WolfeShield, page 15
He’d taken to it easily.
The last two months, on the third Saturday of the month, Ronan had listened to cases and dispensed justice. He had a fair sense of justice thanks to his father and grandfathers and wasn’t too heavy-handed when dispensing penalties. A man who stole milk from an old woman’s goat to make cheese was sentenced to providing the old woman with cheese for an entire month. A farmer who took a fancy to another farmer’s wandering dog was forced to give the owner two piglets in compensation as well as returning the dog.
In truth, Ronan was born to dispense justice because of his even temper and ability to see the situation from both sides. More than that, he enjoyed it. He was sliding into Dyce’s role around Ravenscar quite easily, telling everyone that he was simply continuing the dead man’s duties for a sense of security and continuity for not only the man’s wife but for his vassals as well. He was simply being a good friend.
But that wasn’t entirely the truth.
Hence the reason why he was lying in wait in the stairwell.
Just as he knew the maids’ routine, he also knew Isabeth’s. He knew every move she made. He knew she was down in the kitchens with Odo and the cook, supervising as they made enormous cauldrons of pea soup with carrots and onions. The previous winter had been mild so there were now apricots and cherries, and she had also been assisting in the making of stewed fruits and preserves. The fruits would be stripped of their skins and boiled with honey and spices, creating a delicious concoction that Ronan had most happily been spreading on his bread. Isabeth had been very clever with how they preserved the food for storage.
But, then again, Isabeth was clever in general.
That was something Ronan had come to see over the past couple of months. She was clever and bright, witty and charming, all things wonderful that had completely destroyed his restraint. That oddly socially awkward woman didn’t seem to exist anymore. He remembered the days when he first arrived at Ravenscar and the mere sight of Isabeth made something tug in his chest. That tug had turned into a full-blown yank, something that exposed his heart and soul in a way he never thought possible.
And all of it exposed to Isabeth.
But it wasn’t one-sided. Whatever he was feeling for her was catching because she felt it, too. When she realized it, she spent two weeks avoiding him and sending him missives through Gerta asking him to leave, but he didn’t leave. He remained, which probably wasn’t the smartest thing to do, but he felt more attraction to her than he’d ever felt for a woman in his life, something too strong to ignore. Truth be told, he felt like a giddy squire with his first love because it was his first love.
He felt as if he were walking on clouds, every minute of every day.
As he sat in the window seat of the stairwell, looking from the tiny lancet window and seeing the sea beyond, he had to smile to himself. Here he was, a man grown and mature, and experiencing love for the first time in his life. Unfortunately, it wasn’t with his wife, but he’d quickly gotten over feeling guilty about that. He’d never before broken his marriage vows to Marian even though she had broken them more times than he could count, but this… this was different.
This was love.
He heard footsteps.
Knowing it was Isabeth, he sank back against the seat, knowing she wouldn’t be able to see him from the direction she was coming. In fact, she walked right past him. As fast as lightning, he reached out and grabbed her from behind.
“I have been waiting here for an hour,” he purred into her ear as he pulled her onto his lap. “Hours seem like years when you are not in my arms, Esa.”
Esa.
He’d been calling her that for the past couple of weeks… Eee-sa… drawing it out in a dulcet tones, seducing her with her own name and watching her expression as he broke down her resistance. But he couldn’t see her face as she sat on his lap, weakly trying to pull away. Still, he knew his whispered words were having an effect on her.
The woman turned to putty whether or not she wanted to.
“Roe,” she whispered, her hands on his arms as he embraced her tightly, nuzzling her neck. “Please… not now…”
He ignored her, suckling on her earlobe as he ran his hands over her swollen belly, now much more visible as she approached her fifth month of pregnancy. But that belly was an aphrodisiac to him, a symbol of her womanly fertility that drove him mad with desire. Suckling on her earlobe, on her neck, had the desired effect as she stopped resisting, collapsing against him as his hands began to lift her skirts. When they were high enough, he snaked a hand underneath them, seeking the hidden jewel between her legs.
“Roe,” she gasped and squirmed. “Do not… oh, God…”
His big fingers found the fluff of curls and he began to probe her, pulling one leg over his thigh so he had unencumbered access. One enormous arm moved up to clutch her around the chest, his hand finding a full breast, while the other did naughty things between her legs. It was enough to bring her to a climax almost immediately and when she began to gasp with pleasure, he turned her enough so that his mouth could claim hers. He kissed her deeply, feeling her honeyed walls contract around the fingers he had thrust into her.
She’d had her pleasure and now he wanted his.
Ronan had never wanted a woman so badly in his life. He’d bedded Isabeth for the first time a week ago and now, it was every day, sometimes two or three times a day. At night, he’d sneak into her chamber and take her once or twice before retreating back to the tiny knights’ quarters in the bailey. So far, no one had gotten wise to it except for Christian, who was on to him. But Christian was so thrilled that Ronan had finally found happiness that he didn’t say a word about it. As far as he was concerned, Ronan could do whatever he pleased with the de Brito widow.
