An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication
www.ellorascave.com
Ronan’s Grail ISBN 9781419913242 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Ronan’s Grail Copyright © 2007 Bronwyn Green Edited by Helen Woodall. Cover art by Syneca. Electronic book Publication November 2007 This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 443103502. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.
RONAN’S GRAIL
Bronwyn Green
Dedication/Acknowledgement For Mama—if not for your bedtime stories of King Arthur and Athena and Arachne, not to mention the wildly inappropriate lullabies, I wouldn’t be the woman I am today. You mommed me good.
I’d also like to thank Brynn, Lacey and Carol—you guys keep me sane. Thank you to my critique group—Chel, Jen, Mary, Cheryl and Marti—you guys rock! Thank you also to my wonderful editor Helen, and to Matt, Mom, Cait, Manda, Margaret, Julie, Roxanne, Shannon and Kim—I’m so lucky to have you all in my life.
Trademarks Acknowledgement The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction: Coke: Coca-Cola Company Formica: Formica Corporation Klieglight: Kliegl Bros. Universal Electric Stage Lighting Co., Inc
Six of Wands In the tarot, the sixes denote responsibility, balance, harmony, sexual pleasure and marriage. Traditionally, the Six of Wands also represents the receipt of positive news, victory in battle, recognition, honor, courage, heroic action and a united front against adversity. It can also indicate the arrival of a lover and romantic union. As with all tarot cards, there are shadow aspects. The shadow aspects of this card are treachery, disloyalty, fear, failure, betrayal, sabotage and loss of love. In Ronan’s Grail, Ronan, bastard son of Lancelot of the Lake, has been sent forward in time to find the Holy Grail and prevent Mordred from destroying the lineage of King Arthur. Ronan and the Six of Wands represent knighthood in all its glory. He’s undertaken a quest of great magnitude that requires courage and victory in battle. Together with Morgan, a woman from the future, he fights against Mordred’s treachery to save the grail and their love.
Bronwyn Green
Chapter One Ronan, bastard son of Lancelot of the Lake, knelt before Merlin. It was impossible to keep his gaze from the bloodied, dying and dead knights. Crossing himself, he sent prayers heavenward for their souls. Though the battle had been fierce, they’d managed to stem the tide of Mordred and his Saxon dogs, but at what cost? Arthur lay behind Merlin, gasping for breath, blood bubbling at the corners of his mouth. Without the king, the land would again fall into chaos and the hard peace they’d won would melt away like late spring snow. Ronan held his body perfectly still even though the jagged floor of the crystal cave dug into his knees as he waited for the king’s mage to charge him with his quest. “The round table has been torn asunder,” Merlin stated. “Arthur’s line must continue.” He pinned Ronan with his gaze. “You will see to it.” He glanced at Arthur’s ash-colored skin and his brow furrowed. How was he supposed to manage that? “But the Queen—” “Matters not.” He didn’t disagree. The Queen was a selfish whore who cared little beyond raising her skirts for the next available cock. Ronan lifted his gaze to meet the hermit’s tired eyes. He’d never seen the man look so frail. “You are the last of us,” Merlin said. “If you do not find the grail, all is lost.” He resisted the urge to howl in frustration. His older brother Galahad had been searching for the chalice for years to no avail. Obsessed with its location, he spoke of little else. Ronan couldn’t remember the last time his brother had trained with the rest of Arthur’s knights—or even had a woman. Instead, he spent all his time on his knees in the chapel praying for guidance. If Galahad couldn’t find it, how in God’s name was Ronan supposed to do it? 6
Ronan’s Grail
Merlin raised his arms and at once, the crystal formations protruding from the walls of the cave began to pulse and glow casting an eerie light on the dead and dying. “In a far and future time, Arthur and his knights shall rise again—but not until the grail is secured.” The mage pinned him with a concentrated stare. “You will know the keeper of the grail by this symbol.” With his gnarled oak wand, Merlin traced a shimmering figure in the air. Within the center of an outer circle rested two interlocking circles, split straight through with a straight line. On either side of the joined circles, vines twined with tiny stars—or perhaps they were flowers. Ronan couldn’t be sure. Merlin chanted in the old tongue, his voice growing louder and steadier. Outside, a storm wailed as the old man bent the elements to his will, calling down thunder and lightning from the heavens. Wind gusted from the mouth of the cave to buffet around Ronan and the glowing sigil began to spiral, growing larger and creating a pulsing vortex. Merlin laid his hand on top of Ronan’s head in blessing. “Rise, Sir Ronan. Seek ye the grail.” Ronan hoisted his bruised and battered body to his feet and stared at the spiraling current of magic. He hated magic and now he would be going forth into the maw of the unknown. Damn Galahad. If he had completed the quest, it wouldn’t have fallen to Ronan. Making sure his blade was secured at his side, he braced himself for the journey. “Enter the portal to a land far from here and follow the grail where it may lead.” Ronan stepped toward the gateway but stopped as a question occurred to him. “What do I do with the grail when I find it?” Merlin’s eyes twinkled with the barest hint of amusement. “Fill it.” The clatter of steel rang out behind him. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Mordred force his way into the cave, bringing his sword hilt down on the head of a man who had tried to stop him.
7
Bronwyn Green
Fury raged through Ronan and he whirled to stop the treasonous scoundrel once and for all. Before he could move, Merlin placed a hand on the center of his chest and shoved him into the seething mass of energy.
***** Drawn by the promise of the coming storm, Morgan Foster propped open the Oakdale University theater’s back door and stepped outside into the heavy night air. As a low-ranking professor in the theater department, it had fallen to her to inventory the props and costumes as well as running a class in stage sword fighting in preparation for the fall musical. She sighed. It wasn’t as though she had anything better to do. Well, she could finish doing the prep work for the tarot class she’d be teaching in a few weeks, but she couldn’t muster any enthusiasm. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to teach the course. It was a great opportunity to do something she enjoyed, but lately it felt as though a pall had settled over her, tainting everything. It felt like she was waiting for something to happen—she just didn’t know what. It didn’t help that the Six of Wands turned up in every single reading she’d done for the last two months. In fact, it was the culmination of the reading that was still spread over the counter in the dressing room. There were seventy-eight freaking cards in the deck and no matter what question she asked or what spread she used, that card came up. Math might not be her strong suit but she knew enough to know that the probability of that happening was almost nil. Clearly, the Universe was trying to tell her something, she just wished she could figure out what it was. Was it a sign or a warning? Victory or treachery? Celebration or destruction? Love or betrayal? Her mind spun with the possibilities. Whether positive or negative, a turning point was at hand. Morgan was startled from her musings as lightning snapped, splitting the night sky, racing closer with every crack of thunder. The tension that had built within her for weeks seemed to build toward a crescendo with the tempo of the summer storm.
