“You still miss your old life?”
“Sometimes,” he said. “But much as I hate to admit it, I fear there is too much of my Deauville grandfather in me. Part of me enjoys being the Comte de Renard, the power and respect that the position commands. Very likely Lucy was right and I would never have remained content to be a simple shepherd in the hills.”
“But what about Martine?” Ariane reminded him hesitantly. “You would have been married to her and raising a dozen children by now.”
“Perhaps . . . and perhaps she simply was not my destiny.” Renard’s gaze fastened warmly on her, but Ariane lowered her eyes to prevent his reading her confused thoughts.
Being a man’s destiny might sound all grand and good, but far better to be his love. Ariane had always considered herself above such romantic wishes, but she now realized that she hungered for love as much as any other woman. And it was Renard’s love she wanted. The realization shook her more than her first icy plunge into the stream and she found herself miserably envious of some peasant girl she had never even met.
“I suppose Martine was quite exquisitely beautiful,” she said bleakly.
“She was pretty enough,” Renard conceded. “She had a fine figure and a merry laugh.”
Unlike her solemn self, Ariane reflected, wincing. “Is that what made you desire her so?”
“You know, perhaps it was nothing more than the fact that she wanted me. She never seemed to mind that I was this great oaf or—or about my own less than pretty face.” Grimacing, he touched one hand to the bridge of his frequently broken nose.
“I don’t mind either,” Ariane said quickly. She flushed and added shyly, “In fact, I do not find you all that unhandsome.”
Renard laughed. “Mon Dieu, then my ring is indeed having a strange effect on you, except—” He lifted her hand to his mouth, kissing the pale spot on her finger.
“Except that you are no longer wearing it.” His voice was soft, but his eyes raked over her and Ariane flinched. Her wet shift had become so transparent, it was obvious now that she was not wearing the ring fastened about her neck either.
“I realize I have broken our agreement, but—”
“But you already used the ring twice and you fear that you will do so again. The prospect of becoming my wife still repulses you that much.” Renard did not sound angry or accusing, merely sad.
“Oh, no!” Ariane hastened to reassure him. “It is only that if I ever were to marry you, I don’t want it to be because I lost a contest over a ring.”
A deep crease appeared between his brows. “Perhaps you are right, chérie, and that is no longer what I want either.”
His gruff capitulation caused her heart to go still. She released a tremulous breath, feeling as though some final barrier had crumbled between them.
Slipping his arm around her waist, he eased onto his back, taking her with him, half-supporting her with the length of his frame. They swam together, bodies lapping in a lazy, sensual rhythm that slowly built to a keen awareness of each other. The brush of arms and legs entwining, the bare touch of skin, Ariane could feel the heat emanating between them in stark contrast to the coolness of the water.
She hardly knew at what point all movement stopped. Renard came to a halt midstream, planting his feet. He was able to touch bottom, his chin jutting just above the surface. He wrapped one arm about her waist to keep her from going under as he drew her closer.
Their bodies met beneath the ripples of the water, the curve of her breasts pressing hard against his chest until Ariane could feel the thud of his heart. It was as though the day itself stilled around them, the spirit of the forest holding its breath as Renard’s mouth came slowly, ever nearer to claim hers.
Their lips met in a kiss that tasted of clear water and salty skin, the sharp tang of the woods and the warm breath of sunlight, a sweet lingering exploration as though they were embracing each other for the very first time. Ariane’s lips parted in a soft sigh, allowing Renard’s tongue to invade her with his heat.
She shivered, caressed by the flow of the stream around them and Renard’s hands roving over her back, his palms leaving their warm imprint wherever he touched. She tightened her own arms around his neck, kissing him eagerly.
Renard swam them both back to the shallow waters. Scarcely pausing to break the heated contact of their mouths, he swept Ariane high into his arms and carried her up onto the bank.