It was about time the man found some joy.
Removing his fingers and pulling her skirt down, Ronan picked her up and carried her the rest of the way up the stairs and on into her chamber. Kicking the door shut with his boot, he bolted it before carrying her over to the bed. Usually, Isabeth protested his lust, trying to tell him why their actions were so terrible. Trying to reason with him when the truth was that neither one of them could control their passion towards one another. Even now, he turned her onto her side and slid the surcoat off her body, tossing it and her shift onto the ground. Quickly disrobing himself, as he was becoming quite adept at moving swiftly, he slid in behind her on the bed, wrapping his big arms around her.
Isabeth surrendered to the inevitable, eyes closed as his mouth moved to the tender nape of her neck, kissing her softly as his big arms hugged her tightly. It wasn’t long before his hands moved to her belly again, feeling the gentle rise of it against his flesh. He rubbed his hands over her stomach as his lips feasted on her neck.
Ronan was already so consumed by the woman that he could hardly think straight and he struggled not to let his excitement veer out of control. Even with his considerable power, he was extremely gentle with her.
He had been from the start.
“You are so beautiful,” he breathed, his mouth on her shoulder.
“Roe,” she whispered with her last shreds of common sense. “We shouldn’t…”
His touch grew bolder, cutting off her last murmurs of protest, which she really didn’t mean, anyway. It was the propriety in her speaking, the moral high ground because of Ronan’s marriage, but that moral high ground had been sacrificed long ago to their true and growing feelings. He lifted her left leg, enough so that he had unfettered access to the region between her legs again. As he slanted his lips over hers, hungrily, he gently inserted a finger into her warm, wet folds.
Isabeth sighed with delight as his fingers stroked in and out of her a few times, mimicking the lovemaking they would soon be doing, and she gradually began to respond to him. He inserted two fingers into her, and then three, listening to her gasp softly. She was hot and slick and he knew that her body was ready to accept his.
The moment they’d both been waiting for.
Ronan wedged himself against her, his enormous arousal pushing at her buttocks. As strange as it sounded since he was bedding the man’s widow, he’d been very careful of Dyce’s son from the start, so he’d almost always taken her from behind so he wouldn’t put any pressure on the babe. He knew how much the child meant to both of them. As Isabeth lay on her side, her arm upstretched around his neck, Ronan entered her from behind, his mouth to her neck as a hand moved to her breasts.
Isabeth groaned softly as he slid into her, his massive member filling her. With his mouth to her neck and his hand on her belly, he gently thrust again, sliding into her tight walls until he was completely seated. Isabeth closed her eyes and surrendered to him, as she had from the start, feeling things she had never felt before that were fed by the emotions she had developed for Ronan. Something that had come upon her so quietly, but so completely, that she still couldn’t believe any of this was real.
She still couldn’t believe she was in love with the man.
Ronan was fed by lust and desire as he thrust into her, a big arm holding her against him while the other roamed between her breasts and belly. As their passion grew and his thrusts increased, he moved to hold her left leg up by the knee, allowing him more freedom to wedge his big body between her legs from the rear.
Usually, he tried to make these moments last, but it was to no avail. All of the emotions he never felt for Marian, or any other woman, had come fast and hard for Isabeth and there was no restraining anything he felt for her. Something he’d tried to deny, but something that would not be denied. The love he felt for her superseded marriage, any alliance, de Wolfe and de Grey, becoming something that consumed his entire being and he didn’t care one bit. In the prime of his life, he finally knew what it meant to love and be loved, nestled in this heavenly world of Ravenscar where he could pretend it was just the two of them and their happy life together.
God, he wanted it so badly that sometimes it brought tears to his eyes.
Isabeth’s pants of pleasure brought him back to the world at hand and his fingers moved to the dark curls between her legs that were drenched with moisture from their bodies. He stroked her woman’s center, feeling the hard little nub of pleasure buried deep within her slick folds. As he touched her, Isabeth suddenly stiffened and he could feel her throbbing walls around his arousal, pulling at him, demanding his seed. Another few thrusts and he answered her, spilling deep into her body, feeling wave after wave of pleasure wash over him.
There it was… that moment he lived for.
Even after he was spent, he continued to thrust into her, gently, feeling his arousal die but not wanting to relinquish this joy, not even for a moment. But he eventually slowed to a halt, his big arms pulling her close as he kissed her neck, her shoulders.
“I love you,” he whispered. “Until the end of all things, I will love only you.”
In his arms, he could feel her sigh faintly. “Please do not say such things.”
“Why not?”
She grunted softly. “We have been through this, Roe.”
“Through what?” he said, a hint of defiance in his tone. “Through the ridiculousness that is my life? Esa, you know how things are. Must I repeat it? Must I repeat that I have never loved Marian and that I was forced into a marriage with her and that she has given birth to three children who are not of my loins?”
She began shushing him quietly even before he finished speaking. “Hush,” she said, reaching back and putting her hand on the side of his head to quiet him. “Nay, we do not have to go through all of that again. I know the situation. I know how horrible Marian is. I know what a wonderful man you are and how much I love you, but it does not change things. You and I can never marry. We cannot be together forever so you must not… you must not say such things.”