8
Ronan’s Grail
She’d been inexplicably restless and her body thrummed with pent-up energy. Normally, a rousing orgasm would take the edge off, but not lately. She couldn’t remember the last time a man had interested her enough to make sex worth her while and her vibrator wasn’t doing it either. Instead of the pleasant afterglow of release, she felt empty and unfulfilled. Lonely. Kicking off her sandals by the door, she crossed the cracked asphalt parking lot to stand in the cool grass. Even in the dead of winter, she needed that sense of connection with the earth. Without its grounding force, she felt even more isolated than she typically did. The damp wind swirled around her as the rain rushed closer. It inched across the campus like a heavy curtain drawn across a stage. She should go inside. In a few short moments she’d be drenched—if she wasn’t electrocuted first. Playing the part of a human lightning rod wasn’t smartest thing she’d ever done but she couldn’t seem to make herself take shelter. It was as if the storm cast a spell over her, keeping her rooted to the spot. A forked tongue of lightning struck the rod on the steeple of the bell tower. The charge dissipated but she could feel it as it skimmed across the hair on her arms and sent a rash of goose bumps over her skin. Now would be a really good time to return to her inventorying. As she took a step back, the sheeting rain reached her, covering her in a wall of stinging water. Hair dripping into her eyes, she watched in frozen fascination as a bolt of lightning hit the ground not more than twenty feet from her. Despite the soaking rain, the scent of scorched earth wafted toward her as she stared mesmerized at the spot where the bolt had just landed. In the charred grass lay a man. Not just any man—a freaking knight complete with chain mail and a sword. A wave of dizziness crashed over Morgan. This had to be a weather-induced hallucination.
9
Bronwyn Green
He lay unmoving on his stomach. Oh God, was he hurt? What a stupid question— he’d been stuck by lightning. Hadn’t he? She shook her head. He hadn’t been there before the bolt struck. It was more like he’d appeared as it struck. But that wasn’t possible. With pained movements, the man shifted, spurring her to motion. She darted through the steaming grass to kneel at his side. She laid a hand on his back but yanked it back at the currents of energy rushing through his body—energy that had nothing to do with the storm. There was only one thing that produced that particular tingle. Magic. While most of the population was content to believe there was no such thing as magic, she knew better. Her best friend, Temperance, was a witch. Besides seeing auras and reading tarot cards, Morgan didn’t have any abilities like Tem, but she could sure as heck recognize power when she felt it. This guy—whoever he was—literally vibrated with it. He turned his head and pinned Morgan with searing blue eyes, visible in the intermittent flashes of lightning. Ringed with the darkest lapis, the irises were icy blue and the furthest thing from cold she’d ever seen. Heated and clear, those eyes assessed her, sending spirals of need pulsing through her empty body. Thunder roared around them breaking the spell he’d cast with nothing more than his mesmerizing gaze. With his chain mail and sword, he was just asking to get fried. She tugged at his arm. “Come with me.” Pushing to his feet, he towered over Morgan which was pretty impressive given that she was over five feet nine. “As milady commands.” She stifled a groan at the sound of his voice. Deep, rough velvet wrapped around an English accent. Could he sound any sexier? The rain fell harder and lightning continued to strike around them. She tugged him through the open door and pulled it shut behind them. What was she doing? She didn’t know this guy from Adam and the theater was deserted. 10
Ronan’s Grail
She stepped away from him, toward the phone. “Is there someone I can call for you?” He didn’t answer. Instead, he turned in a slow circle his eyes darting from one object to another, his hand on the hilt of his sword. “Merlin be damned,” he muttered half under his breath and crossed himself. Thunderstorm. Hot, likely-crazy man. Fictional wizard. Oh this should end well. He whirled to face her, his hair falling in sodden strands around his face. It was hard to tell, but she imagined it would be a medium brown when dry. Her gaze dropped to his slightly full, sensual lips. It was impossible not to imagine them on hers. Stubble coated his strong jaw and cheeks. He looked exhausted. Concern flared to life. Now that they were in the light, he also looked injured. She clutched the phone in her hand as she moved nearer. Stepping as close as she dared, she lifted a lock of hair from his brow. A nasty gash seeped blood. Dark crescents stood out under his eyes and a purpling bruise marred a high cheekbone. “What happened?” He lifted his fingers to his forehead. When he pulled his hand away his fingertips were coated with blood. “I deflected an axe blade.” “With your forehead?” she shrieked. “Lady, please,” he winced. “Your voice.” He looked like the genuine article with his battered armor and filthy clothing. A knight in not so shining armor. His chain mail shirt had been repaired more than once. Slightly less dull patches of links were scattered over the chest area. How many times had he been wounded? Judging by the layers of grime and snarled hair, he looked as if he’d spent months outside in the elements. She wrinkled her nose. He smelled like it too. Unfortunately, neither had much of an effect on his attractiveness.
11
Bronwyn Green
Hooking the leg of a chair with her foot, she tugged it toward the man, cringing when she heard the metal legs scrape across the tile floor. Placing both hands on his shoulders she pushed gently. “Sit.” He sank into the pink molded-plastic chair, looking wildly out of place. This was a theater costume shop for God’s sake. She’d had everything from Victorian prostitutes to zombies to flappers wandering around backstage, so why did a guy dressed in authentic medieval garb seem odd? His eyes closed and his head dropped back in what appeared to be sheer exhaustion. She moved quietly toward the sink and pulled a cloth from a drawer. Turning on the tap, she jumped when the man sat up straight and scooted the chair loudly across the floor. He held her motionless with his piercing gaze. “You startled me,” she said, wetting the cloth. His eyes narrowed as he stared at the running water. “You are a witch, then?” “No.” She shook her head, wishing she could believe he was nothing more than a method actor who took his craft a little too seriously. The now barely detectable trace of magic told her otherwise. Whatever power had brought him here was fading quickly, but his aura glowed vibrantly. Shades of silvery white twined with indigo surrounding his base color of fiery red. It would be so much easier if he was an overzealous performer. The guys who’d auditioned for the fall show, Camelot, were practically children compared to this man. Wringing the excess water from the cloth she moved to stand in front of him. He widened his stance and she stepped between his thighs. A jolt of awareness curled though her belly. She squeezed her thighs together as the flutter settled lower. She scolded herself. She’d stood in this very position more times than she could count, applying makeup or styling hair and she’d barely had a reaction—even to the most gorgeous performer. Of course, that was the difference—they’d been actors. And she didn’t do actors.
