Leaves on the Wind

by Carol Townend

  “You won’t?”

  “No. You see…I love you, Rannulf. Besides that nothing else matters.” Not even being owned by you, she thought.

  His hands shot to her shoulders. “You do? In truth?” His eyes, vivid in the firelight, scoured her face.

  Judith nodded, put a hand on his neck to pull his face closer, and lifted her lips to his. “I have no doubts at all.”

  Rannulf pressed a gentle kiss on her eager mouth and drew back. “None at all?” He lifted a disbelieving brow. “Nay, princess, that’s too much, coming from you.”

  “What do you mean?” They were kneeling facing each other, chest to breast. It did not seem close enough. Judith wound her arms round him and tried to wriggle deeper into Rannulf’s hold.

  “No matter,” he said huskily. He kissed her forehead. “I think—”

  Judith kissed his chin.

  “—perhaps—” he murmured, disjointedly.

  She slid a hand down his back and pulled his hips towards her.

  “—I will…tell you…later…” His voice trailed off as his lips found her skin.

  Something clattered to the floor.

  “What’s that?” he asked, lifting his head.

  “I unfastened my belt,” Judith smiled. She put her fingers on his lips. There was one certain way she could prove she had left her doubts behind…

  “No more words, Rannulf,” she said. “They seem to get in the way, don’t they?” She took a tanned hand in hers and placed it on her breast, offering herself to him. “I want you to finish teaching me what it is to be fully a woman. I think that, before Wilfred interrupted you, you’d got to about…here.”

  For an instant he looked startled. Then his lips twitched into one of those lopsided grins. He swept her up in his arms and carried her over to the bed. “Aye.” His eyes glowed. “That I had.”

  He lowered himself beside her. Judith’s cheeks were faintly pink, and she was smiling. In her eyes he discovered a look of such warmth and trust that it took his breath away. He brushed a finger along the delicate flush on her cheekbones, and then gently touched the spot with his lips.

  Judith moved her head, her mouth seeking his. He let her find it and, as their lips joined, heard her groan. It was a low, deep sound that was half relief and half pleasure. Her eyelids fluttered shut.

  Encouraged, Rannulf moved his hand caressingly down her thigh.

  Judith sighed, and moulded her body to his. “’Tis most strange,” she murmured, “how you do make me feel.”

  Rannulf had to clear his throat. “How’s that?”

  “As though I’m melting. And your hands, where they touch me…”

  His lips were smiling as he pressed a kiss into her hair. She’d perfumed it, he noticed, with lavender. “’Tis the same for me, princess,” he admitted.

  Judith opened startled eyes on him. “Truly?”

  “Truly.” His fingers made short work of undoing his belt. He shrugged himself out of his tunic. Judith was suddenly a block of wood beside him. “Judith, what is it?” She was staring at his bandage.

  “Your wound. Does it hurt you?” he worried.

  “’Tis only a small cut, and ’tis well bound up. I’ve had far worse,” he said. Then, watching her expression, he laid one of Judith’s small hands on his chest, in much the same way as she had done with him. Her fingers trembled against his skin.

  “I can feel your heart racing,” she said.

  “Aye.” His eyes were tender as he watched her colour deepen. Tentatively, she traced a pattern on his rib-cage. “That tickles,” he murmured.

  Judith smiled, and her touch became surer. Rannulf’s eyes darkened. “That’s better,” he approved. He tore his gaze from hers and stroked her head, allowing himself the pleasure of surrendering to her shy exploration of his body. He ached to clasp her to him, but she was afraid of frightening her, afraid of going too quickly for her. He managed to master the impulse, and forced himself to concentrate on the colour and texture of her hair. The fireglow made spun gold of it. It felt like silk.

  Her hand was clinging to his shoulder, her head moving under his palm. She buried her face in his chest and began covering it with kisses. Her mouth felt hot on his skin for all that the contact was fleeting and delicate. He knew her touch to be the touch of a virgin. It was the touch of woman as yet unwakened. Judith was like a delicate flower, whose petals were slowly opening in the warm rays of the sun. Desire surged through Rannulf’s veins; he gritted his teeth against it, and tried to hold himself in check.

