’Twas later that eve when Luc abandoned his inquiries for the day. The hall was sliding into shadows, he and Uther and Brother Thomas were exhausted. Luc and Uther had talked to half the household while Gavin paced agitatedly behind them, but had learned precious little.
Everyone had evidently been in the hall, the kitchens, or the stables. No one had noted any omissions, but with the household being of such number and spread between three locales, ’twas difficult to ensure anyone was anywhere at any point in time.
Someone, ’twas clear, lied.
But Luc did not know who. And he was too tired to fathom a guess. A night’s sleep might set details more clearly in his mind. He bade Uther good evening, confirmed again that Brianna was secure in her chambers, and left the hall.
Luc was stepping into the darkness of the bailey when a whisper caught at his ear yet again.
Immediately, he froze and shrank back against the wall.
“My lady must never know,” came the low words.
’Twas a woman, Luc discerned, and he strained his ear. He scanned the bailey, seeking some darker silhouette in the myriad shadows of the rain. Indeed, its incessant patter made the words most difficult to hear.
“ ’Tis imperative that she never guess—”
“Shhhh,” a man’s low tones were fiendishly difficult to hear. “She will never guess the truth until ’tis too late.” The man’s fervor echoed even in the whisper. “Is this not what you desire?”
Luc straightened silently, a jolt of fear running through him. What was being plotted against Brianna? Were these the same two responsible for Connor’s death?
He thought of the two men he had heard in the stables and reasoned that if all were together ’twas two men and a woman involved in this scheme.
“Aye!” the woman affirmed, then the pair dropped their voices, frustrating Luc’s attempts to eavesdrop.
It sounded as though the whispered words came from the left, around the corner of the keep. Luc recalled that there was a bare nook between keep and wall on that side, where a rough shed covered a supply of firewood for the kitchen hearth.
The woman gasped at something her companion said. “Oh! We should not! We could not! I could not even think of …”
Luc’s heart leapt. A thousand foul possibilities of what the man might be proposing flooded his mind.
“Hush!” The man’s whisper was imperative. “You have come this far—would you not see all resolved to our own satisfaction?”
“All?” The woman gasped again, then her cry of protest was muffled.
’Twas clear the man intended to force her to his will!
“Who lurks there?” Luc leapt into the darkness. “Who is there and what do you do?”
But by the time the shed was in full view, ’twas clear no one lingered there. Luc heard the patter of running feet, but could not discern their direction. The pair had ducked between the keep and curtain wall.
He cursed and kicked the ground, knowing well enough that beyond was one of those three spots where the wall was incomplete. They could have gone to the river, made their way to the village, or crept back to the keep from the other side.
There was no way of knowing even who they had been.
Luc’s lips tightened grimly and he wished he had been quicker. Or had had a torch!
Or heard more of what they schemed. He swore softly under his breath as he turned toward the stables. There had been too many missed opportunities, to his way of thinking, and Luc could not help but fear the import of that.
’Twas late on Monday afternoon by the time Brother Thomas and Luc stole a moment away from the keep. Ismay had been buried with suitable ceremony earlier that day, Brother Thomas had prepared Connor to take Ismay’s place in the chapel. ’Twas a grey day, which seemed to suit the mood of the keep well.
They sat on the orchard wall to share a flagon of wine, Luc’s mind whirling with the testimony he had already heard this day. All remembered precious little, the events of the day overshadowing such small recollections as whom they had seen where and when.
Curse yesterday for being one of such turmoil! In normal circumstance, all would have recalled much more.
Luc could not help but wonder whether Connor’s killer had planned as much.
Luc took a draught of wine. He had just seen Brianna and assured himself that she was secure in the company of her maids. The shock that still claimed her lovely features tore at Luc’s heart, for he could well understand the difficulty of adjustment. It had been no easy task for him to accept Tyrell’s sudden demise.