12
Ronan’s Grail
She loved the theater, the magic of storytelling, but she’d experienced far too much storytelling in her childhood. Her father had been a first-class actor, lying to his family constantly—probably lying to every woman he’d ever slept with and every child he’d ever fathered. She wasn’t foolish enough to think she and her brother had been the only ones. Concentrating on the man before her, she pushed away the residual anger and sadness. She pulled his hair off his forehead exposing the jagged gash. Gently, she dabbed at the edges, sponging away the blood and dirt. He stared up at her with the face of a fallen angel. It took every ounce of her willpower not to close the distance between their lips. Maybe he’d let her straddle his lap while she tended the rest of his injuries. Maybe she should keep her lust in check and figure out how and why he was here. Once the wound on his forehead was cleaned, she rinsed out the rag and returned to stand between his legs. Slipping her hand under his jaw, she tilted his head up and wiped away more dried blood and grime. As she stroked his face she noticed the red in his aura flared brighter. It could be arousal. It could be anger. Not sure she wanted to deal with either emotion, she cleared her throat. “What’s your name?” “Ronan, Knight of the Realm.” “Knight of what realm?” He looked at her as if she was crazy. She was pretty sure his expression mirrored her own. “Britain. Arthur is my liege.” “King Arthur?” He winced at her shrill tone, so she lowered her voice. “Guinevere? Lancelot? That realm?” “Lancelot is my father.” Her hands dropped from his face. “But I thought Lancelot’s son was Galahad.” His lips twisted in an approximation of a smile. “His bastard son.”
13
Bronwyn Green
He held her gaze as if daring her to find fault with him. Instead, she pushed his head back and dragged the washcloth over his neck. The sensation of his Adam’s apple bobbing under her fingertips as he swallowed tightened her womb into a knot of longing and sent a fresh rush of moisture to her cleft.
The woman stood between his legs in those shockingly tight braes. Her small, strong hands stroked his face and neck. He closed his eyes at her touch on his skin. Cognizant of the tender flesh beneath his eye, she gently wiped at his face. Opening his eyes a slit, he watched her through his lashes. She’d caught her full lower lip between her teeth as she concentrated, her wide brown eyes taking in every detail. Her black hair was pulled away from her face to hang in a long, thick tail at her nape. He wanted to remove the colorful fabric holding it captive and run his fingers through it to see if it felt as silky as it appeared. Leaning toward her, he inhaled deeply. She smelled of field flowers and meadow grass. For a moment, he allowed himself the fantasy of stripping the ridiculous mannish garb from her body and laying her back in a sun-warmed field. His cock stirred at the thought of baring her firm, high breasts and tasting them. Her nipples peaked against the thin red shirt she wore and he realized he was staring at her chest, his intent perhaps obvious. He glanced at her face to find her cheeks flushed. He straightened in the uncomfortable seat. “I would know your name, lady.” “Morgan. Professor Morgan Foster.” She gestured loosely with her hands. “I teach here.” “You are a scholar?” He hadn’t meant to allow his shock to color his voice. He must need rest more desperately than he’d thought. Her hands dropped to her hips, fingers drumming. “Yes.” Ice dripped from her voice. “Do you have a problem with that?” Ronan knew he’d stepped into the equivalent of a baited trap in a forest full of starving bears. “In Camelot, women do not teach.” 14
Ronan’s Grail
“I see.” She crossed her arms over her chest and pursed her lips. “I suppose you’re the type who thinks that a woman is good for nothing more than cooking and cleaning.” Any hope he’d had of soothing her irritation had fled. He lifted his hands and cupped the backs of her thighs. Meeting her narrowed gaze, he pulled her closer between his spread legs. “And fucking.” Her breath caught and he couldn’t stop the wicked grin that spread across his face. She scowled. “I thought Arthur’s knights were supposed to be noble and virtuous. And chaste.” He laughed and it startled him. He was unable to remember the last time he’d been truly amused. He slid his hands up and down Morgan’s firm thighs, enjoying the play of muscles beneath his palms. He wanted this woman. He wanted her badly. “Where is your man, fair Morgan?” She snorted—in a very unladylike manner and crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t have a man.” His lips twitched at her vehemence. Her eyes narrowed. “And before you make some smart ass remark, I don’t need one either.” Ronan traced her body with his gaze, noting with satisfaction that her nipples tightened further as he watched. He wanted to draw the sensitive flesh into his mouth. Meeting her irritated expression, he grinned. “Your body disagrees.” “Look, I like sex. I like it a lot, but men are far more trouble than they’re worth.” The hurt that shadowed her deep brown eyes was unmistakable but she tried to hide it with a smile—brittle and tired looking. “Don’t you want a family? Someone to take care of you?”
15
Bronwyn Green
She laughed but the sound held no humor. “Men take care of their own needs. If their needs happen to coincide with a wife or family, great.” She shrugged her shoulders. “If not, they leave.” “What man so wounded your heart?” When she would have stepped away, he settled his hands at her waist refusing to let her leave. He wasn’t sure why he cared so much, but he did. Perhaps exhaustion had gotten the better of him. “It doesn’t matter.” “Are men in your land so daft?” Absently, he brushed his thumb over her belly under the damp red shirt. “I could show you how a woman should be treasured.” “Look, Ronan,” she said, enunciating each syllable clearly. “I get that you come from a particularly unenlightened era, but this whole I-am-man-you-must-worship-me thing is so not going to fly in the twenty-first century.” With some satisfaction, he noticed she hadn’t stepped from his grasp. But before he could fully enjoy the insight he realized what she’d said. His hands dropped from her body. “What century?” “The twenty-first.” Concern furrowed her brows. “Do you know what the year was before you came here?” What had Merlin done to him? Ronan slumped back in the rigid seat. “The Year of Our Lord, five hundred and thirty-seven.” Morgan sank to the floor, bracing her hands on his knees, her mouth slightly agape. “How did you get here?” “Merlin and his damnable spell.” Covering her small hand with his, he looked into her troubled gaze. “I thank you for your aid, lady—Morgan,” he corrected, “but I must continue my quest.” “What is your quest?” she asked, her trepidation obvious. “I’ve been sent here to your land—” He swallowed hard to force the next few words out, “To your time—to find the grail.”
16
Ronan’s Grail
It wasn’t out of the ordinary to travel to another land but to another time? His brother, his father, Merlin—everyone he’d ever known had been dead for over fourteen hundred years. “The Holy Grail?” she asked. He nodded and tentative seeds of hope rooted within him. If she knew of the cup, perhaps she could help him find it. Perhaps that was why he’d been sent to her. “Do you know where it is?” The expression on her face reminded him of the one the clergy wore when they performed last rites over the dying. “People aren’t even sure it ever existed. There are some theories that the grail was a person rather than an object.” Had Merlin sent him on a fool’s errand? It had certainly seemed as much when Galahad had undertaken the quest. Fatigue settled over him like a mantle. Perhaps this was a dream and when he woke he’d be back in the cave with Merlin and Arthur. He looked at the woman before him and felt a tug of regret. If he woke in the cave, he’d never know the taste of her lips or the warmth of her cunt. She rose to her feet. “You’re exhausted. Why don’t you let me find you something to eat and a place to rest? There’s a huge couch in the dressing room—kids sleep on it all the time.” A sweet smile curved her lips and she patted his shoulder. “Things will look better in the morning.” He had no idea what a huge couch was, but the idea of sleep more than appealed to him. Rising, he followed her through the brightly lit room into a dim corridor where she stopped in front of several large, glowing boxes. She reached into her pocket and removed several shiny coins. He’d never seen metal quite that color. He clutched the pouch at his waist. “I have coinage. I can purchase what is needed.” She glanced at him over her shoulder. “I doubt they’d work in these machines.”