“Why not?” he demanded, sitting up as the mood was broken. He climbed off the bed, but not before pulling a coverlet over her to preserve her modesty. “You are all I have ever wanted in life, Isabeth. Do not tell me that I cannot have you forever. I will not survive if I cannot.”
Clutching the coverlet to her chest, Isabeth sat up and watched him as he picked his breeches up off the floor and began to put them on.
“I am not entirely sure I would survive being separated from you, either,” she said, trying desperately to be pragmatic in a world where Ronan refused to see reason. “But I have told you from the beginning that we must be reasonable. You are married and I… I am a widow.”
He had his breeches up around his waist by this point, cinching up the ties. “You told me that you loved me.”
“I do, but…”
“That is all that matters.”
He was resolute in that. Resolute that he’d finally found love, as had she, and that was the only thing of consequence in their world. He was so blind to all else that it made conversations like this very difficult. Or, perhaps he wasn’t blind as much as he was resistant. He didn’t want to face the realities of what they were up against. Truth be told, neither did she. But she also couldn’t live in a world of fantasy like he was.
“Then what happens when my cousin demands that I leave Ravenscar?” she said quietly. “Will I go north with you to the de Wolfe properties? Will I find a position in the foundling home and you will come to me when you can?”
He looked up from his breeches. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that you may love me, but you can never marry me,” she said softly. “Marian has the title, the marriage, the prestige and respectability that a marriage brings. I will never be respectable because I am only worthy enough to be your mistress.”
His gaze lingered on her for a moment before he returned his attention to the ties. “You are worth more than any woman in England,” he said. “You are the most important woman in the world to me. You are the only woman to me. But you bring up a good point – will I leave you at the foundling home and come to you when I can, like a convenience? Nay, I will not. I have been thinking about this and I will send you to a property I own, one my father gave to me. You will live there and I will live with you.”
Her brow furrowed in confusion. “How will you do that?” she said. “Where is this place?”
“It is called Halliden Castle,” he said. “It is a very small outpost of Roxburgh and when my father took the garrison at Roxburgh, he gave me Halliden. It is supposed to be my home but Marian cannot stand the place because it is small. She would much rather be in the grandeur of Roxburgh Castle and not the less ornate halls of Halliden. I like the place, however. It is quiet and beautiful and it suits me. I will send you there and we shall raise Maxwell together.”
Isabeth didn’t say anything right away. She pondered his intentions before averting her gaze, clearly deep in thought. When the silence grew oppressive, Ronan looked at her.
“What are you thinking?” he asked quietly. “Does this not appeal to you? We could be together, Esa. Shouldn’t that be the most important thing?”
She didn’t answer right away. Dropping the coverlet, she stood up and went to find her shift, affording Ronan an unobstructed view of her delicious, nude body. Her breasts were full, her belly rounded, and everything else was beautifully proportioned. It was enough to turn his thoughts dirty again but that view was cut off when she found her shift and pulled it over her head.
“You do not seem to have the same dilemma as I do,” she said. “It has been like this from the start.”
“What dilemma?”
She picked her surcoat off the ground. “Simple,” she said. “I am a woman. If I allow myself to become your mistress, then my reputation is ruined. Do you think that will make it easy for Maxwell when it comes time to foster or even marry?”
“But I…”
She stopped him with a raised hand. “Please let me finish,” she said. “I realize you are a de Wolfe. Your father is the great Blayth de Wolfe and your grandfather is the legendary William de Wolfe. The House of de Wolfe is one of the most distinguished houses in all of England, if not the world. You can get by with having a mistress and it will do nothing to harm your reputation. In fact, men will applaud you for it. But me… I will be ruined. Soiled. Reduced to being a man’s whore. Do you think that is all I am worthy of?”
He sighed heavily. “Of course not,” he said. “You are the most worthy woman I know. You deserve to be treated like a queen and that is what I intend to do. You make this sound as if the situation is cheap and opportunistic. It isn’t, Esa. I love you and you love me. Our relationship is built on love.”
Isabeth pulled her surcoat over her head and he went to help her, straightening out the back of it, helping her with the ties, all very sweet gestures. He was quite attentive to her, as Dyce was. He’d realized long ago why Dyce had been so solicitous with her, so hovering. She was a sweet, pretty, delicate creature.
He’d turned into a hoverer, too.
“I do love you, Roe,” she said softly. “What’s not to love? And I know I can never be as happy anywhere else, or with anyone else, as I am with you. Were it only me to be concerned over, it would not matter, but there is Maxwell to consider. Were I to become your mistress, he would have to live with that shame his entire life. It will denigrate him in the eyes of others. I do not think that would make Dyce happy.”
Ronan drew in a long, heavy breath, one that was pregnant with thought and contemplation. He turned away from her, going in search of his tunic, which was lying across a table where it had been tossed in the heat of passion. Slowly, he picked it up.
