“Why didn’t I see them before?”
“Perhaps you weren’t ready.”
“And I’m ready now?”
Emma nodded. “I’m ready too.”
Slowly, he turned to her. “For what?”
She grinned. “To give you the wedding night we should’ve had.”
“Now?”
“Now.”
****
They raced up the stairs. The bedchamber was blessedly empty, and Emma’s headdress hit the floor the instant she crossed the threshold. Behind her, William grinned as he shut the door and slid the bolt home. There followed a mad, joyous rush to shed all clothing.
Finally free of her smock, she turned to him, and he kicked his braies aside. His naked body was magnificent; his arousal, obvious.
He spared a glance for the quiet hearth. “Are you sure you’ll be warm enough?” he asked. “You’ve been ill, and there’s no fire.”
Her skin glowed, and her violet eyes flared with passion. “Damn the fire,” she said, rushing toward him.
Laughing, he scooped her up in his arms. “You’re right,” he said as he carried her to the bed. “We need no fire. We’ll create our own.”
He laid her on the bed, then lay beside her. She luxuriated in the feel of the fur coverlets beneath her, in the musky scent of his skin, in the freedom to surrender at last to desire.
Their lips locked in a passionate kiss that banished the outside world to oblivion. Nothing mattered but the feel of flesh, the power of two souls uniting in love.
William caressed her breasts, hips, and bottom. He sucked hard on her nipples as she writhed beneath him. Her gasps and moans were like music. With a grin, he slid his hand between her legs.
Emma trembled as he touched the source of her excitement. Gently, repeatedly, his finger pushed against it. “Aye,” she breathed, raising her hips.
Mad with desire, he positioned himself between her thighs. He pushed only the head of his shaft into her warm sheath. Then slowly, his finger caressed the swollen bud of her desire.
The tension built inside her, pushed her to the brink, and then…at the moment of her release, his full length thrust into her, breaking her maidenhead. She felt a mere instant of pain before spasms of pleasure swallowed it.
He groaned at the sensation of her tight, hot channel convulsing around his shaft. Kissing her forehead, he murmured, “I didn’t want to hurt you.”
“The pain was brief,” she said. “Did you feel pleasure?”
He licked the salty sweat from her throat. “Aye, but not release.”
She stared at him. “There’s more?”
He chuckled and kissed the tip of her nose. “There is indeed. Shall I show you?”
She bit her lip. “You feel so big inside of me. Will there be pain?”
He shook his head. “Only delight.”
“Then show me.”
With a groan, he cupped her buttocks and started to move inside her.
“Oh,” she said. “I never thought…I never knew…”
His thrusts grew harder, faster. She moaned and wrapped her legs around him, sensing an even greater pleasure just beyond her reach. She dug her fingernails into his back and bit his shoulder.
“My wild raven,” he rasped. “This is our storm. Fly into it. Soar with me to heaven.”
Epilogue
Ten months later
All of Ravenwood had gathered in the great hall. With hands clasped behind his back, William paced up and down the dais.
Robert stood just below him in front of the dais. “Be still, Brother,” he said. “You’re making me nervous.”
William halted. “You’re nervous? She’s my wife. And childbirth is a dangerous business.”
“True, but Meg is with her. All will be well.”
“It had better be.”
Suddenly, the hall went quiet. William regarded the throng of people then turned in the direction they stared.
Tilda stood in the archway. “My lord,” she said with a curtsy, “Ravenwood has a son.”
“And Lady Ravenwood?” he asked.
She smiled. “Her ladyship is well and waiting for you.”
Relief coursed through him. The crowd cheered, and his heart swelled.
I have a son, he thought, and he could hardly believe it. ’Twas a dream come true.
Robert clapped him on the back. “Congratulations,” he shouted above the clamor.
“Thank you,” William yelled back. He bolted out of the hall and flew up the stairs.
Meg beamed at him as he entered the bedchamber. Then she stepped aside so he could see his family. Propped up by pillows, Emma sat up in bed. She looked tired but radiant all the same. She smiled at the small bundle in her arms, then at him.
“William,” she said. “Come and meet your son.”
He hurried forward and captured her lips in a brief, tender kiss. Then he peered at the tiny scrap of magic swathed in linen. “He’s incredible.”
“He’s asleep,” Emma replied.
Meg approached the bed. “And he’s perfect in every way,” she said.
William puffed out his chest. “Of course he is. He’s my son.”
“Then I trust he has your modesty,” Emma teased.
“Careful,” he said with a grin. “You’ll wake him with your slurs.”
“I wouldn’t mind. I’m eager to see his eyes again.”
“I’m eager to see how he rides a horse.”
Emma giggled. “You’ll have to wait a few years for that.”
He nodded. “Perhaps you’re right. Until then, he can ride on my shoulders. And when he’s a bit older, my back.”
Meg laughed. “So much for the dread reputation of William the Storm.”
He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Oh, I don’t know. He still exists.”
Emma’s violet eyes shimmered. “But now he’s my storm,” she said with a smile.
William’s heart was full, complete. He lifted Emma’s hand and kissed it with all of the joy that sang inside him. “And so shall I be,” he said, “forever.”
A word about the author…
Judith Sterling is a pseudonym for Judith Marshall, whose nonfiction books My Conversations with Angels and Past Lives, Present Stories have been translated into multiple languages. She has an MA in linguistics and a BA in history, with a minor in British Studies. Born in that sauna called Florida, she craved cooler climes, and once the travel bug bit, she lived in England, Scotland, Sweden, Wisconsin, Virginia, and on the island of Nantucket. She currently lives in Salem, Massachusetts, with her husband and their identical twin sons.
http://judithmarshallauthor.com
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