17
Bronwyn Green
Ronan fought the urge to growl. He’d never allowed another to take care of him— certainly not a woman. He watched as she deposited the currency and pushed lighted numerals and letters. A strange noise like swarms of angry bees filled the quiet night before the glowing box released two of its treasures. Bending over she retrieved the items and handed them to him, well before he’d had his fill of staring at her shapely ass. She moved to the next box and deposited several more coins. This time a red cylinder was released. “Dinner is served,” she said brandishing the brightly colored object. She looked him up and down and wrinkled her nose. “But first, let’s get you a shower.” “A what?” She pursed her full lips. “It’s basically bathing while standing. You’ll love it. I promise.” She pushed open a door and bright light burned his eyes. “This is the dressing room,” she said taking the items from him and depositing them on a table-like surface. He glanced around the room. Small light green squares covered the floor and walls and surrounded large reflective areas. He moved closer. He’d never seen such a clear likeness of himself. It was staggering. Through it, he watched Morgan walk to an alcove set in the wall and push aside a curtain. She turned to face him. “This is a shower.” He peered inside. Metal protruded from the wall in several places. Two of the protrusions appeared to be handles. Morgan turned them and water rushed in streams from the third protrusion. Steam gathered on the floor and began to rise upward. When had he last been clean? He wasn’t sure he remembered. Unbuckling his sword belt, he propped his weapon against the wall. He bent over and let his mail slither from his body to clatter on the floor. His body ached from
18
Ronan’s Grail
wearing it so long. He stripped off his jerkin and tunic and dropped them atop the armor. Leaning against the chilly wall, he tugged off his boots before unlacing his braes. Morgan covered her eyes. “Whoa there, soldier. Give a girl a chance to turn around.” He grinned and continued disrobing. “Begging your forgiveness, lady. I had not thought you an innocent.” Her hands fell again to her hips and she scowled. “I’m not an innocent, but I hardly know you well enough to watch you get naked.” Completely nude, he stepped toward her, not missing the way her eyes widened as she noticed his hardening cock. “How well do you need to know me, fair Morgan?” Her mouth opened and closed several times as she struggled to speak. “Careful, love, or I will find something to fill those lips with.” Her eyes widened further and he stifled a laugh. Apparently the prospect of getting clean and spending time with Morgan was enough to cheer him. Letting his gaze travel down her body one last time, he pushed aside the stiff fabric curtain and stepped under the blessed spray. Hot needles of water pricked his skin and he tilted back his head and let the cascade soak his hair. He’d had his doubts about the place and time Merlin had sent him but if Morgan and the shower were any indication, he might grow to like it here after all. Of course, once he found the grail, these things would cease to matter. He couldn’t imagine the wizard intended to leave him here. He frowned. The old man had given him precious little information before shoving him headlong through the vortex. “Here.” He turned toward the sound of Morgan’s voice. Looking away from him, she held out a cake of soap—at least he assumed it was soap though it was far finer than any he’d ever seen. He grasped her wrist and lifted the cake from her palm but didn’t release her.
19
Bronwyn Green
She tugged her arm, but he held on until she turned to face him, staring directly into his eyes as if she feared looking anywhere else. “What are you doing, Ronan?” Instead of answering, he lifted her wrist to his mouth and trailed his lips over the delicate tracery of veins there. “Join me, lady.” Her breath caught and his cock jerked at the sound. “I—I think I should find us both some dry clothes.” “I think you are wearing too many clothes.” He scraped his teeth along her tender skin and was rewarded by her shiver. With a scowl, she snatched her hand from his grip but the corner of her mouth lifted in a wry smile. “Well aren’t you just the sweet talker.” “Was it a man who spoke sweetly and broke your heart?” He stroked his thumb across her lower lip leaving a drop of water hovering on the full curve. Her small pink tongue darted out to lick it off and his cock hardened almost painfully. She crossed her arms over her chest and scowled at him. “I’m pretty sure the state of my heart isn’t part of your quest. Or is this part of the whole knight must help a damsel in distress thing?” “A knight aids wherever he is needed.” He trailed his finger over her collarbone. “Oh really? And what kind of help do I look like I need?” “You look like you are in need of someone to make you forget the man who hurt you.” “There’s not enough therapy in the world to do that,” she muttered. He frowned. There were so many things in this time he had no knowledge of. How was he supposed to find the blasted grail if he didn’t understand things like showers and therapy? Better to focus on things he did understand, like the beauty of a woman’s body and the pleasure he could bring her.
20
Ronan’s Grail
He wanted to give Morgan more pleasure than she’d ever before experienced. He wanted to taste her skin, feel her shudder around his cock, spill himself inside her trembling body. He wanted to hear her cry out as she peaked. She stepped away from the shower and rummaged through piles of white fabric, even though she glanced repeatedly at him from the corner of her eye. Keeping his gaze on her, he rubbed the soap between his palms and built up a fine lather rubbing it all over his body. He didn’t miss the movement of her eyes as she followed the path of his hands over his stomach and chest to his thighs and cock, giving it a very thorough washing. Stepping back to the shower, she cleared her throat and offered him a piece of fabric. “Here…you might want a washcloth…to um…scrub with.” He took it and wet it in the warm water before scouring the sweat and dirt from his skin. Stretching, he soaped the back of his neck and as much of his shoulders as he could reach. The healing arrow wound in his back made it difficult to reach. “Give me that.” She plucked the cloth from his fingers and rinsed it out. “You’re going to open up that wound if you’re not careful. Now turn around.” Standing near the stiff curtain she used the cloth and wiped carefully around the injury. “What did you deflect here—an arrow?” He grunted. The area was still tender. “Unfortunately, the arrow penetrated my armor.” Morgan soaped his back with her hands, rubbing in circles, kneading his tired muscles. What he wouldn’t give for her touch on the rest of his body. He noticed that every so often her fingers strayed to the top of his ass, but never did they hover as long as he would have liked. She reached around him and lifted a hideous green colored bottle from a shelf. “Tilt your head back,” she ordered. He suppressed a grin at her dictatorial tone. “I might as well wash your hair while I’m back here,” she muttered.