  In the past, when Rannulf had made love, it had always been with a woman with whom he could share a few moments of pleasant sensuality. For him sex had only ever been an appetite. He’d found it to be very much like hunger, or thirst, and had never seen much to distinguish it from any of the other appetites, except for one thing. Sex could leave a legacy behind it, and he was not a man to bring an unwanted child into the world. So Rannulf had been careful. And he had always tried to ensure that his partners had had as much satisfaction out of the union as he had. Sex was a need, pure and simple, and past experience had shown him it was soon satisfied.

  His fingers were tangled in the fair waves of Judith’s hair. Astonishingly, they were trembling. The scent of her filled his nostrils. No woman had ever offered him her innocence in the way Judith was doing. Making love to Judith would be different from the other times, he realised. He loved Judith. Their joining would be more, far more, than mere sensuality. Judith’s hands were either side of his waist. She was kissing the flat of his stomach. Involuntarily, Rannulf’s muscles clenched. A flame of longing shot along his veins. He did not want to spoil their loving, but recognised that his control was being stretched to the limit…

  The golden head he was holding moved. “Oh, God, Judith,” he muttered, and another tormenting bolt of desire shot through him. It felt so hot and fierce it set his blood alight. Every nerve in his body seemed to have focused on Judith, and the kisses she was scattering over his stomach. He was reacting to her as he had never reacted to any other woman. But Judith was an innocent. And her innocence was the most precious gift that she could give him. He wanted the giving to be flawless in every way for her. He did not want to snatch her innocence from her like a callow, greedy youth.

  Judith’s fingers were hovering over his stomach just above his breeches, so close he could feel the heat of them. His breath was coming fast, and he knew that sweat had broken out on his brow. It was almost too much to bear.

  Rannulf closed his eyes and angled her head so he could hide his expression in the perfumed softness of her hair. He was afraid that if she looked at his face, and saw his experience and his desire blazing from his eyes, it would scorch the delicate, unfolding petals of her growing sensuality, and kill it before it had come to full flowering. “Judith,” he repeated, hoarsely.

  She was lying half across him, and the skirts of her gown had ridden up above her knees. She had kicked off her shoes, and her bare feet tangled with his. She kissed his neck and the bright head came up. “Rannulf?” she answered.

  Her face was haloed by a riot of golden waves. With a sense of shock Rannulf realised he must have created that wild disorder. Her blue eyes were dreamy and fixed on his mouth. She moistened her lips. Rannulf’s mind muddied.

  “If…if you continue like that, princess, I won’t be able to control myself,” he managed, clinging like a drowning man to one thought. He must not frighten her…he must not frighten her…

  Judith’s lips curved. Rosy lips, lips made for kissing…

  “Control,” she murmured thoughtfully. “Don’t you…” she hesitated, looking so desirable that Rannulf was forced to curl his fingers till the nails bit into his palms to keep himself from her. “Don’t you…want me, Rannulf?”

  “Not want you?” Rannulf choked, incredulously. “Of course I want you—”

  “You’re not acting as though you do,” Judith said, averting her gaze. A fiery blush mantled her cheeks, ran down her
throat and disappeared beneath the neck of her gown.

  The blood began to pound in Rannulf’s ears. If he didn’t know better, he’d think she was pouting…He’d think she was encouraging him…

  “I think,” she said slowly, and her voice was a sensual promise, “that you are being too controlled. It makes me think you do not want me. I think we both might like it best if…if…you forgot about control.”

  His eyes stretched wide. He swallowed.

  Judith leaned on an elbow, smiled at his confusion, and lightly ran her fingers down one lean, bronzed cheek. Rannulf shifted his head and caught a finger gently between his teeth, running his tongue over the sensitive fingertip. He heard her catch her breath.

  “You’re afraid you’ll shock me,” she said perceptively. Her finger freed itself, and ran over his lips, leaving his mouth tingling. Again, Rannulf trapped it between his teeth. He made as if to bite it. Instead of snatching her hand away, Judith whispered, “You’re afraid you’ll drive me away.”

