Page 117 of Desire's Ransom
A frisson of desire coursed through her as she remembered two nights ago when he’d sent her to new heights of passion, nibbling on them. “Nay,” she gasped.
“Oh, aye. Give me yourbrogs.”
Swallowing hard, she slipped out of them, nudging them toward him with her toe.
“That’s a beautifulléine,” he said, lightly tracing the intricate silver embroidery over the bodice with the tip of thebata.
She held her breath as thebatagrazed her breasts, awakening every nerve.
“Beautiful,” he repeated.
She released a sigh. Theléinewasbeautiful. Made for her sister, it had never been worn. The soft blue cloth was embroidered with silver thread, in knots that intertwined in a border with no beginning and no end, representing the eternity of marriage.
“Take it off.”
“What?”
“Take it off.”
“But I’m not wearin’ anythin’ underneath.”
“Oh, I know,” he said, echoing her.
She hesitated.
He dragged the tip of thebatadown the front of theléine, ending just before he reached the spot that was throbbing for his touch “Do it.”
She knew once she took off theléine, once there was no barrier between them, the real battle would begin. And she was feeling defenseless.
But she couldn’t back down now. So with as little ado as possible, she slipped her arms out of the sleeves and pulled it off, shaking her head so her long, loose tresses would at least partially cover her.
At first she wouldn’t look at him. She stared at the floor, at the bed, at the fire, anywhere but at the man with the magnificent muscles, the soul-searing gaze, and the bold manifestation of lust.
“Look at me,” he bade her.
She shook her head. If she looked at him, she’d be lost.
“Look at me.” He nudged her chin with thebata.
She shook her head.
Finally, he let go of thebata. It clattered to the floor.
When she instinctively looked up, he was gazing at her with such hunger, such adoration, such passion that she couldn’t resist him.
They came together in a breathless embrace. Kisses and caresses led them to stagger to the bed. He pressed her onto her back atop their discarded clothing, and she hugged him close with her heels.
Their skirmish was brief this time. Their passion, like a tightly drawn bow, was already on the verge of release. A few dozen eager thrusts, and they soared together like a flaming arrow, lighting up the night sky with a glorious brilliance, then cooling and falling back to earth.
Much later, after they’d made love for the third time and she lay spent beside Ryland, Temair marveled over how much her life had changed—as a woodkern, as a wife, as a woman.
Yet it wasn’t only her life that had been changed. Changes were coming to all of Eire as well.
The new English king was making his influence known. Already in some places, birthright had taken the place of honor price. In the north, theclannstructure was disappearing, replaced by a feudal system of lords and vassals. The language was changing, as were the customs.
In some ways, it seemed wrong to her to let these changes happen. The Irish way of life was worth fighting for. And to Temair, who’d been born and raised in conflict, making her way with her wits and her weapons, resistance came in the form of pitched battle between the two factions.
And yet, making love with Ryland didn’t feel like a battle at all.