She had taken more than her measure of the wine again this day and Luc thought it might do the lady good. Sleep would be the best thing for her, and amidst the circle of her handmaids, within her own chamber, Brianna would be safe.
The lady needed time and Luc was content to wait.
At this hour, the bare branches of the apple trees were stark black against the brilliantly streaked sky. The bite of winter was in the wind and Luc drew his cloak higher around his throat. But they two were the only ones outside the warmth of the keep.
None could overhear them here.
Brother Thomas took a hearty swig of the wine, both that and the wind restoring the color to his cheeks. Luc knew the monk was still shaken by the sight of his fallen friend the day before.
Brother Thomas pursed his lips now. “ ’Tis a startling thing,” he commented softly, “to see a contemporary die.” Brother Thomas took another sip of his wine and huddled lower in the folds of his own cloak. “It makes a man taste his own mortality and so much more keenly than when death takes its toll only from the aged and the infirm.”
Luc could well imagine that to be so. He sipped his own wine and waited for the monk to compose his thoughts.
Finally, Thomas cleared his throat. “I told you once that Connor had been a young man much infatuated with the allure of battle and the art of swordplay.”
“Aye, and I know that he took the cross.”
“Aye. He was gone a goodly time, for I had finished my novitiate and taken my vows long before his return. ’Twas years before I saw him again—I came for some funeral or another—by then, Connor was wed and Brianna was a tot making her way into all manner of mischief.” A smile of recollection briefly played upon the monk’s lips before he sobered. “ ’Twas then that I first saw the Rose of Tullymullagh.”
“Brianna,” Luc affirmed, surprised when the monk looked quickly to him as though he had said something amiss.
He was even more startled when the monk shook his head vigorously. “Nay, not Brianna. The true Rose of Tullymullagh.”
Luc frowned. “But I thought she was the Rose in question.”
Brother Thomas shook his head again. “Nay, nay, though later that was what Connor wanted people to believe. Nay, there was another Rose of Tullymullagh and ’tis that I fear which is at the root of this.”
“What was it?”
“Ah, well, Connor had taken trade with a gem merchant in Outremer—”
“Aye, Brianna told me of it. And he was paid for his labor in gems, which he brought home and sold to pay for this keep.”
The monk slanted a glance in Luc’s direction. “She told you much.”
“Inadvertently,” Luc admitted with a smile of his own. “ ’Twas mixed in the recounting of her parents’ love.”
“Ah! There was a rare affection between those two.” The two men took a draught of wine, as though saluting the departed pair. “That time I came, Connor was very secretive. He wanted to show me a prize, though I had to swear a pledge that I would tell naught of it before he would unveil it.”
The monk frowned at his chalice. “It seemed that the merchant had granted Connor a special gift of his esteem, a trinket he had had crafted particularly for him in the design of Connor’s own faith.”
“Brianna said that pair had treated Connor as their own son.”
“Perhaps, for ’twas a princely gift indeed.” Brother Thomas flattened his hand and traced a cross across it, from the tip of middle finger to wrist, from thumb to base of smallest finger.
“ ’Twas a crucifix, about this size, wrought of gold and infested with gems of rare size and clarity. Two massive rounds of amber made each short arm, four made the longer one. There were several amethysts tucked here and there, but the most striking gem was set dead center. ’Twas an enormous ruby, the like of which I had never seen, the size of a man’s thumb and as red as blood.”
Luc’s mouth went dry. “As red as a rose.”
“Aye.” Brother Thomas nodded. “So, Connor had named it the Rose of Tullymullagh. He intended it to be the legacy of his holding, an heirloom that would pass through the generations of his spawn. Perhaps ’twas the merchant’s thinking behind that.”
“But where is it?”
Brother Thomas shrugged. “I do not know. I saw it only the once, so long ago.” His gaze rose to meet Luc’s and that man saw the monk’s concern. “Connor told me then that ’twas secreted where none would think to look, where none would dare to suspect. He told me that the Rose was safe beneath God’s own eye.”