21
Bronwyn Green
“I am not an invalid, lady, though I do enjoy the touch of your hands on my body. When you are finished, shall I turn around so you may wash the rest?” She yanked his hair as she combed her fingers through it. Somehow he didn’t think it was accidental. Something cold and thick settled on the top of his head and she began to work her fingers through it. He wrinkled his nose at the odd, sharp scent. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it was unfamiliar. Still, it was better than the lye soap he usually used. She struggled to reach the top of his head so he knelt down on the wet, sloping floor, avoiding the round metal grate. “Thank you,” she murmured. He closed his eyes and relaxed into her ministrations. “Thank you, fair Morgan. She said nothing but continued to work her fingertips over his scalp. He’d consider staying on his knees forever if it meant she would continue to touch him. That wasn’t entirely true. He wouldn’t be able to endure much more without touching her in return. Her hands moved to his temple and she paused as she felt the lump Mordred had left earlier. “What happened here?” “Mordred introduced my head to his shield.” “Mordred? As in Arthur’s son?” “Guinevere’s son,” he corrected hating the taste of her name in his mouth. “When I return, I shall kill him myself.” “So he’s your brother, too?” “What? No.” He removed her hands from his head and stood, rinsing the last of the soap. “No one knows who Mordred’s father is. I do not think even she knows.” “So you’re saying the Queen of Camelot was a slut-bunny?” she asked, an amused smile brightening her eyes. “If by ‘slut-bunny’ you mean skirt-lifting whore, then yes, that is what I’m saying.” “And you’re sure it wasn’t Lancelot?” “My father loathes her. He may have spread his seed over all of Britain but never with that…that bitch in heat.” 22
Ronan’s Grail
Morgan stared at the most gorgeous specimen of manhood she’d ever seen. Water sluiced over his broad chest, over the lines of corded muscles, into the nest of hair surrounding his huge, erect cock. It was all she could do not to drop to her knees and take him into her mouth. She shifted feeling a fresh rush of arousal. Her panties were as soaked and useless as the washcloth lying forgotten on the tile floor. Despite the numerous scars and bruises, his ass and thighs were sheer perfection. Her pussy clenched as she imagined wrapping her legs around his waist and holding on for dear life while he fucked her and filled up all of the empty places inside her. Unable to stop herself, she reached out and trailed her finger along an old scar that stretched from abdomen to hip. His cock jerked at her touch and he sucked in a harsh breath through clenched teeth. “What happened here?” she asked. “Spear,” he gritted out. “Battle of Badon.” Stepping closer, she traced the mark again. “Careful, love,” he warned, watching her like a cat watched something small and tasty. Oh she needed to get the hell out of here before she did something completely idiotic and gave in to the lust that seethed through her body. She didn’t have time for errant knights. She’d find him some clothes. Covering that sculpted, battle-hardened body had to be a crime of epic proportions, but if she didn’t she wouldn’t be able to think straight again. The sight of him grasping his cock and stroking as he’d washed had almost been enough to make her climax. One touch from him and she’d have gone off. Hell, if he’d whispered her name in that dark, velvet voice of his, she would have come. Clothes. She had to find clothes. He really, really needed to put on some clothes. She worked in a damn costume shop—how hard could it be? First, she’d find him some
23
Bronwyn Green
towels to dry himself with—before she offered to lick the water from his skin. Then she’d find him something to wear. For all she knew, he had a wife and family back in Camelot or wherever he’d lived before finding his way here. She could assume from his disgust over the Queen’s behavior that he wouldn’t cheat, but from the dawn of time men had held themselves accountable to a different standard of rules than they held women. No matter how much she might want him, she’d never betray another woman the way her mother had been betrayed—even if that woman existed fifteen hundred years in the past. Standing on her toes, she stretched to get hold of the towels on the top shelf. They were bigger. She wasn’t sure the other ones would fit around his body and that was just a disaster waiting to happen. As she reached, her shirt rode up in back clinging to her like a second uncomfortable skin. She needed to find clothes for herself too. These were wet and stiff and she wanted to peel them off. Without warning, she was pinned flat against the institutional green wall next to the shower, Ronan’s huge wet hand splayed across her upper back, holding her motionless. She struggled against the unfamiliar weight. “What the hell is the matter with you? Let me go.” “Cease your movement,” Ronan commanded. His warm, damp fingers lifted the back of her shirt and she fought harder. “I will not hurt you. Remain still.” Pulling downward, he tugged at the waistband of her jeans, stroking the skin at the small of her back. “You bear the mark,” he breathed.
24
Ronan’s Grail
Chapter Two Mark? What mark? Realization quickly dawned. “It’s just a tattoo.” Morgan’s mother had warned her but she hadn’t listened. She could hear her mother’s voice now. Tattoos make you look easy. Ronan traced the outline with his fingertip, following the path of interconnected circles and sending shivers through Morgan’s body. “You are the keeper of the grail.” “What?” She struggled to turn her head. “No. That’s just the vesica pisces—the symbol of the Chalice Well in Glastonbury, England.” Great…if she remembered her mythology correctly, the Chalice Well was one of the rumored resting places for the grail. After college she’d backpacked around Europe and had fallen in love with the town of Glastonbury. She’d felt a soul-deep connection to the place and had the vesica pisces tattooed while she’d been there. Though her mother had complained, Morgan had never regretted it—until now. Ronan continued to trace the mark, seemingly oblivious to the tremors of desire he sent through her. “I knew Merlin sent me to you for a reason,” he whispered. Pulling harder on her pants, he bent more closely to inspect the design. His hot breath skated across her sensitized skin and a fresh rush of moisture dampened her core. “Where is the grail, Morgan?” “How the hell should I know?” “You are its keeper,” he murmured as he brushed his calloused thumb back and forth over the design. “No I’m not.”
25
Bronwyn Green
He grunted his displeasure. “Look,” she began. “I’m sorry that some crackpot guy told you that I had the answer to your problem, but he was wrong.” “Remove your braes so I can better see the sigil.” She glanced over her shoulder at him. “No.” His jaw tightened and his eyes glittered with irritation. “I said, remove your braes.” “And I said, no. It’s not gonna happen.” “Take them off or I will remove them myself.” She craned her neck to get a better look at him. Fierce intent hardened his gaze and she shivered under his stare. Call her an idiot, but she wasn’t frightened of him. She knew he wouldn’t hurt her. She wasn’t sure, however, about her jeans. He might just shred them to get what he wanted. And why did that perverse thought send bolts of tingling awareness to her cleft? “I am waiting, Morgan.” “Get used to it.” He leaned to the side and reached for something. She followed his gaze. His sword? Panic beat like thunder in her chest and she struggled violently. Insinuating his knee between her thighs, he pressed his groin against her ass and held her more securely against the wall. His granite hard cock was trapped between them and she fought the ridiculous urge to turn around. “Cease, woman. I will not hurt you.” “Said the man with the bloodstained sword.” She drove her elbow into his stomach, feeling almost satisfied when he grunted. Hearing the sound of metal against leather, she froze. She’d taught stage sword fighting long enough to recognize the sound of a blade leaving its sheath. She glanced at Ronan and the dagger he held. She hadn’t noticed it on his belt earlier but clearly it had been there.
