“I have never known a man to turn away a woman.”
“You give this advice to all the men?”
“Yes.”
“What advice would you give your sister?” she asked.
He gave a short chuckle that surprised Ryen. “I advised her to stay home five years ago,” he said, and turned. “I will bring him to you.”
“No, wait!” Ryen called, but he was gone. She whirled away from the tent opening and paced nervously. He won’t bring Bryce. How dare he tease me? I should take Bryce as my lover just to spite him.
She continued to pace, waiting. Her stomach knotted, her knees shook. Ryen hugged her elbows, trying to shield herself from the cold. When the long minutes crawled past and Andrew didn’t return, she moved to her sleeping mat and sat down. Andre wasn’t going to bring him, she realized with an odd twinge of disappointment. He would not have his sister violated. But to a warrior it was not violation. It would be used to ease a need.
Why was it so much easier for a man?
Ryen waited a few minutes more, and when no one approached her tent, she lay down. An inexplicable feeling of emptiness filled her as she closed her eyes.
He was not coming.
Chapter Seven
The sound of light footsteps woke Ryen. She sat up to face the intruder and knew instantly who the shadow in the dark was. She leaned over a small table to light a candle, then turned her gaze again to him. The flickering candlelight ran over his muscles like liquid gold. He was so powerful, so roguishly handsome. Ropes bound his wrists together tightly behind his back, but he barely seemed to notice as his dark eyes locked on her.
“You requested my presence?” Bryce asked coldly.
Ryen swung her legs out from under the covers and stood. She knew it was wrong to have these feelings for him. Still, she could not help taking a step toward him.
His gaze boldly traveled the length of her body. The light from the candle made her nightdress virtually transparent, allowing him to absorb every curve. She watched as his breath became shallow.
She took another step, and another, until she was directly in front of him. How she wanted him to touch her! The ghost of a smile crossed her lips at the irony. She had finally found a man she wanted to touch her – and he was the enemy. As she looked up into his black eyes, she saw his frown of confusion and irritation. She wanted to comfort and reassure him. Ryen reached out a hand, meaning to stroke the wound on his cheek, but Bryce flinched at her touch and drew back. “I won’t hurt you,” she whispered, realizing the absurdity of the statement as soon as it had left her lips. The scar that would form on his cheek would be permanent proof of her harm. She withdrew her hand and took a step away from him.
“What do you want from me? Why did you summon me here?” Bryce inquired.
She looked away from him and stepped back toward her sleeping mat. “You are a handsome man.”
He eyed her suspiciously. “Am I here to discuss my looks?”
Perhaps it was ridiculous, Ryen thought. Men never seemed to have a problem with taking what, or who, they wanted. Maybe I’m making this more complicated than it should be. She raised herself up, straightening her shoulders. She boldly took a step toward him. “In a way, yes,” she answered. She watched the frown etch its way into his brow. I am not afraid, she told herself, and approached until she stood before him. He is my prisoner.
“I will tell you nothing,” he snarled. “Even if you give me more of your poison.”
“I do not want to know anything else.” Ryen raised a hand to his arm, marveling at the strength and elegance of his muscles. He clenched his fist and the muscles bunched as she touched them. The explosive power that moved beneath her fingertips amazed her. With her heart pounding, Ryen traced her fingers across his upper arm to his chest.
“What do you think you’re doing, woman?” he demanded.
“Your presence has been a…distraction to me. I sought to cure it.” She looked up and saw those dark eyes hovering over her. His black hair washed over his mighty shoulders. She raised a hand to touch his thick mane.
Bryce pulled back instantly, gazing at her fingertips out of the corner of his eye, searching for the white powder.
Ryen wrapped her fingers tightly in his hair, leaning into his strong chest. “Do you fear my touch?” she wondered in a soft whisper.
Bryce’s black eyes scanned her face, but Ryen could not read his thoughts. His dark look lowered over her neck and down to where her chest pressed tightly against his. She shuddered slightly as if he had touched her there.