“The chapel,” Luc concluded, the location of Connor’s demise making markedly more sense.
“Indeed, I wonder,” the monk acknowledged. “For all these years, no one but Connor and Eva and Brianna was permitted to use that chapel. None would dare venture there uninvited, and ’twould be difficult indeed to pass through the lord’s own solar unobserved.”
“Uther has a protective eye.”
“Aye. He does indeed.” The monk nodded solemnly.
But Luc was puzzling the matter through. “Connor must have surprised someone in the chapel yesterday.”
“It could well have been so.”
“Gavin insists that two masked men cast ashes into his face and shoved past him when he approached the chapel. ’Twas just moments before he found Connor.”
The monk heaved a sigh. “Then Connor’s prize is gone.”
“If ’twas still there.”
“What do you mean?”
Luc’s gaze trailed to Tullymullagh’s tall keep once more, then ran across the walls with their gaping holes. To leave such a task unfinished spoke of the leisure of an undeserved trust.
Or an empty purse.
“Would Connor have sold the Rose?” he asked abruptly.
“Nay! ’Twas not his intent.”
“But what if the exchange could bring the completion of Tullymullagh?”
Brother Thomas’ mouth opened and closed, then he frowned. “But Tullymullagh is complete.”
“Three holes there are in the curtain wall.”
“But surely that is damage from the attack?”
“Nay, their incompletion was key to Gavin’s victory.” Luc leaned closer to the monk, his certainty growing. “To build a keep of stone takes a fierce amount of coin. What if Connor sold all but the Rose, but had to part with his prize or else see his life work incomplete?”
“He would have chosen Tullymullagh,” Brother Thomas said without hesitation. “ ’Twas all to him. And to see his daughter housed in this keep would mean more to him than to see some trinket, however beautiful, in her possession.”
Luc shook his head. “And if the Rose was indeed sold, then Connor may have died for naught.”
Brother Thomas’ lips thinned. “Nay, ’twas not for naught. By the expression upon his face, I have no doubt he knew those who besieged him. That was why his attackers deemed he had to die.”
“Whether they had the Rose or not.”
The monk only sighed, the weight of the world’s sorrows clearly heavy on his shoulders.
Luc leaned closer to the monk, intent on having the one answer he needed beyond all. “Brother Thomas, who else knew the truth of the Rose of Tullymullagh?”
The monk’s expression turned to one of frustration. “I do not know! There were tales when Connor first came home that he had brought great wealth. Such rumors even came as far as the priory. And there were whispers of one Rose of Tullymullagh, though I knew not what ’twas before he showed me. ’Twas shortly thereafter that Connor publicly called his daughter the Rose and no doubt deliberately sent rumor in a new direction.”
He sighed and frowned. “It could have been anyone, anyone about in those days with their ears open.”
“And someone Connor knew,” Luc frowned. “This, then, must have been what Ismay knew.”
“Lady Ismay of Claremont?”
“Aye, aye, on the night she died she informed me that she knew something about the Rose of Tullymullagh that all others had forgotten. She was drunk and I thought—”
“You thought she told a tall tale,” the monk interjected, then patted Luc on the hand. “ ’Twas a reasonable enough conclusion.”
“But she died that very night,” Luc repeated, his certainty growing that Ismay had not wandered off the orchard wall by accident.
The monk’s eyes went round. “Someone guessed that she knew.”
“Or feared that she would tell.”
Luc pushed suddenly to his feet, a whispered conversation echoing in his ears. Someone had pledged to make the Rose his own, regardless of the cost! What if they assumed Brianna knew the truth about the Rose? A new sense of urgency clenched Luc’s innards. “I must seek Dermot.”
“Ah!” Brother Thomas caught his breath. “There is one with a taint upon his name.” He lowered his voice. “No one knew who he was or whence he came when he appeared to bid for Ismay’s hand.”