26
Ronan’s Grail
“This is your last chance, lady. Will you show me or shall I use this?” Morgan swallowed thickly and her fingers dropped to the waistband of her jeans and released the button and zipper. With shaking hands she slid her pants down—not quite over her ass but far enough for him to see the entire image. The dagger clattered to the floor as he sank to his knees behind her. He skimmed his hands up the outsides of her thighs until he reached her waist and pulled fabric farther from her body. “Sweet Mother of God,” he whispered, his breath warm against her lower back and ass. She glanced down at her open fly and stifled a groan. She’d studied costume design long enough to know they didn’t have thongs anywhere near 537 AD. “Okay, seen enough?” Gripping the waistband, she tried to yank up her pants. He laughed, the sound strained. “I have not come close to seeing enough of you, fair Morgan.” His lips, hot and insistent covered the tattoo at the base of her spine, before trailing over the top of her ass cheeks. She drew in a shuddering breath and braced herself against the wall. The desire she’d fought since he’d appeared raced through her body like fire through a dry field. She couldn’t bring herself to protest when he dragged her jeans down her legs leaving her in her bright red thong. Ronan palmed her bare ass and tugged at the string between her cheeks. The tightening fabric rubbed her already sensitized clit and she bit her lower lip—hard. Hands on her hips, he turned her to face him where he knelt at her feet. He might be on his knees but she had no doubt whatsoever about who controlled this encounter. She stared into the searing heat of his eyes and caught her breath. It was as if the restlessness that had plagued her for weeks had all been leading up to this moment. “Let down your hair, lady.”
27
Bronwyn Green
Morgan pulled the hair tie from her ponytail and let the strands fall down around her shoulders. Longing twisted her insides. He stroked the crease where her thigh met her groin and she canted her hips toward him. How could she want him so badly? They’d just met. She watched his face as his gaze dropped to her lace-covered pussy. His jaw clenched as if he fought some inner conflict. If he dragged out the noble knight bullshit now and left her a seething puddle of need, she’d clobber him with his own sword. Making sure the tide of battle would turn her way, she grabbed the hem of her stilldamp t-shirt and lifted it, baring her belly and exposing the red lace bra that matched her thong. On a groan, he leapt to his feet and pinned her against the wall, his leg again delving between hers. This time his thigh rubbed against her drenched fabric-covered folds—the evidence of her desire for him. Splaying his fingers through her hair, he held her head still as he took her mouth. There was no gentleness in his kiss. It was perfect. She didn’t want any. She wanted him to take her body the way he had her lips. She wanted him hard and throbbing inside her. She wanted him to take the place of the loneliness that had been her constant companion for far too long. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she opened beneath the onslaught, taking his tongue the way she wanted to take his cock. She rocked against his thigh as he trailed his lips down the side of her neck nipping at the tender skin, before dragging her bra strap over the curve of her shoulder with his teeth. His hand slid upward to cup her breast through the fabric of her bra. Her nipple hardened insistently into his palm and she shuddered at the sensation of the lace rasping over her sensitive skin. The bright red strap hung limply over her arm and Ronan tugged at it, baring her flesh to his hungry gaze. A horrible thought whispered to her and reality crashed into the spell of desire he wove around her. She pushed against his chest. “Wait.” 28
Ronan’s Grail
“Wait for what, fair Morgan?” he murmured as he stared at her flushed skin. He brushed his fingertips over the upper swell of her breast and she shuddered under his touch, her nipples tightening further. His eyes rose to meet hers and she almost lost herself in his stormy gaze. “Are you involved with any one?” she blurted. His brow furrowed and he tilted his head to the side. “Involved?” “Do you have a wife or…or a lover?” His jaw tightened as he stared at her. “Think you I have no honor, lady?” Before she could answer, he forged ahead, his eyes blazing with the icy heat of anger. “Because I am the bastard son of an honorless knight, I must be without honor as well?” The red in his aura flared brighter, but pervasive black tendrils threaded through it. Black in an aura was often indicative of evil, but this was something else entirely— buried suffering. Her breath caught in her throat at the depth of pain his anger hid. For a moment, she could imagine him as a child alone and unwanted and she wanted to soothe every hurt he’d ever experienced. “No. That’s not what I meant,” she choked out. His cock, rigid and hot, pressed into her belly as he continued to hold her captive with his body and his expression. She met his narrowed eyes. “I’m sorry. It’s just that the men that I know—” “The men that you know,” he interrupted with a growl, “are fools.” She wouldn’t argue with him on that point. Aside from a few of her students and a couple of married faculty members, her brother was the only truly decent man she knew. Tracing the line of her lips with his finger, he watched her, his features relaxing. The black faded from his aura and the red grew steadily brighter. This time she was
29
Bronwyn Green
sure it wasn’t anger causing it. She didn’t want to ruin this moment but she needed to clear the air before they went any further. “I’m not like the Queen,” she began. His expression softened and he swept his thumb over her lower lip, the sensation sending tingles of awareness flitting through her belly. “She would not have cared whether I had a woman or not.” The warmth in his eyes melted her worry. “I know you are nothing like her.”
Though he’d known her no more than a handful of moments, he knew without a doubt the only thing Morgan and Guinevere had in common was their gender. The Queen was beautiful like cold, carved marble, but Morgan reminded him of sundappled wildflowers—soft and warm, begging for his touch. His hands settled on her shoulders to slide down her silky arms before slipping upward again. He brushed his callused thumbs over her collarbones, feeling a shiver work its way down her spine. She was so sensitive—so responsive. It was near impossible to focus on his duty with her soft, bare skin enticing him. He had to find the grail and as sweetly tempting as this woman was, she’d yet to tell him what he needed to know. Lowering his face to hers, he kissed the corner of her mouth, before trailing his lips along her jaw to her ear. “Where is the grail?” he murmured before continuing to his journey along the column of her neck. “I don’t know,” she breathed, her hands clenched in fists against his chest. He tasted the spot where her pulse hammered at the base of her throat. “Think, Morgan,” he murmured against her skin. “You bear the mark.” She slumped against the wall as his lips dropped to the tops of her breasts. “It’s just a tattoo,” she groaned. He glanced at her face. She’d closed her eyes in obvious pleasure.
30
Ronan’s Grail
“You know, you can do this all night, but I’m still not going to be able to tell you…” Molding the firm flesh of her breast with his hand, his lips closed over her and he drew hard, pressing the crinkled nipple to the roof of his mouth, laving it with his tongue. Tangling her fingers in his hair, she pulled him closer, thrusting her breast against his mouth, but he released her and raised his head. “Why will you not tell me?” he asked, absently plucking at her damp nipple. “It’s not that I won’t—I can’t.” Reaching between their bodies he cupped her mound and she arched into his hand, the wet fabric warm against his fingers. Slipping his hand inside the sheer undergarment—if one could call it that—he slid his fingers through her moist folds. She dropped her head against his chest, her cry muffled. “Ronan, please.” “Just tell me what I need to know, fair Morgan and I will fulfill your every need.” She lifted her face, her eyes dark with desire. “I can’t give you information I don’t have.” Parting her damp curls, he found her swollen clit and gently circled it with the pad of his thumb. “Just tell me what you know,” he urged, his lips at her ear. Her fingers curled into his shoulders, her nails lightly scoring his skin. “You’re seducing me for answers? He could barely suppress his smile as he slid a finger inside her tight, wet sheath. “A knight does what he must to fulfill his quest.” “I don’t know anything,” she breathed. Eyes closed, she arched into his hand, mindlessly moving against him. Obviously, he needed to try a different tactic. Ceasing his motion, he pulled his hand from the firm grip of her flesh and cupped it over her mound. Her eyes flew open before narrowing at him. “What happened to fulfilling my every need?”