He laid her gently back onto the grass, her damp hair fanning around her shoulders. Renard poised above her, braced on his strong arms. His face was already suffused dark with passion, but he faltered. “Ariane, are you really sure about this? Do you think—?”
She stopped him by lightly pressing her hand to his mouth. “Renard. I think too much. I want you to make me feel.”
Renard breathed a kiss against her fingertips. She could read the hunger in his eyes, but reluctance as well. “When I asked you to stay with me today, my intentions were honorable for once. I only wanted to see you laugh, to make you smile for a little while.”
“Then you don’t want to make love to me?” She drifted her fingertips over his chest.
“Lord, y-yes.” Renard gave a shaky laugh. “But I don’t want you to have any regrets after, to feel as if I have stolen your magic. I fear that you are reading things in me that aren’t there. There is still much about me that you don’t know.”
Ariane gazed up at him with a soft smile. “I learned everything I needed to know about you the night of our supper when you finally told me who you were. I have trusted you with my life time and again. I believe I can trust you with my heart as well.”
“Ariane—” he began hoarsely, but she silenced him by pulling him down to kiss him. She had never imagined that he would be the one with scruples, she so passionately insistent. It was as though something had broken free inside when she had taken that leap down into the stream and into his arms.
Renard resisted her for but a moment, then with a low groan returned her embrace with an equal hunger, the warm weight of his body pinning her to the earth. She could feel the heat pulsing between them, the hard evidence of his arousal. He kissed her throat, his hand entwining with hers above their heads, his ring pressing against her flesh.
“There is another reason I am glad I am no longer wearing my ring,” she whispered. “This time when we make love I don’t want it to be all in my head.”
“It won’t be. Whatever else happens between us, chérie, I promise you that this is going to be very real.” Renard’s mouth moved down to taste the beads of water at her throat. Her hands braced against his shoulders, she arched her back, stifling a soft sigh of pleasure as his lips sought the curve of her breast. She felt the heat of his mouth through the thin wet sheath of cotton as his tongue caressed her nipple, sending a current of desire racing through her veins.
They scrambled to their feet and undressed each other with a feverish haste, her cotton shift discarded upon the bank, his breeches following suit. Ariane’s eyes widened as she studied his naked body, every inch of him carved on a grand scale.
“I am sorry, chérie. I fear I am a bit of an ogre in every respect.”
“No, you are quite magnificent,” she breathed. “Truly a man of the earth.”
He sifted his fingers tenderly through her hair. “And you are the Lady of Faire Isle, all fire and spirit—”
Ariane shook her head. “No, Renard. I am only a woman, just as much of the earth as you are.”
She drew him close to her heart, kissing him fiercely, tenderly, and with an ever-growing need. Renard would have carried her into his tent, but Ariane refused. She wanted their first time to be here, their bed of cool grass and sun-warmed earth, their bower the green rustle of trees and patches of blue sky.
She sank to her knees, drawing him down with her, a soft smile of invitation on her lips. As Renard kissed and caressed her, she flung back her head with a deep sigh, a delicious shiver working through her. He buried his face between the valley of her
breasts, his mouth working its magic where his hands had lingered before. His tongue flicked over the crest of her nipples, sending a rush of heat through her.
As he laid her onto her back, her heart pounded in time with his, their mouths mating, their hands linked. Trembling with the force of her desire for him, Ariane parted her legs, feeling the velvety tip of his hardened shaft tease against her feminine core. Renard eased himself inside of her as gently as possible but she gasped at the sharp pain as he pierced her maidenhead.
Renard braced himself above her, his green eyes clouding with concern. “I am a clumsy brute. I—I have hurt you.”
“N-no, I am all right,” she reassured him, brushing her mouth against his. “P-please don’t stop.”
As she forced herself to relax, miraculously her body seemed to stretch, taking in all of him, filling her with his heat. Slowly, Renard began to move, kissing her tenderly again and again.