  “Aye,” he admitted. His hands, he found, had slipped round her slender waist. He tightened his hold.

  “Don’t be afraid,” she went on. “Nothing you could ever do would drive me away.”

  “P…princess?” he stammered, momentarily tongue-tied by the enormity of her trust in him.

  “Nothing,” she repeated.

  Once again she fixed his mouth with that dreamy gaze. She wanted his passion. It was irresistible. She was irresistible. A delighted laugh bubbled up inside him, and surrendering to his instincts, Rannulf gathered her slender frame close. He rolled on to his side. Judith’s eyes were shining, and he could see the wonder he was feeling reflected in their azure depths.

  His lips brushed hers. She moaned. The kiss developed a will of its own. It deepened without any effort on Rannulf’s part until he found his tongue was grazing hers. He felt a shudder run through Judith’s body and, concerned, he pulled back. But wonder still glowed from her eyes. She was clothed in it. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips were swollen with his kisses, and her breasts were rising and falling under the green fabric of her gown.

  Small hands reached for his head, pulled him back. Judith’s mouth tasted sweet, like honey. He wanted more. He pressed tiny, biting kisses over her neck and throat, and his hand skimmed over the curves of her body, breast, waist, hips, thighs. The hem of her gown had embroidery on it. It felt rough under his fingers. Judith’s skin would feel smooth. Impatiently, Rannulf stroked the material aside, pushing it up and over her hips. He paused.

  “The lacings are at the side,” Judith murmured in his ear. “You’ll have to…” Intent on running her hand over a strong shoulder, Judith left her sentence incomplete, but Rannulf needed no more encouragement. His fingers, clumsy for once, found the lacings, loosened them, and in a moment he had eased the gown over Judith’s head.

  He had not noticed the gentle fingers at work on the ties of his trousers, and when Judith’s naked body met his he gasped. “Dear God, Judith, that feels good.”

  “Aye.”

  The fire crackled. Rannulf’s hand cupped a small, responsive breast and he sighed. Judith’s soft murmurings filled his ears. Her lips reached up to his. “Judith, princess…”

  She felt deliciously weak. He had made her name sound like a caress. She tried to press closer to the hard, muscled body at her side, but her limbs were so heavy. It required too much thought to move, and as ever, Rannulf drove all thought from her head. This night Judith could only feel.

  Rannulf’s eyes glowed like the embers in the hearth. They were soft, tender, lambent with longing. And love? Happily, Judith smiled to herself. She could see love there too. He had not admitted it, but it shone from his eyes, clear as any beacon.

  Rannulf’s dark head lowered. He was kissing her breast, touching her gently, lovingly, in places no man had touched her before. And then, suddenly, it was not difficult to move. She had to move. Her body was arching like a bow towards his, eager for him, begging for him…

  “Princess…” Rannulf muttered, his voice thick with passion.

  His legs nudged hers apart. There was a tension in Rannulf’s body that Judith had never felt before. He, she perceived dimly, had lost himself in this loving of theirs. But Judith was not yet lost to the world. One thing was left and then she, too, could lose herself. Moving purely by instinct, Judith’s hands went to his waist. They slid over his buttocks, and guided his hips into place. Rannulf’s fingers were curling into her hair, his face pressed into her neck.

  Now, she thought, and urged him down and into her with one quick, sharp downward pull.

  His gasp of surprise mingled with hers. Their bodies stilled. Rannulf was a peculiar tightness deep inside her. She sought his eyes.

  “Judith?”

  His face was bemused, like someone woken unexpectedly in the middle of a dream.

  Judith put her lips to the scar on his cheek. “I had to, Rannulf.”

  “Did…does it hurt?” He fumbled with the words.

  “No…but…”

  Rannulf leaned on his arms, and eased back.

  “…but—” hastily she gripped his hips and held him to her “—but I need to be closer still. I want…” She gave him a shy smile. “I want all of you, Rannulf.”

  Rannulf relaxed. “My princess,” he murmured, and tentatively, with infinite care, rocked back inside her.