31
Bronwyn Green
“Where did you get the mark?” he asked. “My needs aren’t even close to being fulfilled, big guy,” she practically snarled. He pulled his hand from her body and brought his arousal-glazed fingers to his lips, nearly groaning at the taste of her sweet juices on his tongue. Her lips parted and her eyes darkened to the point of appearing nearly black. He held her gaze as he sucked off every last drop of her essence. His cock hardened painfully. He hadn’t thought he could become more aroused, but he hadn’t before tasted the heaven that was Morgan. He needed more—preferably directly from her honeyed body. “Where?” he repeated. He knew he sounded harsh but his control was balanced on a sword’s edge. She watched him, her eyes heavy with desire. “A guy in Glastonbury did it.” Jealousy writhed though his middle. Had that man also seen her in her pathetic excuse for an undergarment? The thought made him want to break the other man’s fingers—one by one. “Five years ago,” she added. Ronan studied her face, taking in her flushed cheeks and hungry eyes. There had to be more she wasn’t telling him. Heedless of the uncomfortable floor, he sank to his knees before her and nuzzled her soft, warm belly. Her stomach muscles quivered beneath his lips. He tried to focus on his quest, but her warm, satin skin begged for the touch of his mouth. Closing his eyes he drew in the heated scent of her arousal. The only thing he wanted was to lose himself in her supple body. Merlin wouldn’t have sent him to Morgan without a reason, but somehow, he doubted that reason involved rutting. But if she didn’t have the grail, surely she was meant to lead him to it. She dragged her fingers through his dripping hair and he looked up, meeting her gaze. Merlin, Arthur, the grail—everything fell away. He brushed his face over her belly
32
Ronan’s Grail
again before dropping lower to her barely covered mound. A shiver worked through her body as he clasped her ass in his hands and pulled her closer to his mouth. Her hands tightened in his hair as he nipped at her through the cloth. He knew he should be seeking the grail but the only treasure he wanted was Morgan. Slipping his fingers under the thin straps holding the garment on her body, he slowly drew them downward, baring her to his gaze. He skimmed his hand over her tight, black curls while he tasted the crease where her leg met her body. “Are you finished asking me pointless questions?” she asked, her voice taut. “I do not ask pointless questions.” Laying his forearm across her abdomen, he pinned her against the wall. With his free hand he parted her soft folds. Pink and perfect, glistening with her desire. She shivered, goose flesh blanketing her skin. If they weren’t careful, she’d catch a chill. Steam billowed from the box—the shower— behind him. Rising to his feet, he pulled her flush against him. “I would see you under the fall of water, lady.” Holding her close, he backed under the spray of water, watching as it beaded then ran in rivulets over her pale skin. It soaked her hair, spreading the strands like wet silk where they clung to her neck and shoulders. She stared into his eyes, looking like a mythical nymph risen from a secluded pool. He tugged on the provocative, binding garment that still covered her breasts. “I would see all of you.” Though his words were gentle, his tone sounded harsh, his restraint all but depleted. He pulled at the annoying article of clothing again, ready to shred the fabric. He glanced toward where his dagger lay near their discarded clothing. “Don’t even think about using your sword.” A slow smile curved his lips as he moved closer and blocked the opening of the stall. Grasping his cock at the root, he stroked upward. “This is the only blade I have need of.”
33
Bronwyn Green
Her eyes widened and her lips parted on a gasp. While she was still staring at his shaft, her hands tugged at the cloth, twisting it, and suddenly, she was bare— completely, gloriously bare. He cupped her breasts in his hands, bending to taste one and then the other. She stiffened, her fingers clutching at his arms as he suckled at her pebbled nipples. Her breathless cry echoed in the small room and shivered up his spine. Walking her backward, farther into the enclosure, he didn’t stop until the backs of her calves hit an outcropping that looked to form a seat. “Sit.” He followed her down to kneel between her thighs and gently parted her further, opening her to his gaze. The water continued to pelt them and droplets hovered on the tips of her nipples, quivering with each breath she took. Leaning forward he tasted the water directly from her skin, trailing his lips over her breasts down her belly to hover above her mound. “Open for me, fair Morgan.” Her small hands clenched into fists at her sides as if she dreaded what was to come. He raised her tightly balled hand to his mouth and caressed it with his lips until her fingers relaxed and he placed kisses on her open palm. “I will not hurt you, lady.” “I know.” A small smile curved her lips. “It’s just been a while.” He didn’t want to know how long she’d been without a man. For now, she would be his alone. Dipping his head, he swept his tongue through the moisture dampening her cleft. “Honeyed mead,” he murmured against her flesh, taking another lick “I could become drunk on nothing more than the taste of you.” Her impassioned moan tightened his balls as he lifted her legs over his shoulders and spread her delicate folds. Lowering his head, he tasted her again, his tongue stabbing into her tight sheath. He wanted to feel her stretched around his cock. The need to be inside her grew with every stroke across her weeping flesh, but more than that, he needed to feel her release, to hear her desperate cries. Morgan twisted her fingers in his hair, pulling him closer as he moved to her clit, circling it with the tip of his tongue. He slipped a finger into her contracting passage. A
34
Ronan’s Grail
shudder worked through her as he added a second. Her muscles rippled around him as he continued to glide through the juices that coated her. He glanced up the length of her body as he lapped greedily at her sensitized skin. Her nipples were hardened points of need, begging for his touch. Would that he had more hands to pleasure her with. He raised his head and waited for her to open her heavy brown eyes. Her lids fluttered. “Touch your breasts, Morgan.” Her eyes widened, but he continued. “Show me how you want me to touch you.” Holding his gaze, she cupped the weight of her perfect breasts in her hands, brushing her thumbs across the distended nipples. His cock jerked at the sight of her fingers twisting and pinching her engorged pink flesh. He drew in a shuddering breath. He’d had no idea how the sight of her pleasuring herself would affect him. He’d give her the release she needed and then, then he’d bury himself so deeply inside her everything else would cease to matter. Ronan shifted as he watched her and the warm water rained down over her body, pooling slightly in her navel before running down her sides. Droplets sprinkled her curls like dew. Leaning forward, he tasted her again as he continued to fill her snug passage with his plunging fingers. He caught her clit between his teeth and flicked his tongue across it. The movement was her undoing. Her climax spilled from her lips in an echoing cry as her internal muscles pulsed around him. She stiffened as fresh honey poured over his tongue. He drank ravenously, reveling in her cries of pleasure, loving the way his name fell from her lips like a dark prayer. He kissed the insides of her silky thighs and smoothed his hand over her belly as her breathing slowed. As much as he wanted to feel her around his cock, he knew he needed to give her a moment to rest. Her feet settled to the floor and she shifted on the outcropping. “Stand up,” she ordered, her voice still husky from her tremulous cries.