With each kiss, he stroked a little deeper, a little faster. Ariane clung to him, her body mirroring his movements until they moved together in a perfect unison. She became aware of nothing but Renard, the thundering rhythm of their mating building to an unbearable crescendo.
Like waves crashing against a shore, they seemed to break as one, and Ariane cried out as intense ripples of pleasure spiraled through her. At the same moment, she felt Renard’s massive frame shudder with his own release.
He braced himself on his arms to keep from crushing her beneath his weight as he buried his face alongside her neck. She felt the rise and fall of his breathing, the racing of his heart as it slowed its tempo.
Ariane clasped her arms around him, still savoring the intimate joining of their bodies even as her blood cooled. She felt too awed by what she had just experienced in Renard’s arms to even attempt to speak, amazed that she should have feared this consummation for so long, this complete surrendering of herself. As though it might somehow weaken her or diminish her magic.
But never had anything felt so right as giving herself so completely to Renard. Never had she felt so vibrant and strong. And never had she felt so much a daughter of the earth as she did at this moment.
The great hall at Belle Haven appeared serene and empty, late afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows. There was no one in sight when Miri peeked inside the chamber, all the servants busied at tasks elsewhere.
“Come on,” Miri whispered, tugging on Simon’s hand. But the boy hung back. She recognized the wary look in his eyes. She had seen that dark expression in the eyes of countless injured wild creatures she had attempted to help, only to have them flee before she could reach them.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “None of the servants here have ever seen your face. Without your terrible robes, you look like just another fisher lad from here on the island.”
“And when someone asks why you are sneaking a fisher lad into your house?”
“I will tell them that I have brought you here to see Ariane.” Miri smiled reassuringly. “No one will think anything of it. People come to her all the time to be healed. She is an exceedingly wise woman.”
“And her evil ring?”
“I told you. She packed it away in her chest only this morning. I saw her myself, so you don’t have to worry about her sending for Renard. Don’t be afraid,” she said, squeezing his hand. “I would never let anyone hurt you.”
“Nor I you.”
“Then trust me as I do you.” Standing on tiptoe, she planted a bashful kiss on his smooth cheek. Her words seemed to offer Simon little comfort. He hung his head, but he did stumble after her as she urged him toward the stairs.
It was the most unfortunate thing in the world that Ariane should be away from home just now, Miri thought. The sooner that Simon could be brought to realize that he had nothing to fear from the Lady of Faire Isle, the better. And as for the comte . . . Miri had no doubt that Ariane would be able to persuade Renard to pardon Simon and help him.
The important thing was to keep Simon from changing his mind, from attempting to flee back to the dark world of his master. Even as she led Simon up the stairs, Miri kept a tight grip on his hand, fearing that at any moment he might slip away.
As they reached the upper landing, Miri said in a low voice, “We will just wait in Ariane’s room until she returns. No one will bother you there.”
“Miri.” Simon came to an abrupt halt, forcing her to pause.
She turned to regard him questioningly. Afternoon shadows spilled across his beautiful face, his dark eyes filled with a strange look of desperation. The set of his mouth was so sad she could scarcely bear it.
“No matter what happens—” he began.
“Nothing bad is going to happen,” she said quickly. “Ariane is going to help you. You will be able to stay here on Faire Isle, Simon, and we will be perfect friends forever.”
“But if all this does not turn out quite as you believe,” he persisted. “I just want you to know that I care for you, Miri. Very deeply.”
“I care for you too,” she said. Her heart pounded hard as he bent closer, certain that he meant to kiss her again. But all he did was brush his mouth across her cheek. A gentle caress, but disturbing somehow, as though he was about to bid her good-bye.
But she did not have time to dwell on that or to linger on the landing. She needed to keep Simon well out of sight until Ariane returned. She pulled him in the direction of Ariane’s chamber, but just as they were about to reach the door, something streaked out of the shadows, startling them both.