  “I love you, Rannulf.” She wound her arms around him, and watched as he gave himself up to the sensations her body could give him. That oddly intense, far-away look settled back on his lean features.

  Observing Rannulf’s abstracted pleasure intensified her own. Judith’s breasts rose and fell with each rapid breath she took. Her lips and hands tingled. She was so weakened by feeling that she could barely cling to Rannulf’s shoulders. The walls of the chamber seemed to recede. “Rannulf,” she gasped.

  “My love.” His response warmed neck and ear. It warmed her to her core. She was melting, dissolving, flying with Rannulf to a new and wonderful place. Spinning to a place where there was no more Rannulf, and no more Judith. A place where the words Saxon and Norman had never had meaning. They were one. They were united. Bound together by their bodies for all eternity, it was a true marriage of the flesh. They were absorbed, spiralling ever upwards, higher and higher, till it seemed they would reach the stars.

  Yet it was more than that. It was like losing your soul, and finding it again, and knowing that somehow you would never be the same again. It was like being purged. It was a union of spirit and of body. It was giving.

  And then, suddenly, all Creation exploded. And slowly, still shaking with the echoes of the force that had transported her, Judith sank back into herself. The walls of the room steadied. Rannulf’s weight was warm and welcome on her.

  “Ohhh,” he sighed.

  Judith’s lips curved. She closed her eyes and slept.

  When at length Judith lifted her head from Rannulf’s shoulder, the fire was no more than a feeble glimmer with hardly the strength to pierce the thick curtain of midnight darkness which hung in the chamber. Idly, she trailed her forefinger down Rannulf’s cheek where the scar marked him. It was time, she decided, to let him know she spoke his native language.

  “Beaufour did this to you, then?” she asked, in her halting French.

  “Aye.” Rannulf’s response was muffled, drowsy. “But Judith, I beg you, don’t sour this night with thinking of him.”

  Judith frowned. He was half asleep and had replied automatically in his own tongue. But he had not realised she’d been speaking French, too.

  She tried again. “Was it good, our loving?”

  He ruffled her hair, and kissed a smooth shoulder. “Wretch, you know it was,” he said.

  To rouse him, Judith thumped him crossly on the chest. “Wake up, Rannulf. Your devoted slave wants some attention.”

  The lean body next to hers went rigid, and she watched with satisfaction as the blood drained from his face. At last, she thought, he
’s realised I know the truth.

  Green eyes bored into her. “What…what did you say?”

  “Aye, my love. I do speak your tongue.” She had to grin. Rannulf looked as though he’d been cast adrift on a wide ocean in a small boat without any oars.

  “Then you heard? You know?”

  “Aye. I know you own me.”

  “And you don’t mind?” he asked, wonderingly.

  She dropped a light kiss on his nose. “It would seem not.”

  Rannulf hugged her to him. “Oh, God, Judith,” he groaned. “I do love you. But I was afraid to tell you all of it, in case—”

  “I know. Tell me now,” she said. She was so full of happiness that she could scarcely think. At last he had admitted he loved her.

  “You want chapter and verse?” he asked.

  “Aye.”

  “Very well. When we first met, you took me to be a Saxon. And when you discovered me to be Norman, that drove a wedge between us. We overcame it. But then you found me to be kin to the man your brothers had sworn to hate. Another wedge.” Rannulf’s arms tightened round her. “We overcame that. But—” Rannulf grimaced “—you were such an independent creature, your freedom seemed all important to you. I thought that if you found out I’d bought you…that would be the end of it.”

  “I think we have always belonged to each other,” Judith confessed softly. “Ever since you saved me four years ago.”

  Rannulf put her at arm’s length and swung from the bed. “If that’s how you feel, I have something for you.” He rummaged through the coffer by the wall and brought out a small scroll. “Here.” He tossed it over to her. “’Tis yours to burn.”

  Curiously, Judith turned it over. The inked lettering meant nothing to her. “I cannot read, Rannulf,” she said.

  “’Tis a deed of sale for one female slave of English origin,” Rannulf told her, coming to sit on the edge of the bed. “Burn it.”