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“Stephen de Montreale is my sworn enemy. Should you aid him in any way, ’twill serve as a betrayal. I will never allow it again. Do you understand?”

“Aye, my lord.”

He bent his head and kissed her, felt her soft lips trembling under his. “I will try not to hurt you.”

Another soft kiss and she parted her lips, accepting the invasion of his tongue.

She tasted of the rich red wine she had been sipping and smelled of soap and kittens.

He wanted to drink in the scent of her, to run his tongue along every sweet, supple inch of her.

He wanted to stroke her breasts till her nipples turned hard, then part her legs and drive himself inside her.

Instead he reminded himself that he must go slow, and even then this first time she might not respond to him. In fact even now he could sense her fear in the tremors that coursed through her small woman’s body.

He pulled away to look at her. “Are you so afraid I will hurt you?”

She surprised him by shaking her head, her heavy dark auburn hair rippling softly with the movement. “Nay, my lord, ’tis not fear that makes me tremble. ’Tis only that when you touch me, shivers creep over my skin.”

Ral chuckled softly, relief flooding through him. “’Tis only the beginning, cherie. ”

And it was. Ral kissed her again, long and thoroughly, his warm lips soft yet fiercely possessive.

His tongue touched the corners of her mouth, slid over her bottom lip, urging her to open to him and sending a wave of heat through her body.

Her own tongue met his, tentatively at first, testing, probing, the taste of him stirring her senses.

Shivers crept over her, little tongues of flame that nipped at her flesh until she writhed against him.

They fenced and parried, nibbled and tasted, Caryn awash with heat yet determined to learn how to please him.

She felt his hands on her body, strong and agile, lifting a breast, making it feel heavy and achy.

His fingers pebbled her nipple, making it hard and distended, and Caryn sucked in a hot breath of air.

Then his big hands moved lower, gliding along her skin, pausing at her navel, his finger teasing, tracing, sending currents of flame across her belly.

Hoping to please him, she used her own small hands in much the same manner, ringing his flat copper nipple, running her fingers through the stiff black hair on his chest, feeling the ridges of muscle that rippled across his stomach.

When he groaned, Caryn stopped, afraid she had done something wrong.

“’Tis all right, ma chere. You have always been quick to learn.” There was a rough note in his voice as he bent his head and kissed her. “I should have known you would quickly grasp these lessons, too.”

She smiled to think she had pleased him, then gasped at the touch of his hand lower down, across the flat spot below her navel and into the patch of auburn curls at the juncture of her legs.

“Easy,” he soothed when she stiffened. He kissed her again and she relaxed once more, letting the heat wash over her, letting the fires continue to burn.

She bit her lip when his finger slipped inside her, traveling on the slickness of her desire, the heat of his touch like a cinder sparking flame.

Instinctively she arched against his hand, urging him onward, then he lowered his head to her breast.

Caryn trembled all over, her body arching up from the bed, pressing the firm flesh eagerly into his mouth.

Warm male lips moved over the hardened crest, Ral’s tongue flicking out, circling, laving, tasting.

Caryn laced her fingers in his hair, her head spinning, her body afire with the pleasure he stirred.

When he kissed her again, lightning careened through her body and her breath came in tiny, fevered gasps. One hand cupped her bottom while a finger moved inside her. She was wet and slick, she knew, her body responding as Bretta had told her, preparing to accept her husband’s hard male length.

“Mon Dieu,” she heard him whisper, speaking softly in French as he rarely did, his body as tense as her own. “I have never seen a woman more ready to receive a man than you.”

If the way she felt was any indication, she was certain he was right. She tingled from head to foot, her breasts throbbed, and so did the place between her legs. Ral slipped a second finger inside her and she moaned so loud he went still.

“I did not mean to hurt you.”

“N-Nay, my lord, ’tis not pain I feel but something… something…” She wet her lips, but the right word still would not come.

Ral chuckled softly. “You will soon know what it is.” He seemed content to leave it at that, returning instead to the pleasure he was giving, using his hands and his kisses, fueling the fires he built inside her.

When she felt so caught up she was certain she would burst into flame, he parted her legs with his knee and rose above her.

She could feel his manroot, long and hard against her thigh, then it was probing for entrance, sliding into her slick damp heat.

When Ral reached the final thin barrier that was proof of her virginity, he paused.

“’Tis a rare and wondrous gift you give, and I do not take it lightly.” He kissed her then, and Caryn arched upward. At the same moment, he thrust himself deep inside.

His mouth over hers caught her scream. She had known he would be big, had known he would fill her, but she had not expected the tearing, wrenching pain that seared through her body.

She lay tense and unmoving beneath him, waiting for the next brutal thrust, the next jolt of agony to consume her.

Instead, he held himself above her, strained and tense, propping himself on his elbows.

“I am sorry. I had hoped…” Perspiration dotted his brow and his jaw looked taut and rigid. It was obvious the price he paid for his concern.

“’Tis all right, my lord.”

“Ral,” he said softly. “I would hear you say my name.”

“Even now the pain fades… Ral.”

He clenched his jaw and she felt a spasm pass through him with his effort at control.

“I cannot last much longer. I have wanted you for too long.”

The words stirred something inside her, something womanly and passionate.

She took a long deep breath and forced herself to relax.

Ral must have felt the movement for he groaned, then he was easing himself out and thrusting himself back in, easing out and thrusting in.

Where was the pain? she wondered, but only very dimly.

Then she forgot the pain as if it had never existed, forgot all but the feel of him driving himself inside her, all but his long hard powerful thrusts.

Instinctively, her hips moved, arching upward, drawing him deeper, meeting each of his forceful strokes and urging him on.

“Sweet Christ,” he whispered, his body growing rigid, her own responding, caught up in the pounding and the fury and the heat.

Then she was soaring, leaving the world behind her, riding among the stars on a fiery chariot that raced off into a place of sweetness and light.

Red bursts of sunlight, tiny pinpricks of pleasure consumed her.

She cried out Ral’s name as he drove himself on, felt him spilling his seed, and knew in that moment that nothing on this earth could ever be sweeter than this.