Luc’s lips tightened grimly. “And the lady herself told me that he was not what he seemed.” He inhaled sharply, hating that he had not seen the truth in time. “I should have listened to her!”
“You could not have guessed, my son.” Brother Thomas lay a reassuring hand upon Luc’s shoulder. “Now go, go and set a watch upon this man.” He drew himself up proudly. “I shall endeavor to discover where he was, both when Lady Ismay died and yesterday morning.”
“I could do that.”
“Nay, Luc.” Brother Thomas winked. “ ’Tis my role, after all, to console the bereaved.”
“He does not seem markedly bereaved,” Luc commented as he collected flagon and chalice.
“And that, in and of itself, is of interest,” the monk murmured. “We had best arrive in the hall separately,” he counselled before setting off toward the keep, his robes flying with purpose.
Brianna awakened when the keep was silent. Darkness had flooded her chamber, the warmth of the wine still coursed through her veins. ’Twas her second night of knowing her father lived no more and time had not made the truth easier to bear. She lay there, wishing she could see the stars, and wishing even more strongly that she could see them with Luc.
Brianna had missed him. She smiled sadly at how he would tease her for such an admission and wrapped her arms around herself.
In the darkness, ’twas easy to admit that Luc was her favorite.
Brianna stared at the ceiling. Her father’s chamber was above her own room. Indeed, the great pillared bed in which she had been conceived now rested directly overhead. When Brianna was young, her dame had virtually held court in that bed, they had played there. Indeed, once, Eva had even had Cook bring the three of them breakfast there. Those days had been happy.
But now, Brianna was all alone.
The truth plunged through her heart with the surety of a knife, a knife as keen as the one that had stolen her sire’s life away. She felt alone as never she had before, and the pain of Brianna’s loss was greater than she had ever known. She felt the tears begin to flow and did not know how to stop them, did not know how to contain her grief. When her dame died, Brianna and her sire had consoled each other.
This time, though, Brianna was alone with her loss.
But she did not have to be alone. There was one man in this keep who endured similar losses, yet remained strong. There was one man who had pledged to win her heart, who she knew would protect her from harm. It could be no coincidence that he was the only one Brianna knew for certain had not harmed her sire.
Brianna suddenly wanted to be with Luc, her need for his company so strong that it could not be denied.
She was out of bed and on her feet, swinging her cloak over her shoulders and making for the door in the blink of an eye. Fenella, she noted, did not even stir at her departure.
Brianna would have been surprised to learn that Fenella’s eyes flew open as soon as the chamber door was closed once again. Indeed, that maid departed not long after Brianna, although she did not follow her lady.
Nay, Fenella had other fires to feed.
Luc was certain he dreamed.
He laid in the stable loft, staring at the roof. He was frustrated, having learned less than naught these two days. Though at least he had this space to himself once more and would not disturb anyone’s sleep with his restlessness. The other stable was sufficiently complete that Denis had dispatched the squires to slumber there, purportedly to guard the steeds.
How annoying that Dermot had spent the entire evening drinking in the hall! He had even bedded down there, so besotted that there could be no mistake that he truly slumbered.
Luc knew he had Brother Thomas to thank for that certainty. The monk had not only “consoled” Dermot, he had ensured the man’s chalice was consistently full.
And Dermot was apparently not a man who held his wine well.
But was he a murderer?
Luc had been puzzling and dozing for so long, the stable was filled with such familiar warm sounds, that he could not gauge how much time had passed. He thought he heard the creak of the doorway opening, and sat up suddenly, but only silence carried to his ears.
Until the faintest echo of a footfall sounded on the ladder. Luc eased to his feet and silently donned his chausses, his gaze fixed on the place where the ladder entered the loft.
Did someone think Luc knew more than he did?
His heart pounded at the prospect. Luc poised to attack, sliding against the wall that would be behind the new arrival. Another creak sounded on the ladder. Everything within him tensed in preparation.