Then his eyes rose back to hers. “Loathe is more like it.”
She could felt the lie through his leggings and smiled. “Your body betrays you.”
“Step away from me, witch,” he snarled.
Ryen never took commands well. Especially from one of her prisoners. She stood on the tips of her toes and pressed her lips against his. At first, they were unmovable, like a rock wall, but suddenly they parted and the hot passion he was trying to hide was released. His tongue slipped into her mouth, warring with hers. His face pressed hard and demanding against her own.
Then, with a groan, he ripped his head to the side, away from her lips.
“Do not forget who is the prisoner here,” she purred. She couldn’t resist the urge to run her hands over his broad chest. He was like a sculpture carved from pure marble. There was not a flaw. As if molding the marble with her own hands, they followed the curve of his torso down to his leggings. She ran her hands along his clothing. Is the part covered by his leggings as perfect as the part that is bare? she wondered. She wanted to see the rest of him, to touch him and marvel at the exquisite details of his rippling muscles. But she couldn’t. She drew her hands away.
“Afraid?” he taunted.
The dare was enough. Her hands moved to his leggings and untied them. Suddenly she stopped, stepping away from him. She was trembling all over and she knew it wasn’t from anger. She raised her eyes to his, searching for something – guidance, anything!
Bryce took a step and he was touching her again. His black eyes burned into hers. “Untie me,” he whispered.
As if under his spell, she obeyed, pressing herself against his chest, reaching around him to undo the ropes that bound his hands. They fell away, landing in a pile on the floor.
Ryen saw the change instantly. His shoulders straightened in confidence; his eyes sparkled with lust. One hand snaked to the back of her neck, the other to her waist, and he pulled her close to him, slamming her hips into his. Ryen’s breath caught in her throat as his hot breath feathered her cheek. “Is this the cure you were looking for?” he asked in a deep voice.
Ryen felt herself respond to the feel of his hard, muscular body pressed so intimately against her own. Yet the pure animal rage she saw in his eyes paralyzed her. She swore she could see fire in them as his gaze lowered to her chest. Ryen drew in a sharp breath and her breasts pressed against the fabric. She lifted a shaking hand to place it on his broad, naked chest. A fire seared through her lower stomach as he pressed his hips closer to hers, and she trembled. She lifted her head to his, parting her full lips, inviting a deep, languorous kiss.
Bryce stared at her moist lips and moved toward them, then stopped sharply and pulled back, his lips curling into a feral snarl. He placed his hand against her throat again and Ryen felt it tremble. His thumb caressed the side of her neck. She saw his hard look soften, saw a warmth so heartfelt wash over his face that she wanted to throw her arms around his neck. Then, without warning, his jaw clenched and the angry look returned to his eyes. He grabbed the neckline of her nightdress and yanked down sharply. The fabric split easily with a loud rip and he tore it away from her, tossing it to the floor.
Shocked, Ryen tried to pull away from him, but his grip was firm and unrelenting. She saw some kind of satisfaction on his face and knew that she had mistaken the vengeance in his eyes for desire.
Bryce’s gaze swept her body and he cupped one of he
r breasts in his hand and squeezed it. The flesh was firm, the nipple erect and rigid. He pulled her closer to him, his other hand still at the small of her back, and put his lips to her breast. He sucked on her flesh with an urgent hunger, pulling on her nipple with his teeth.
Ryen arched toward him, sharp stabs of pleasure shooting down to her stomach, adding fuel to the already blazing fire. She felt sensations that she had never felt before, and she wanted to feel more. She wanted him to stop the aching she felt. She knew that he would gently whisper her name before the night was through. She wrapped her arms around his head, pulling him closer, burying her face into his dark hair. “Bryce,” she murmured.
Bryce let his one hand roam lower, cupping the cheek of her buttocks. She groaned and he dipped his fingers even lower and touched the folds of her womanhood. Gently, he bit down on her nipple as he thrust a finger inside her.
