Winter’s Desire Read online

  “Greater service? Is it, then, your opinion that the union between a woman and a man serves so little importance?”

  The music stopped and we stood toe to toe. In all my years of tournaments and courts I had not until now met a woman so outspoken. She was purposely challenging me, and however odd the circumstances, I found it remarkably arousing.

  “Not at all.” I lowered my voice, hoping that those around us would not hear. “The union of a man and woman is an act most sacred and cherished in all of life. What I said is that not all men are meant to marry.”

  “I see, so while you believe the union of a man and woman is a sacred act, you would agree it permissible to enjoy the benefit of the union, but forsake the commitment of marriage. For I assume, milord, a virile man such as you does not practice celibacy?”

  I blinked and wondered how in the devil we got into this conversation. Concerned that others might hear and misunderstand, I steered her gently out onto the flagstone terrace. With the music still playing too loud to speak, I guided her carefully down the stone steps that led to the castle garden. At the bottom, I turned to face her and blurted a candid warning.

  “Lady Sabeline, please forgive me, but I do not find these questions proper for one who is not your intended.” I took a deep breath and cast a glance to the summer sky awash with stars. There. I had settled my tension. I looked at her with a congenial smile.

  Her brows rose. “Then it is all well and good that we understand that my intended has his needs, and thus is purely within his rights to appease them without quarrel?”

  I sighed as I paced back and forth in front of her. She had a point perhaps, but a true lady could not afford to take the same liberties as does a man. “These accepted practices are not the same for women as they are men,” I stated as plainly as I could, praying that the conversation would go no further. Having to stand alone with her too long beneath a moonlit sky caused me unease. After all, it had been a long time since I had held a woman in my arms, tasted the pliant sweetness of a woman’s mouth.

  “Then perhaps the way it is done should be revisited, milord. For in truth, are not a woman’s needs as great as a man’s?”

  Oh, great goddess in heaven, this was far more than I was prepared for. I started past her up the steps, hoping she took well my meaning. It was far too dangerous, this conversation about unions. “Excuse me, I must get back to the banquet hall.”

  “Are we finished then, milord, because you say that it is so?”

  She turned to look up at me with a defiant stare. I was going to regret going back down those stairs to meet her face-to-face. “Despite your age—”

  “As I stated, sir, I am a grown woman.” She leveled me a look that should have served as a warning. “Old by English standards of marriage,” she added dryly.

  “It is well known that a lady is able to control her needs. It is by nature’s design that a man cannot. It has been determined that it can even affect a man’s health.”

  She looked at me with a startled expression, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “And how is your health, Sir Ranulf?”

  My gaze rested on her mouth, the same one that had tempted me from the moment we met. I realized she was teasing me. She began to laugh.

  I glanced to the top of the stairs, hoping that no one heard her laughter and questioned why she and I were out here alone. Thankfully, there was no one in sight. We were quite alone and I was no more comfortable with the wicked thoughts skating at the edge of my brain.

  “I do not know, Sir Ranulf,” she said, “which I find more amusing. The fact that men cannot control their desires or that you truly believe that a woman should.”

  I had the foolish wish that she might act upon her current need—or mine. But to risk getting caught would by certainty ruin her reputation. Still, I could not help but poke back at her with a harmless challenge of my own. “Are you saying, milady, that you have no wish to control your desires?”

  Her laughter waned as I stared at her. Just one kiss to rid the urge to show her the passion of a grown man, not one who had no idea of the prize he was being given. Somehow I found justification, shallow though it was, to appease my desire.

  I took her face in my hands and brought my mouth to her lips, intent on taking a quick taste, but one was not enough, so I took another. I was lost in the sweetness of her sigh, how she trembled when I touched her. I urgently stepped away, pushing my hands through my hair to keep from touching her again.

  She licked her lips as she met my confused gaze.

  “My apologies,” I stated. “I lost control of my emotions for a moment.”