He sagged against the wall with relief when a familiar crown of golden hair snared the moonlight. “My lady! What are you doing here?”
Brianna spun to face Luc so quickly that she nearly lost her balance, for she was not yet on the floor of the loft. Luc lunged forward and caught her elbows, moving her away from the ladder with lightning speed.
He felt her tremble against him and gathered her closer.
“You should be in your chambers!” he charged. “Asleep and with your maidens.” Anger rolled through Luc as he recalled an important detail. “Indeed, the dark-haired one pledged to keep you in her sight! Where is she?”
“Luc, do not blame Fenella,” Brianna murmured in haste. She impaled him with a watery glance. “I left while she slumbered. I—I so wanted to talk to you.”
Brianna wrung her hands together as though she feared he would deny her this and Luc’s anger faded to naught.
“We can talk on the morrow,” he assured her gently, unable to keep himself from pushing a tendril of hair from her cheek with one fingertip. Brianna’s vulnerability made him wish he could make this all come right. “You have need of your sleep now.”
“I have need of your comfort!” the lady declared, much to Luc’s surprise. “Please, I beg of you, let me remain.”
There were men aplenty who would have taken advantage of that offer, Luck knew it well. He stared at the woman before him, her eyes bright with unshed tears, her complexion unusually pale. She looked so unlike the strong and defiant woman he had come to admire that Luc wanted only to console her.
And if any took issue with her spending an evening in the stables in his company, Luc would be quick to defend the lady’s honor. She was to be his wife, after all, and by dint of her father’s approval, Luc already felt the lady was his responsibility.
He would not let either of them down.
“Of course,” he said softly and noted how her shoulders sagged. Brianna trembled once more and Luc feared suddenly that she caught a chill. ’Twas too damp after all the rain.
Luc hastily scooped up his cloak and settled it over her own, drawing Brianna away from the draught from below. “Are you cold?”
“To my very bones,” she acknowledged, then shook her head with dismay. Her fingers clenched Luc’s own. “Luc, I cannot believe he is gone! How did you bear seeing Tyrell die? How did you forget the sight?”
Not for the first time, Luc wished Brianna had been spared the sight of her father’s demise. It had not been easy for him to look upon the fallen man and he could well guess how the recollection would haunt Brianna.
“You will never forget,” he whispered. Luc brushed a fingertip gently across Brianna’s cheek, unable to resist the urge to gather her into the circle of his arms. “But ’twill become easier to remember, in time,” he added softly, just as her first tear fell.
It splashed against his wrist. A second followed quickly, then a third, the first evidently having opened the floodgates. Luc’s hand rose of its own volition to cup the soft curve of Brianna’s jaw. He wrapped his other arm around her shoulders, even as Brianna fought against the flood of her tears.
“ ’Tis impossible to believe at this moment,” he murmured, hoping his words would reassure her, “but trust me, my lady, trust me in this. The pain will ease.”
“I do! I do trust you!” Brianna choked back a sob and shook her head as though she knew not what to do with herself. She looked into Luc’s eyes and he glimpsed the fullness of her pain. “Luc, help me, please. I have never felt so alone.”
Luc grasped her chin firmly between finger and thumb, compelling the lady to hold his gaze. “First, my lady, do not fight your tears. That was my mistake. It only makes matters worse to trap your sorrow inside.”
Brianna’s lip trembled dangerously. She caught her breath, and then she closed her eyes. A shuddering sigh broke from the very core of her, and her tears began to stream in a torrent.
Luc folded Brianna against the warmth of his chest, closing his own eyes at the painful sound of her sobs. He stroked her hair and murmured soothingly to her, knowing that there was little he could truly do.
But still he was honored that Brianna turned to him for solace. ’Twas not like this lady to concede any weakness at all and the very fact that she came to him was telling.