Spirals of ecstasy swirled through her mind and she moved her hips to the temp of his hand. Never had she dreamt of such pleasure!
Bryce grabbed her hair and pulled her head back, exposing her bare neck. How easy it would be to sink his teeth into the white, creamy flesh and shake her until she was still. He pressed his lips firmly onto her skin, nibbling at her throat.
Ryen was lost in a world that focused on Bryce. His fingers expertly sent waves of ecstasy crashing through her.
He eased her down to the carpeted ground and knelt between her legs.
Ryen couldn’t help thinking of him as a stalking wolf as he crawled over her. She felt something brush her thigh and looked down. The mere size of his manhood shocked her – surely he would split her in two! – and suddenly she felt her nerve failing her. She tried to back away from his advance.
“This will cure any of your ills, Angel,” Bryce said bitterly. He put his full weight on top of her, pinning her down. His manhood throbbed with an aching lust. He reached down to his groin and gripped his member, guiding it toward her.
Ryen squeezed her eyes shut, preparing for the worst, and steeled her body against the blow.
“Open your eyes,” he said.
They remained closed.
“Look at me!”
Hesitant, Ryen opened her eyes and saw only the infinite blackness of his loathing.
He thrust his stiffness into her.
Only years of self-discipline prevented her from crying out in agony. She gripped his shoulders tightly, hoping that this was all there was to ‘taking’ someone, hoping he would not move.
Bryce began to thrust, his body rocking back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.
She held her body rigid against his assault. With each impalement, more of her fantasy crumbled to dust. The pain brought tears to her eyes, but she would never shed them. She put the knuckles of one hand into her mouth to keep from crying out. The other hand pushed weakly against his chest. It could not be like this.
Ryen felt his body stiffen and heard him groan. Finally, he lay still on top of her. She felt relief course through her body and relaxed for the first time since he’d entered her. She stroked his shoulder gently, kindly, wanting the same from him. It had been so brutal! If only he would whisper a tender word…if only he would say her name, then she could overlook his roughness.
He shrugged off her hand and put his face close to her ear.
She knew he would say it now, knew he would whisper her name softly to her.
“Slut,” he said scornfully.
The last remnant of her fantasy shattered into nothingness and she was left barren, shocked, and hurt. She turned to face him, totally vulnerable for the first time in her life. She looked into his eyes hoping to find some sympathy or explanation.
Disdain filled his expression as he saw her expectations so clearly written on her face. He pushed himself up, tying his hose as he rose.
She grabbed the fur from the bed to cover her nakedness and watched him leave. Quickly, so she would not see any more of him, she blew out the candle to hide alone in the darkness.
Chapter Eight
“Damn,” Bryce muttered as he shoved aside the tent flap with all the anger coursing through his body. I could not kill her! he thought. Even as she used me to service her lust like a common dog, I could not bring myself to strangle the life from her body!
The aroma of freshly roasting venison wafted to him on a soft breeze that stirred his hair. He lifted his head slightly and suddenly realized that he was outside – with no guards.
Escape!
The thought barely entered his mind when hands slammed down upon his shoulders and arms like heavy weights, dragging him to his knees. He struggled, but his arms were wrenched in front of him and chains slapped upon his wrists and ankles before he could even take another breath.
He silently cursed. The harlot had distracted him again, this time costing him an escape. He was pulled to his feet and shoved forward. Four men led him back to his tent, where he was chained to a stake and left alone.
Sitting on the hard ground, buried deep in the night’s blackness, Bryce closed his eyes and struggled to will his anger into submission. There would be a time for revenge, but this would not be it. He exhaled a slow, controlled breath as the thought of what had transpired a few minutes before came churning back to the surface of his mind. He had been nothing but a means with which to service the wench’s desire. Fierce anger burned in his chest, tightening his lips. God’s blood! he thought. How could she be so cold? He could have planted his seed within her! Did she not care about that?
Perhaps she does not know.
