Knight's Prize (26 page)

Without
warning, a curious tension rose within her, like a bubbling spring trapped inside
the earth. Her skin seemed to grow more and more taut, too tight for the
exquisite fount that longed to burst from its fleshly prison.

Within
her palm, his cock, slippery with sweat, hardened even more as he strove boldly
against her.

Suddenly,
a pleasure so intense 'twas almost pain made her arch upward. For a long
moment, the world seemed to still while her ecstasy grew and grew, until she
was tossed with the abrupt violence of a boulder from a catapult.

Her
bones shuddered. Her muscles contracted. She moaned and cried out and sighed
all at once as her body seemed to fly at breakneck speed on a course toward the
heavens.

She
was vaguely aware that he'd come along with her. Groaning with an animal
passion that sent shivers along her spine, he, too, bucked wildly in the throes
of desire, until her hands and belly grew slick with the proof of his release.

Afterward,
Miriel lay limp beneath Rand, as limp as if he'd pinched the pressure point
along her shoulder. She couldn't move a joint. She could scarcely keep her eyes
open. Indeed, the only proof she was yet living was the pulse hammering at her
temples and the rapid breath rasping through her mouth.

Rand
inclined his head to tenderly kiss her brow. She felt his shaky breath, heard
his wordless murmur of affection against her forehead. But she had no strength
to acknowledge him with anything except a weak smile that seemed permanently
affixed to her face.

A
curious apathy enveloped her as she drifted along in a pleasant fog. She didn't
care that she was lying naked on the floor of her office. She didn't care that
Rand loomed over her like a conquering hero. She didn't even care that she'd
probably behaved like a wanton.

She
felt beautiful. And womanly. And powerful. And cherished.

'Twas
just as her sisters had boasted. Being with a man who cared for you was
wonderful. Lying with a man you loved was divine. Aye, she might grow to relish
this lovemaking.

With
her last ounce of will, she opened her eyes and gazed up at him. His face was
so full of wonder, so grateful, so content, the sight of it filled her heart.
Rand
did
care
for her. She saw it in the adoring glow of his eyes. And that knowledge made
her feel reckless and impulsive.

"I
love you," she breathed.

************************************

Rand's
heart stilled. No one had ever said that to him before. Not his mother.
Certainly not his father. Not his motley assortment of half siblings. Not even
the wenches from whom he occasionally purchased favors.

The
words were strange to his ears. But whether 'twas from the memory of his
wretched childhood or his current vulnerability in passion's aftermath or
simply the sincere affection in Miriel's eyes, his heart grasped at the words
as if they were a lifesaving timber in a stormy sea.

His
throat thickened painfully, and his eyes threatened to well with tears.

Did
he love her as well? Was it possible? He'd been prepared for her to cast him
away when she was through with him. He'd never in a thousand years expected her
to say she loved him. And now the idea of forging a permanent alliance with
her presented an amazing possibility.

He
might find a home here.

A
real home with an adoring wife and children, castle folk who respected him,
brotherhood in an elite fighting force, and no more cause to lead the life of a
bastard vagabond, selling his services to the highest bidder.

'Twas
almost too incredible to imagine.

Yet
he'd lose it all if he couldn't find the strength to answer the lass.

His
voice cracked over the unfamiliar words. "I love you, Miriel."

Chapter 16

Rand
thought he'd never felt
more alive as he sparred
with Pagan and Colin in the tiltyard. He held back naught, spinning and lunging
and charging with unmitigated exuberance, barely able to keep up with the
clever swordsmen.

But
one glance at the lovely lass standing at the fence, and he knew he was wrong
about the sparring. 'Twas Miriel who made him feel most alive.

Grinning
hugely at her, he almost got his head lopped off as Pagan came round with his
blade.

"Pay
heed!" Pagan yelled at him. "And you!" he commanded, pointing
the tip of his sword at Miriel. "Stop distracting my man."

My
man. Rand liked the sound of that. He'd never been anyone's man. He'd only
belonged for a short while to whoever paid the price for his services.

"Do
you mind, my lord?" Rand asked Pagan, nodding toward Miriel.

Pagan
rolled his eyes and shook his head, sheathing his sword and turning away to
seek out someone else to badger.

Rand
put away his own weapon and loped up to the fence.

"I
was looking for you earlier," he called out.

"I've
been doing the accounts."

He
cocked his head quizzically. "I went to your office. 'Twas locked."

Forsooth
he'd been trying to steal into her office for four days now to take a look at
those ledgers. If the room wasn't sealed up like a tomb, then Sung Li was
standing guard at the doorway. One would think there was a king's treasure
stored inside. Miriel was definitely hiding something.

"I
lock the door sometimes when I need to concentrate," she said. As he drew
near, her clear blue eyes took on an unmistakable smoky hue. She wanted him.
"Otherwise I might get... distracted."

The
lass wore a simple brown kirtle today, but the plain garment didn't diminish
her beauty in the least, especially when Rand could so vividly remember what
she looked like beneath it.

His
loins responded at once, and he gave her a rueful laugh. The damsel was
insatiable. They'd stolen kisses and caresses in every secluded corner of the
keep. But this was not the time or place for trysting.

