The Warrior

“I love your pleasure sounds,” Ranulf whispered against her moist, heated flesh. “I love the taste of you. I loveyou, Ariane . . . my own.”

She could not answer. The hurting, painful need was too fierce to be borne. Hot and feverish beneath him, nearly desperate, Ariane reached for him, her trembling fingers seeking . . . closing over his arousal . . . cherishing the tantalizing feel of his throbbing

male power . . . delighting in the feel of him pulsing and burning in her hand.

Ranulf went rigid at her touch, suddenly unwilling to continue the game of torment any longer,unable to continue. His breath growing short, his control tenuous and ragged, he stretched his long frame over her and sank slowly between her parted thighs.

Ariane gasped with pleasure as she felt the enormous heated strength of him ease within her, deep within. His hard flesh filled her, possessive and commanding. Through a sensual daze, she looked up at him.

The planes of his harsh, magnificent face were shadowed, but his hot, intense gaze was unreserved, trusting. Ariane smiled tremulously at her golden-eyed, glorious lover, and wrapped her legs tightly about his hips. Desperate to draw him closer, she let her fingers move blindly over his scarred, muscular back, murmuring soft words of love and need.

Beneath her caresses, Ranulf trembled with a leashed desire that shook his powerful frame. And when Ariane whispered, “Ranulf . . . my love,” against his lips, a new, more violent flame seared his heart. He groaned in tender anguish as he increased the rhythm of his taking, his thrusts fiery and urgent, till she was writhing and shuddering beneath him.

She gave a sob of joy as she strained against him in frenzied abandon. And then the relentless climax began. He felt her shattering release burgeon an instant before his own body exploded savagely into hers. In a frenzy of need, Ranulf cried out her name, surging with the passionate strength coiled within him, forced to surrender as she was surrendering.

Long, long moments later, he came to his dazed senses to find his sweat-dampened body still shaking in the aftermath. Laboring for breath, he tried to ease his weight from Ariane, but she murmured in protest and tightened her arms around him. For another moment, he remained where he was, listening as his thudding heart slowed to something resembling normalcy.

“Ariane, my love,” he whispered into her hair. “I will crush you.”

“Mmmmm . . .” Her mouth curved in a dreamy smile. “Am I truly your love?”

“Aye, always.”

“Tell me again.”

“My love . . . my beloved . . . my heart . . .”

In reply, she raised her lips to his for a kiss that spoke eloquently of her own love.

The exertion expended her remaining energy, however, draining Ariane of strength. When finally her grip loosened and she allowed him to move, Ranulf shifted his weight onto his side and tenderly gathered her limp, unresisting body in his arms. The wild longing he felt for her was still urgent and raw, yet he reminded himself there was time enough to appease his desperate need. They had the entire night ahead of them, an entire lifetime of wedded bliss.

Bliss.With a grateful humbleness he had never before felt, Ranulf nuzzled his face into her rose-scented hair. The passion he shared with Ariane was far more fulfilling than mere coupling, the desire more than bodies straining together or the slaking of lust. It was pure rapture. Before Ariane he had not known what rapture was. Never had he experienced this profound, incredible feeling of completeness, of oneness.

Wife,he thought dazedly.My ladylove.

He held and cherished her, unwilling to relinquish her. Tenderness ran through him, hot, honeyed, filling him with wonder and something akin to awe. He felt strong, unassailable, kindled with new purpose. With her at his side, life would hold a richness and fulfillment he had never before known. No longer would he battle alone. The bleak loneliness had been vanquished. His bitter hatred, his need for vengeance, washed away, his soul purified.

Ranulf’s gaze drifted lower, over their entwined legs. This was their marriage bed. He hoped Ariane would conceive here. He wanted a son—or a daughter—any child of her loins. And yet if she somehow proved barren, he would be disappointed but not distraught. Ariane meant more to him than just a breeder of sons. He wanted her,needed her, with a desperation he had never felt.

Somewhere in the darkest recesses of his soul, he had always known it. She was made for him, his heartmate. She belonged to him, just as he belonged to her.

Ranulf shut his eyes, frightened by the depth of the love he felt for this woman. He would lay down his life for her without regret or scruple. He would give up all his worldly possessions—in truth, whatever she asked of him. And in return, she would give him her heart. She would teach him to love, would teach him gentleness.

Already she had influenced him profoundly. Ranulf’s mouth curved ruefully as he realized how easily even a powerful warrior could be brought to his knees by love. He had surrendered in love to her. And in attempting to win Ariane’s loyalty, he had given his own. In truth, he was grateful for the profound sense of tranquility Ariane had given him, for freeing him of his demons.

He was done with fighting, at least for the moment. This time of peace in England would not last, he knew. And he would always owe his overlord, Henry, the requisite forty days knight’s service, as well as innumerable other fees for the fiefs he had been given. But never again would he purposely go seeking battles to win, victories to achieve, challenges to overcome. He would be satisfied to build a dynasty here, in this new country, with Ariane as his lady, his wife, his love.

His arms tightened around her. She was so dear to him. And for the first time in his life he could say he knew what happiness was. Their past had been stormy and troubled, their battles tempestuous, but the hope he felt for the future was burgeoning in his breast, like a clamoring drum.

“Dear one,” he murmured as he sought her lips once more.

His kiss was filled with incredible tenderness, startling in its wonder.

Rousing herself to wakefulness, Ariane gazed up at him adoringly. His golden eyes were melting into honey, full of love, of softness. “I love you,” she whispered with heartfelt joy.

“And I you,” Ranulf replied reverently. “I never thought to feel this way.”

“What way is that, my lord?”