Connor, bless his immortal soul, had understood his daughter aright. Luc would not betray that man’s trust in any way, nor would he do less than his best for Brianna.
Luc cradled Brianna closer and rubbed her back. He guided her to his pallet and lifted her into his lap, tucking the ends of both cloaks around her feet. She cuddled against him, her arms thrown around his neck with a childish trust that warmed Luc’s heart.
Her hair spilled around them and he marvelled at the flaxen hue of it. The scent of her skin and the softness of her curves filled Luc’s embrace and there was nowhere else in Christendom he would rather have been.
Luc did not know how long they sat there, indeed, he did not care. His hand moved in an endless caress across her shoulders as the lady wept, the chill of her tears trickling down Luc’s flesh.
Finally, though, Brianna laid a tiny hand against his chest and heaved a ragged sigh. “I am sorry, Luc,” she whispered unevenly, her head bowed. “You must think me weak.” A tremor echoed in her low words. “But I have never been alone.”
Luc slid a finger beneath Brianna’s chin and tipped her face so that he could look into her eyes. “And you are not alone now,” he insisted, noting the ravages of her tears with sympathy.
Brianna frowned. “But …”
Luc slipped his fingertip across her lips. “But naught,” he chided gently, willing her to understand his commitment to her. “You are not alone, for you have me by your side.” Brianna glanced up, a glimmer of hope in her eyes. Luc smiled crookedly. “Not only are you saddled with me in these days, my lady, but for all time.”
Brianna bit back a tentative smile. “You sound as though you are going to pledge as much to me.”
“I would.” Luc nodded. “Without hesitation. You may have my pledge, either now or before the altar, it matters little either way.” He smiled at her. “The choice, my lady fair, is yours.”
She did smile then, a soft and feminine smile that made her look young and no less vulnerable. Luc hesitated but a heartbeat before he bent and touched his lips to her brow.
He paused there, uncertain whether he pushed overmuch, but Brianna glanced up, a warmth in her eyes. She reached up and touched his lips with her fingertips, no doubt deliberately echoing his characteristic gesture.
“I like that you pledge to me,” Brianna whispered, her gaze flicking to meet Luc’s. He could not take a breath beneath her regard, though his heart thundered in his very ears.
“Then I will not cease.”
Brianna’s smile was fleeting, her lips sobering as her emerald gaze fell once more to her fingertips yet resting against Luc’s chin. Luc bent to kiss her temple, her nose, her cheek, her chin, tasting the salt of her tears with every caress.
Then, Luc gently kissed the sweetness of Brianna’s lips. He swallowed her sigh and gathered her closer, determined to protect his lady from all the dangers confronting her. His hand slipped over her shoulder and found the ripeness of her breast, though truly Luc had never intended to do any such thing.
When Brianna gasped and arched her back, Luc was loath to abandon the curve he had found. He slipped his thumb across her nipple, feeling it tighten even through the layers of woolen cloaks. Brianna’s arms twined around his neck and desire flooded through Luc.
Brianna was to be his wife, his lady fair for all time. She needed the consolation of his touch, she needed to be coaxed to slumber. Brianna needed to forget for a moment the tragedy she had just endured. She needed to be certain that she was not only not alone, but that she was cherished and secure.
Fortunately, Luc had a very good idea how he could achieve all of those aims.
Brianna caught her breath when Luc tumbled her to her back and caught her against the heat of his chest. Her heart pounded at the surety of the strong hands cradling her close.
Indeed, Brianna had never felt so safe in all her days. Luc’s embrace sheltered her from the chill in the air; the tenderness in his touch made her imagine that the love she sought might indeed be close at hand.
There was a reverence in the way Luc cupped her breast, a gentle affection in the smooth slide of his muscled thigh between her own, both of which made Brianna feel cossetted within his embrace. Luc’s eyes fairly glowed, their hue so intense that the sight took Brianna’s breath away.