  “Shall I no longer be a lady in your eyes, milord, if I were to admit my desire for you?” she whispered, brushing her finger over my lower lip.

  “Sabeline, I am old enough to be—”

  She rose to her toes and kissed me fully, stopping my words. Her soft hands cupped my face.

  “This cannot be.” I lowered my head, seeking every grain of nobleness in me. But my mind warred with my need to have her, to take her into the garden shadows and give her that which she claimed to want.

  “But what of my desire?” she asked as her hand slid between us, stroking the length hardening even now beneath my breeches. Her mouth teased mine. It was then that I realized this was a game to her. I caught her hands, holding them between mine.

  “You are young yet and do not fully understand the power of your desire.” I swallowed hard as I stepped away from her. “Excuse me, milady.” I headed back to the banquet.

  “Milord, when will you be old enough to understand yours?” she called after me.

  “What shall I say, Ranulf? Shall I tell her that her eyes glimmer like the mist on a morning lake?”

  I pulled myself from my memories of that night and glanced across the table at Benedict. He was taking liberty of the server’s generosity who kept his goblet full. She eased behind him and cradled his head between her breasts as she poured him more wine.

  “There you go, milord. Is there anything else that captures your interest this evening?” the buxom server asked.

  Benedict turned and grabbed the woman’s breasts in both hands as he grinned up at her. “Perhaps later, my sweet flower, after my business is concluded.” He kissed her pale exposed flesh with a resounding smack and turned his attention back to me.

  “Can we make this quick, Ranulf? I burn with need.” He drained his cup of its contents and stood.

  “Perhaps you should go with something less trite, milord?” I reminded Benedict as he scanned the room and whooped aloud as he found his mark for the night.

  “Perhaps I should go for something more robust, milord, to ease my suffering. Say what you will. Tell her I shall arrive at sunset tomorrow. Make it sound eloquent. As you always do.”

  At least he acknowledged that much.

  He grabbed the table wench around the waist and planted a fevered kiss on her mouth. She dropped her pitcher and her squeal of laughter matched Benedict’s as he hauled her over his shoulder.

  He glanced back at me. “You should find yourself a wench to warm your bed, Ranulf. It would take the chill from your bones and perhaps even improve your countenance.”

  I watched him weave through the crowd and up the stairs with the woman kicking and screaming. I dropped my quill on the blank parchment and raised my cup to my lips, drinking the last dredges of my wine.

  He might have a point. Perhaps appeasing my needs tonight would snuff the flame of desire that I have kept lit these last three years since that summer night in court. Only my pen has been able to convey the secret of my desire for Sabeline. Though she believes them to be Benedict’s thoughts, they are mine.

  And they are all I have.

  The raucous chatter and drunken behavior pushed me to look for a safe haven in the room. Someplace where I could be alone with my thoughts. I had a note to write to a very special woman. In my mind, I pictured her often, wondering how the years had changed her. I did n
ot dwell long on such thoughts as I reminded myself she was betrothed to another man. Most painful, however, was that that it was Benedict, and the image of her in his bed was too much to bear.

  A group seated near one of the two blazing fireplaces left and I gathered my things, making haste to occupy the corner. Another cup of wine later, I twirled the quill still betwixt my fingers and stared into the flames.

  From above came a scream of pleasure, precipitating a brief silence among the crowd, followed by laughter.

  “More wine? Perhaps some food, milord? If you are in need of warmth tonight—”

  I held my palm up and shook my head. “Humble thanks, but not tonight.”

  The server nodded as if understanding. “You dunna like women?”

  Surprised by her conclusion, I made clear any misconception. “No, milady, on the contrary, I love women, and you are quite beautiful. It is only that I am called to duty.”

  She glanced around the room with a puzzled look on her face.

  “And what duty is that, milord?” She frowned, for clearly she did not believe me.

  I waved my quill in the air.