The thought was like a blow, stunning him. No, he thought. It could not be. She was a harlot; the seductive way she stood before the candle in that sheer nightdress was engraved upon his memory, scorched there like a brand. It could not be that she was inexperienced in such things. But as he thought this, his mind replayed the sequence of events that led to their lovemaking. She had seemed tentative about touching him. She had been shy about her nakedness. Bur perhaps this was just a game she played. The way she kissed him, the groans and arches of her soft body, the careless abandon, argued she was experienced at lovemaking.
Still, he had seen fear cross her face at the moment of their coupling. The memory of her body pressed against his caused a stirring in his loins. I could not kill her, he thought again. Not with those brilliant blue eyes staring into my very soul, wearing the look of hot need so naturally. Perhaps I should not have been so rough…
She is French! She used me and I am feeling sorry for her. His lip curled in a grimace and he shifted his position. Slowly, his brow furrowed as he thought of the moment he had taken her. His brows met as he concentrated – had there been a barrier?
He put his hand inside his leggings, feeling the wetness there, the only physical evidence that they had actually been together. He removed his hand and raised it up before his face, studying the stain on his fingertips. His scowl deepened as he wondered what kind of wanton devil his captor was. Why would she have done such a thing? He could think of nothing of value she could have gained from their encounter. Unless this was not the proof he was looking for, but her monthly flux.
The doubt festered in his mind like an annoying gnat. He replayed their encounter in is mind again, as he knew he would do a hundred times in the future. He had to know. Had she been a virgin?
The next day went slowly, and no matter how hard he tried, there simply was not enough to occupy his mind. Images and sensations that he wanted to forget kept returning. The rebellious chestnut curls that hid the soft, delicate curve of her neck. Her moist, parted lips that hinted of honey, a sweetness that he now wished he had tasted further.
Bryce pounded the ground for the fifth time, deepening the indentation that was already there.
He had to know if she was a virgin. If she was…he had acted like a rutting dog. Had he known, he would never have taken her. No, he thought fiercely. She must be accustomed to taking men. She had many prisoners. Surely, he was not her first. He could not be her f
irst! Why would she have picked her enemy to take her maidenhead?
He had many women, that went without saying. Some married to great lords, some common harlots. But never had he taken a virgin. They were trouble. He had learned that from a friend a long time ago. Years ago, when he had been a squire about to be knighted, his friend Charles Burke had slept with a farmer’s virgin daughter. Later, she accused Burke of raping her. Burke had to pay a rich sum…even though the wench had lied.
Bryce avoided virgins like the plague. Even at Dark Castle, where it would have been customary for the lord to sleep with peasant women on their wedding night, he had never exercised his right.
If a married noblewoman stopped at Dark Castle and was interested, he would take her without guilt. Many of the noblewomen wore a night with the Prince of Darkness like a valued jewel for their peers to envy. He gave them what they wanted and then dismissed them from his thoughts.
But he could not do this with his enemy. She had seduced him. She had invited him to her quarters, not knowing whether he would strangle her or not. She stood before him like some daring temptress. She could not be a virgin!
No decent woman had ever matched his lovemaking. Not even Angel. You did not give her the chance, a voice inside him chastised. He pushed the thought aside. They all lay beneath him, pretending to be fearful of the great Prince of Darkness, acting the defenseless maiden. He despised them when he was finished, as he despised his French captor.
Whores sometimes matched his wild lovemaking. He kept two of the best at his castle near Sussex. There was Elli, the blond. He had made her cut her hair short to remind him of the women of the Wolf Pack. She loved to please him. And she did. She also pleased most of his men. But it did not bother him.
And there was Lotte. He loved to wrap his hands in her long black hair and yank on it when he took her from behind like a dog. She had big breasts, the biggest he had ever seen. But she had to eat like a cow to keep them that way. Bryce knew that she never slept with the other men. She thought of herself as his, and when he took Elli, it enraged her. He lost track of how many fights he had witnessed between the two whores.
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