She knew already that she could trust Luc Fitzgavin with her life, with her honor, with anything she held dear. She already knew that Luc was a practical man possessed of good sense, a man who more than once had known better than she.
And Brianna had an inkling that ’twould not take him long to fulfill his pledge to capture her heart. Indeed, the man made decided progress with each passing day.
Given all of that, it seemed perfectly right to welcome the surety of Luc’s touch. And truly, Brianna craved the warmth of Luc’s caress. She was so cold, had been so chilled since finding her father in the chapel, that she welcomed the heat Luc brought to life beneath her very flesh.
When he claimed her lips once more, Brianna opened her mouth to his caress. Luc’s tongue dove between her teeth, the taste of him making her dizzy. Brianna closed her eyes, winding her arms securely around Luc’s neck, and surrendered to sensation.
Luc did not disappoint.
Even as he angled his mouth over hers, the pad of his thumb found her nipple once more. His hand had slid beneath her cloak, through the lacings of her kirtle and she could fairly feel the rough edge of his thumb through the sheer linen of her chemise. Brianna gasped as Luc cajoled that nipple to a taut peak and felt her back arch against him. His muscled thigh slid higher between her own, spreading her legs wider. Brianna’s breasts were pressed against the hard wall of Luc’s chest.
He was so differently wrought from her—his body all heat and muscle, his flesh tanned and of a heavier texture than her own—yet the surety of Luc’s touch felt right beyond all.
Luc kissed beneath her chin, nibbling on the softness beneath her ear and Brianna shivered. She grasped fistfuls of Luc’s hair, gasping when his hand slid purposefully over the length of her. She froze when his fingers dove beneath the hem of her skirts and slipped through the tangle of hair at the apex of her thighs, her own grip tightening on his broad shoulders.
Luc kissed her earlobe, murmured reassuringly, flicked his tongue across her ear, and Brianna shivered anew. She whispered his name and he brushed his lips across her mouth again, tantalizing her with his touch. Brianna lay back, trusting him, and Luc’s strong fingers moved yet higher.
He growled with satisfaction when he found the slick wetness awaiting him there and claimed her lips triumphantly. When his teasing fingertips found the sensitive pearl at the very core of Brianna’s heat, she surged against him.
Luc caressed her with gentle persuasiveness, his touch launching a shivering heat through Brianna that left her wanting more and yet more. She writhed beneath him, revelling in his kiss and his touch, wanting something she could not name.
A consuming heat built beneath her very flesh. Brianna found her legs winding around Luc and her hips lifting demandingly toward his touch. She felt the heat of his erection press against her hip; the sign of his own arousal feeding her desire as naught else could have done.
Brianna was aware of naught but Luc, she wanted no one but Luc. Luc touched and teased, Brianna writhed and moaned, Luc slipped a finger into her heat.
Brianna gasped and caught at Luc’s shoulders. She looked into the sapphire blaze of his eyes and could not tear her gaze away, even as the tide of her desire broke loose.
“Luc!” She clutched at his shoulder and felt her nails dig into his flesh. “Please! Call me by my name.”
His smile was a flash in the darkness, his breath a welcome heat against her ear.
“Brianna!” he murmured, the possessiveness in his low voice bringing Brianna’s newfound passion to a crescendo. “My Brianna!”
Luc claimed her lips as the heat surged through her, searing every fiber within her as it passed. Brianna gasped, then cried out, but Luc kissed her deeply, greedily swallowing the sound, as he held her fast against his chest.
His fingers continued to work and Brianna erupted over and over again. Until finally, she sagged spent against his heat. She pressed a kiss to his shoulder, and smiled as Luc kissed her brow and snuggled her close. Brianna’s fingers landed in the pelt of hair that graced Luc’s chest and she smiled when she felt the erratic pounding of his heart.
Luc was right. She was not alone, after all.
And with that smile yet curving her lips, Brianna closed her eyes and slumbered within the circle of his embrace.