Page 88 of Desire's Ransom
Ryland, with a few gentle words, removed a single rock.
The wall shuddered.
He drew her into his arms.
She felt the foundation dissolving into dust.
She buried a sob against his shoulder, appalled at her lack of control.
“That’s all right,” he murmured. “’Tis all right, m’lady.” One reassuring hand went around her waist. One cradled her head. “I’m here.”
His tender gestures of compassion were too great to withstand. The wall collapsed all at once, releasing an enormous river of raw grief.
Temair keened softly against his chest for her sister. For her lost innocence. For her helplessness. At last, she surrendered to heartfelt sobs of pure anguish.
Through it all, Ryland held her tenderly, rocking her, stroking her hair, murmuring reassurances.
“’Tis all right, m’lady. I’m here for you. Cry all you wish.”
She clenched her fists in his shirt, drenching it with her tears. She mourned her mother, her sister, herclann, and the precious years of her youth. She mourned for all she had lost and all she would never recover. She mourned the unfairness of life and the way evil men could triumph while good ones languished.
All the while, Ryland never wavered in his sympathy, holding her until her weeping finally subsided to an occasional hitching breath.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“Hush,” he said. “There’s no need to be sorry.”
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“There’s nothing wrong with you.”
“I’ve ruined your tunic.”
He chuckled softly. “Tossing me in the stream ruined my tunic. This is nothing.”
She gave him a weak smile.
He was such a good man. So kind. So good-humored. So understanding. It was a bittersweet reality that if things had been different, she might have enjoyed being his bride.
She lowered her eyes to his mouth. His lips were still curved in a smile, and she couldn’t help but recall the compelling pressure and release of his kiss. She longed to feel that heavenly sensation again, to taste the desire on his tongue, to feast upon his delicious flesh, to rain kisses over every inch of him…and more.
She gulped. She could do it now. She could tryst with Ryland.
No bride awaited him. So he was no longer bound by fidelity. He could make love to her without guilt. They were free to…
Before she could finish the thought, he cupped her chin in his hands and swept down to claim her with a forceful and lingering kiss.
Ryland could no longer resist her—the fresh scent of her hair…the soft silk of her skin…her sweet, sad smile…the way her trusting hand curled upon his chest…how perfectly she fit into the crook of his shoulder…the way she warmed him where their bodies met—nor did he feel compelled to.
The temptation to kiss her was beyond his endurance.
And there was something else.
Something he’d never expected.
He was in love with her.
How it had happened, he didn’t know. But seeing her lead the woodkerns, listening to her passion for the poor, watching her play with her wolfhounds, sharing laughter and tears with her, he had fallen in love. Deeply. Desperately. Hopelessly.