  Her expression, if possible, appeared even more perplexed. “It is my solemn duty, milady, to pen a letter to a beautiful woman who is about to be wed.”

  Her face softened. “She is your sweetheart, then?”

  “No, milady, she is not,” I responded curtly, taking a healthy swallow of my wine.

  “I fear I dunna understand,” she replied.

  I raised my brow and saluted her with my cup. “Then it seems, good woman, that you are in good company. For I am perplexed as you.”

  She offered me a forced smile, and with a pitying glance, left me as I had always been—alone.

  3

  EVERY ROOM WAS ALIVE WITH THE SCENTS OF THE solstice season. Roped pine branches curled around the railings from the keep entrance to the upper chambers. Bright red-berried mistletoe festooned the fragrant greenery and brought the gaiety of the holiday to the entire castle.

  It was, as it had been for as long as I could remember, my most favorite time of year. My mother had dreamed that I would marry on the full moon of the solstice. And with the king’s blessing, allowing the ceremony here at Durwain, in a small way she would be here, if only in spirit.

  The members of my father’s court and the servants of the castle were bustling with the impending arrival of Lord Benedict and his entourage. His military prowess and social standing, fueled by my father’s praises, had already caused tongues to wag.

  “How will she keep him?” I heard two women from the village whisper once as I walked through the ward. “She knows nothing of men. Poor thing.”

  Though I wanted to correct their ignorance by showing them the box of letters sent to me by my intended these past three years, I chose to ignore their comments as best as I could. However, between those letters and Margaret’s instructions I confess I harbored a fierce ache that I could not wait for my new groom to quell.

  “Another letter, why did you not tell me?” my cousin cried as she swept into my chamber holding the paper delivered to my father quite late the night before. “Leave us,” she ordered succinctly to Nuala, my maidservant.

  I nodded, excusing Nuala, as I let my robe drop to the floor. I stepped quickly into my morning bath, grateful it was near the fire.

  “I was going to tell you this morning, cousin. There was no need to disrupt your plans last evening. I saw how you teased the guard last night.”

  I leaned back in the tub and rested my neck on the cloth-covered edge, letting the warmth ease the tension in my muscles. Torrid dreams had kept me turning all night. I had changed in many ways, in both body and desire, over these past three years and I hoped that Benedict would be pleased.

  “He is set to arrive at twilight,” I stated, trying not to let my nervousness show. Though I had not the experience of Margaret, I wanted to portray that I was old enough to be patient.

  Her skirts swirled as she sat down with a firm thump in the chair beside me. Her forehead wrinkled as she read the letter. I sank farther into the warmth of the water and waited for her to finish.

  “Can you not see that he teases you, Sabeline? He is a rogue, this one,” she stated with a decisive air.

  She sighed and glanced at me before rising to inspect my attire for the day. I had no doubt that if she found it lacking, she would say so. I watched her for a moment, then took the sponge and slid the warm water over my arms.

  “Will you allow him to deflower you before you are wed?”

  Her question I had pondered several days since I had seen her and her lover. Still, I wondered at the wisdom of it. “Would not the anticipation make our wedding night that much sweeter?” I asked.

  “Surely you jest, cousin? You expect sweet from a man who has spent the last few months on a horse in battle? A man who writes letters such as these must certainly burn with need by now. Surely you do not intend to make him suffer until your wedding night?”

  I smiled wryly, thinking of his roving eye the last time we met. “I doubt that Lord Benedict has suffered these past years, especially from chastity.”

  She shrugged as she returned to the chair at my side.

  “Give me the sponge,” she demanded. “I shall wash your back.”

  I complied and leaned forward, holding on to the sides of the tub.

  “I suppose it is true that a man of his caliber has needs he could not possibly contain. There is no telling how celibacy could adversely affect his health.”

  “Perhaps I should take advantage of his need and tease him when he arrives as he has done to me in his letters?” I smiled up at Margaret and gained her smile in return.