He
hooked one foot on the lowest wattle crossbar of the fence.

She
grasped the back of his neck, pulling him forward to give him a sound kiss.

As
they rested their brows together, he murmured, "I'm sweaty. I haven't
shaved. And I stink."

"Love
is blind," she whispered.

He
grinned. "And apparently unable to smell as well."

She
licked her lips. "Perchance a roll in sweet-smelling hay would—"

He
chuckled deep in his throat. "The stables?"

She
shrugged.

"Little
imp," he chided, but already his cock was rising at the promise of feminine
attention. He made a cursory surveillance for witnesses, then nodded to her.
"You go first."

With
a devilish twinkle in her eyes, she strolled casually away from the tiltyard.
Rand turned his back on her, pretending sudden interest in the sword battle
going on between Rauve and Kenneth. Then, after a reasonable span of time, he
walked purposefully toward the stables, as if he intended to check on his
horse.

When
he arrived, she peered out at him from beneath a pile of straw in an empty
stall, looking coy and wanton and adorable.

"Miriel,
you naughty wench," he chided, "what have you done with your
clothes?"

She
wasn't completely naked. She still wore her thigh-high woolen stockings, which
actually made her look even more wicked. They were no deterrent. He found
plenty of exposed skin to touch and lick and devour.

As
for him, when she began to pleasure him beneath his chain mail with her adoring
hands, he had to bite his knuckles to keep from bellowing in rapture.

So
intense was his climax that he feared he might frighten the horses and set the
straw afire. Only her soothing caresses afterward brought him back to
normalcy.

As
she knelt before him, slipping her kirtle over her head, she murmured,
"Forsooth, I came to tell you I've an abundance of work today."

He
smiled, easing up on his elbows to look at her. "You have a most
interesting way of telling me. I wish you'd do so every day."

She
clucked her tongue, but he could tell his words pleased her. " 'Tis just
that I won't be able to go riding after all." She'd promised to take him
riding today along the boundaries of Rivenloch.

He
wiggled his brows lasciviously. "Oh, I think we already went riding."

Her
eyes widened in feigned shock. "Sirrah!"

He
gave her a wink, then began to lace up his braies. He forced a serious furrow
to his brow. "Very well. We'll go on the morrow then."

"On
the morrow?"

She
studied him for a moment, and though he tried to keep his expression stern, she
divined the gleam of mischief in his gaze at once.

"Oh,
nay, we won't, you varlet." She gave him a light shove. "You know
very well 'tis the fair on the morrow, and you are honor-bound to take
me."

He
affected a sigh. "No riding on the morrow?" He rocked his hips back
and forth suggestively.

She
smacked him on the shoulder, fighting back laughter.

Then
he rose, dusted off his tabard, and helped her to her feet.

"I'll
go first," she decided, her mind already shifting to her work. "I
have to speak to the cook. One of the lads seems to be stealing provender from
the kitchen."

"Wait."
Amused, he snagged her arm before she could rush off, then clucked his tongue.
"You've obviously never trysted in a stable before."

She
frowned.

He
turned her around backward. Her hair was strewn with incriminating straw. He
carefully picked out the pale stems, then kissed her on the top of the head and
gave her a dismissive swat toward the door.

She
tried to send him a withering glare as she left, but failed. He shook his head.
She might have no straw left in her tresses, but by the lusty glow of her countenance
there was no mistaking what she'd been doing. He hoped she wouldn't run into
that meddling guardian of hers before her telltale flush faded.

Apparently
she narrowly missed Sung Li. When Rand emerged several moments later, he spied
the old woman hobbling along the practice field. Her joints must still trouble
her, though she wasn't limping as heavily now as a few days ago.

Seeing
the shriveled old maidservant reminded Rand that, as ludicrous as it might be, he
needed to follow up on the possibility that Sung Li was The Shadow.

He
might not be able to get to the ledgers, but now was the perfect opportunity to
search Sung Li's quarters. While she toddled around the practice field, and
Miriel was busy with household affairs, Rand could steal into their chamber and
look for evidence.

Aside
from Miriel's office and rooms containing precious stores, the doors of
Rivenloch stood unbarred, which was an amazement to Rand. As a child, he'd had
to sleep curled up around his belongings, lest his greedy siblings steal them.
As a mercenary, he never dozed without one hand on his purse and the other on
his sword. Yet here, no one lived in fear of losing their things, unless one
included the provender the kitchen lad had filched. Thus when Rand casually
loped up the steps and along the passage to Miriel's chamber, he knew he'd
find it open.

He'd
imagined her room would be a reflection of the maid herself, neat, pretty,
adorned in soft colors, with subtle feminine touches. Flowers painted on the
plaster walls perchance. Or bottles of scent lined up on a table. Butterflies
embroidered along the edge of her coverlet. Or hair ribbons hung on pegs.

But
when he stole through the door, swiftly closing it behind him, he thought he'd found
the wrong chamber.

There
were
ribbons
in several colors hung on pegs on the wall. And a few bottles sat atop an oak
table. The room was definitely tidy. But it looked naught like the bedchamber
of a lord's daughter.

Indeed,
it looked like an armory.