A furious hiss rent the air. Simon pulled free of her hand and stumbled back, his face paling with alarm.
“It’s all right, Simon. It is only Necromancer.”
Simon continued to look wary, as well he might. Back arched, hairs standing on end, the cat appeared as though it had transformed into some wild and feral beast.
Necromancer held Simon at bay, looking fully ready to launch himself at the boy, claws bared. It was necessary for Miri to scoop up the cat before Simon could get by. She held the wriggling creature in her arms, indicating for Simon to precede her into Ariane’s chamber.
As he vanished inside, she held Necromancer up at arm’s length and scolded. “What has gotten into you?”
The cat rumbled deep in its throat. Beware, daughter of the earth. You should not bring this boy into your home.
“But it is Simon. You remember him from the night I rescued you at the circle of stone giants. He was kind to both of us.”
He is no longer to be trusted.
“Oh, you are a fine one to speak of that,” Miri told the cat crossly. “No matter how often I beg you, you persist in killing the poor field mice in the barn.”
The cat’s amber eyes blinked up at her. I am a hunter. It is in my nature. It is his too. You will not change him.
Necromancer’s thoughts filled Miri with dismay. She had ever trusted to the instincts of her four-legged friends, the magical communion she shared with them her only solace since the loss of both her parents. That is until Simon had entered her life, bringing to her magic of a different kind.
She glared at Necromancer and muttered, “What do you know? You are only a cat.”
Plunking Necromancer to the floor, Miri followed Simon into Ariane’s chamber, slamming the door firmly in the cat’s face.
It was warm inside the tent and Renard propped the flap slightly open to let more air inside. A soft breeze rustled through, stirring the tendrils of chestnut hair that tumbled about the face of his sleeping lady.
Ariane lay curled on his cot, nestled deep in the furs. She slept deeply and soundly as she had no doubt needed to do for these many nights past. Renard was in no hurry to wake her or bring the magic of this interlude to an end.
The first time they had made love had been urgent, a fierce coupling upon the very marrow of the earth. The second time had been more leisurely, a slow exploration of each other’s bodies here within the more comfortable confines of his tent.
The third had
been nothing short of miraculous. He would not have imagined it possible to couple so completely with any woman, body, mind, and soul.
Now clad in dry clothing, he perched on the edge of the cot, content to observe Ariane sleep, keeping watch over her. He had never felt so tenderly protective of anyone before as he was of this one fiercely independent woman.
With a soft smile, he brushed back the ends of her hair, which were still a little damp, whether from their swim or their other exertions he would have been hard-pressed to say. When the Lady of Faire Isle finally chose to surrender herself to a man, she held nothing back.
Surely after all that had taken place between them in this secluded glade, she would consent to be his bride. He had won her at last, but it was an uneasy victory. Renard frowned as the memory of Ariane’s words chased through his head. “I learned everything I needed to know about you the night of our supper when you finally told me who you were.”
Except that she hadn’t. There was still much she did not know about his past and now he wondered how he was ever going to tell her. Coward that he was, he found himself hoping that he would never have to tell her the rest of the tale about his grandmother and the old days.
As though she could somehow sense his troubled thoughts, Ariane stirred restively. She rolled onto her back, her eyes fluttering sleepily open and Renard did his best to smooth the brooding expression from his face.
Ariane blinked, appearing disoriented for a moment, as though uncertain where she was. Then she smiled and reached up to entwine her arms around his neck and he bent down to kiss her, a slow, tender kiss.
“Mmm,” Ariane murmured, her body arching in a languorous stretch. “I have had the most wonderful nap.”
“I am glad. You needed it.”
“But surely it grows late. You should not have let me sleep so long.” Even as she reproached him, she urged him to stretch out on the cot beside her.
As he did so, Renard studied her anxiously. “I hope that is your only regret about this afternoon. That you don’t feel as though you have lost any of your magic to me.”
The Dark Queen Page 38