  She dipped the sponge in the water and brushed it up my spine. “Perhaps there is hope that my instruction has helped you realize the path to a man’s heart.” She grinned.

  “Ah, ’tis the heart then, that is our aim?” I replied. We laughed as she squeezed the wet sponge over my shoulders. Warm rivulets of water trickled over my breasts, teasing my sensitive pink nubs.

  Margaret scooped the sponge once more through the water and lifted my chin as she drew the sponge down the length of my neck. Her hand stopped, resting idly between my breasts.

  “It is true that we women are destined to woo our men, even while we lead them to think that it is they who woo us.”

  I closed my eyes to the delicious sensation of the water heating my flesh.

  “Part of a woman’s seduction is knowing what gives you pleasure, Sabeline. Men believe they are the only ones with desires. Yet women have the same desires, and it is not ill conceived that we do. It is natural as it is with men. Think of it,” she urged as she continued to slide the sponge over my skin. “Each time the warmth laps against your maidenhood, does it not send shivers over your skin?”

  Though I knew that women, too, had desires, I had not given much thought until recently as to how to please Benedict. Now I was hungry to learn all that I could to create a happy union.

  “Do not deny what gives you pleasure. Indeed, are we not made to live our lives fully?” She stroked the sponge over my breasts and her fingertip carelessly raked over one of my soft tips, causing it to pucker.

  “See, even now your body responds to touch.” She swirled the sponge in the water, weaving it languidly around my legs…between them.

  I glanced up, seeing her soft smile, her attention focused on the sponge.

  “Do you trust me, Sabeline?” she asked as she continued to glide the sponge over one knee and then the other.

  “Of course,” I replied, unsure if it was natural that I should sense arousal at her touch. My fingers gripped the edges of the tub as she slid the sponge between my thighs.

  “Men do not know what pleases a woman, Margaret?” I swallowed, trying to stay focused on the conversation. I had grave doubts, based on my short observation of Benedict with other women, that he did not have his own book on the art of seducing women.

&nbs
p; “Just close your eyes and think of Benedict,” Margaret’s voice soothed.

  “Benedict,” I repeated, leaning back and closing my eyes as instructed.

  “Pleasure, Sabeline, is like a ripe peach. You must learn to savor its sweetness, slowly and with purpose, finding the discovery of its ready ripeness as delightful as the consummation of the fruit.” Her voice became the sponge, gliding over my skin, coaxing me to relax, to explore the pleasures of my body. My knees relaxed, parting until they rested against the sides of the tub.

  “If you wish to please a man such as Benedict, then you must learn to tempt him with your body. Make him want more. What else entices a man so well?”

  Curiosity brought my gaze to hers. “How is it that you came to know so much about men?” I grinned.

  “Lie back and do not think, only feel. Then you will know what to do when it is Benedict’s hand instead of mine.”

  I sighed and settled in the tub, trying to relax.

  “Perhaps it would help if you touched your breast,” she offered.

  I brought my hand to my supple breast, gliding it over my warm, slick flesh.

  “Now tease your bud gently,” she coaxed.

  I did as she bid, taking my pert nub betwixt my thumb and forefinger and rolling it. A smoky sensation began to form between my thighs. I shifted, relaxing my legs as I allowed the warmth to invade my woman’s passage.

  “As you become more experienced in these matters, Sabeline, your body will blossom. It would behoove you to understand, however, that a man like Benedict will likely have an insatiable appetite and you will need to do all you can to keep him in your bed. Even at that, I fear that you will not be enough for him.”

  “And what if he is unable to appease me?” I sighed as the sponge stroked my maidenhood. “If he takes on a lover, then am I not also within rights to take one of my own?” Dark tendrils of desire curled in my lower stomach, creating an urgent need.

  “Do not be so naive, Sabeline,” Margaret reprimanded softly as she continued to move the sponge over my sensitive flesh. “For women, there is never a choice, it is our duty to please our husbands, so that they want for no other.”