Montbryce Next Generation 01 - Dark Irish Knight by Anna Markland

Author:Anna Markland [Markland, Anna]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2013-02-13T08:00:00+00:00

Ronan had come to the rill to wash the blood from his hands and the grim task of tending Duquesne from his mind. Concerned when he did not find Rhoni, he had followed the watercourse to the ditch. His arousal had spiked at the sight of her, posed like a Greek statue at moonrise with her hair atop her head, one hand cupping her breast. He had willed her to rise from the water.

Now, behind him, she stood naked, shivering, drying her body. The glimpse of her breasts straining at the fabric of her ruined shift had confirmed his belief she was beautifully formed. He ached to warm her, comfort her, obliterate the memory of the horror.

“I will need your help with the lacing.”

He turned slowly. She had her back to him, the gown gaping open. Her damp hair hung to her waist like a curtain, revealing only a hint of the whiteness of her skin in the pale moonlight. He gritted his teeth and walked towards her. As he took hold of the laces, she gathered her hair up into a cascading mass on the top of her head, baring her back.

Could she feel the trembling in his hands as he fumbled with the laces? It was impossible to complete the task without his knuckles brushing against her skin. His erection strengthened with every touch. As he pulled the laces, the fabric tightened around her breasts and her waist.

“There,” he declared at last. “Done.”

She whirled to face him, a gleam in her eye. “Your breathing is laboured, Ronan. Was it such a hard task?”

He grunted, though he was glad to see the sparkle return to her eyes. “It has been a while since I laced up a woman’s gown. I’m out of practice.”

He thought with regret of Mary. The grief was still there, but the pain of it was not as intense.

Rhoni averted her eyes. Did she sense he thought of his dead wife?

He put his hand to her bruised face. “Does this hurt?”

She leaned into his hand and put her own atop it. “Oui, but your touch soothes it.”

As your touch would soothe my ache!

He bent to retrieve his cloak and furled it around her shoulders, tying it under her chin.

She smiled coyly. “My parents have a tradition.”

Rhoni’s near death experience seemed to have emboldened her. She lifted her arms and opened the cloak. She smiled suggestively. “When my father returns from a journey, be it long or short, he opens his cloak and enfolds my mother in it. Then they kiss.”

Ronan raked his fingers through his hair. His body clamoured to hold her against him. But no good would come of it. He pulled the edges of the cloak together. “Your father would have my guts for garters.”

She giggled and allowed him to escort her back to the camp.

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