Page 77 of Desire's Ransom
And the part of him that believed it might just be true that GraywasTemair couldn’t begin to fathom why she would keep that secret.
All night long, between bouts of sleep, he wrestled with doubt.
Were the woodkerns protecting Temair from Ryland?
Were they trying to foil the king’s plans?
Had they kidnapped Temair to use her as leverage against her father, the same way they were demanding ransom for Ryland?
Had Cormac hidden the disappearance of his daughter six years ago? And if so, what game was he playing now?
Was Gray part of some twisted plot to deceive the English invaders?
Or could she be telling the truth—that she didn’t remember anything?
Sometime, long past midnight, Ryland finally got to sleep. He began to dream.
He was with his beautiful gray-eyed bride, and they were standing on a bed, laughing and fighting withbatas. Every time he thought he was getting close to winning the battle, she’d block his advance and dance out of his way.
Eventually, he gave up trying. They tossed their weapons—and their clothing—aside. Then they collapsed together onto the pallet.
Lying with her was like visiting heaven. He reveled in her naked body, closing his eyes. He caressed every inch of her, savoring her velvety flesh. He pressed his mouth to hers, drinking the passion from her lips. Tenderly, he slipped his fingers over her silken shoulder and across her bosom until her gently rounded breast filled his hand. Aroused and enchanted, he sighed with pleasure…
Suddenly, he was awakened by Bran’s wet nose nudging his arm. Yanked from the dream, Ryland cracked open his eyes to a sharp sliver of morning sunlight. The dog was staring sheepishly at him.
Then he realized the position he was in and froze.
It had only been half a dream. His body was wrapped around Gray like a cloak. A slip of parchment wouldn’t have fit between her lovely back and his chest. Their legs were tangled together like fronds of seaweed. Her warm buttocks pressed against him intimately, making his blood surge, and he grew instantly hard.
His arm was draped over her shoulder. Somehow, his hand had managed to find its way inside her garments to her soft, supple breast.
He didn’t dare move. He hardly dared breathe.
To be fair, her hand was clasped over the top of his. It appeared she’d guided him there in her sleep. But that didn’t make him feel any less guilty. And it didn’t make him feel any less aroused.
He couldn’t stay like this. She’d wake up. The rest of the camp would wake up.
Moving as little as possible, he lifted his eyes to take inventory of the camp. At first, he thought everyone was sleeping.
Then he saw her. Sorcha. Leaning against a yew tree with her arms crossed over her bosom, watching him.