35
Bronwyn Green
His eyebrow rose at her dictatorial tone. “As milady commands.” His cock bobbed for attention, level with her damp lips. Leaning forward, she avoided his needy flesh and with her mouth caressed the jagged swath of skin over his hip that the spear had left in its wake. “You could have died,” she murmured. “Aye.” At one point, he’d wanted to die. The fighting had become endless and the possibility of succeeding faded more quickly than the setting sun. Now, here in this place, in this time, with Morgan, he began to hope for something more. He began to think that there might actually be hope—for Arthur…and for himself. She stared up at him with eyes as dark as rain-drenched earth and wrapped her small hand around the base of his erection. Still holding his gaze, she licked the drops of water from the head, with tiny flicks of her tongue. Slowly, she closed her lips around the head, before rapidly taking him as far as she could. His knees nearly buckled at the hot rush of pleasure but he managed to remain upright. “Sweet Mary, Mother of God,” he ground out, driving his fingers through the wet silk of her hair. With gentle suction, she pulled back and the water from the shower spattered his emerging flesh—the sensation suddenly sharper after experiencing the caress of her tongue. She slid up and down the length of his throbbing cock, her hands stroking as she worked him in and out of her mouth. The sight of her full, pink lips stretched around his width was almost more than he could bear. If she didn’t stop, he’d lose himself in her mouth. As much as he’d enjoy that, he wanted to be within the snug grip of her cunt when he came—at least the first time. “Cease.” Startled, Morgan drew back. Consumed by blinding need, he hauled her to her feet and fell on her, pinning her to the wall, claiming her mouth as if he’d never get enough 36
Ronan’s Grail
of her. Seeming just as desperate as he was, she plastered her lean, slick body against his. She rubbed her breasts, tight-tipped and swollen over his chest as she pressed closer still. Another moment outside her sweet clutching body would kill him. He lifted her and she wrapped her arms about his neck and her legs around his waist. The head of his cock slid through her thick dew and he groaned as he slowly parted her luscious folds. Spreading her ass cheeks, he eased her down his length, groaning at the tight fit of her cunt. A shudder ran through her body and she stiffened. “Stop.” “Later,” he murmured his lips teasing the damp curve of her shoulder. “I’m serious, Ronan.” He took her mouth as he took her passage, thrusting with both tongue and cock. He lifted his head and stared into her arousal glazed eyes. “So am I.” Morgan nodded slowly as she seemed to reach some sort of decision. He thought briefly to question her, but she gripped his shoulders and ground herself against him. “Later works for me.” Cupping the back of her head with one hand and wrapping his other arm around her waist, he drew back, loving the wet glide of her flesh around his. Streaming water sluiced over their joined bodies, barely pooling between them before traveling farther downward. His measured thrusts quickly became frantic but she met him lunge for lunge. “More,” she groaned in his ear as he drove into her. “More, Ronan, please.” Her throaty pleas sliced through his last vestige of restraint, pushed him closer and closer to the edge of madness. “As my lady commands,” he gritted out. Adjusting his grip on her hips, he changed the angle of their contact and pounded harder. Digging her nails into his shoulders, she immediately began to convulse around
37
Bronwyn Green
him. His balls pulled up tightly as her scream echoed in the small area. She milked his cock, rippling around him, still begging for more. He shafted her harder, his hunger for her propelling him forward, deeper. Unrelenting sensation streaked up his spine to burst at the base of his skull as his release ripped though him. He spilled hot and heavy, erupting into her welcoming body. Breathless, he turned and slumped against the wall with Morgan resting against his chest, her legs still clasped around his waist. Slowly, their breathing returned to normal, and he nuzzled her neck. “You were right,” he murmured. She lifted her head to meet his gaze. “About what?” He couldn’t stop the satisfied smile that curved his lips. “I loved the shower.”
38
Ronan’s Grail
Chapter Three After a quick rinse, Morgan turned off the water. If they stayed in there much longer, they’d be prunes. She handed Ronan a towel and began to dry her skin. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t insisted he wear a condom. She always kept the dressing rooms stocked and regularly lectured the students about safe sex. Somehow the queen of sexual responsibility had been bowled over by a body to die for and piercing blue eyes. She wasn’t worried about getting pregnant—she was on the pill. Diseases were another matter though. But Ronan was from the sixth century. It wasn’t like he’d be carrying the deadly strains of illness found in today’s society and the diseases they did have were easily cured with modern medicine. For a moment, she remembered the sensation of his bare cock within her. He’d felt so damn good. Suppressing a shiver, she glanced at him through her lashes. He ran the towel over his body but his gaze never left her. Morgan wrapped her towel around herself, securing it under her arm. “Lady, you need not cover yourself on my account.” She noticed he didn’t bother to cover himself either. “I need to find us both some clothes, and I don’t really want to wander around the building naked.” His eyes narrowed and he drew his fingertip along her arm, leaving a trail of goose bumps in his wake. “I do prefer to keep your beauty to myself.” With a grin, she snatched the towel from his hand and wrapped it around his waist. “I prefer keeping yours to myself, too.”
39
Bronwyn Green
Crossing to the counter, Morgan removed the wrapper from the granola bar and handed it to Ronan. “I thank you, lady.” After he’d eaten it, she lifted the can of Coke and popped the top before taking a long drink and handed it to Ronan. “Here.” He sniffed it before drinking and swallowed with a wince. “What in God’s name is this swill?” Frowning, she snatched the can from his hand took another drink. “This is the drink of the gods, big guy.” He arched a skeptical brow at her and took the can from her hand and set it on the counter behind her. “I can only assume it tastes better from the lips of a fair maiden.” Threading his fingers through her hair, he lowered his head, his bright eyes dilating as he drew closer. With a flick of his tongue he parted her lips before capturing her mouth and delving inside. She melted into him as he pressed her back against the counter. He stroked her tongue, drawing it into his mouth as he ran his hands over the contours of her body. God, she wanted him again, and judging from the way his cock insistently hardened against her belly, he wanted her just as badly. Slowly, he lifted his head. “It seems I was correct. It tastes far better from your lips.” With a grin he tugged at the corner of her towel. She was about to let him take it from her when a crash outside the dressing room pulled her from his embrace. It sounded like the door to the scene shop. She was betting she hadn’t latched it properly when they’d come in from the storm. Ronan straightened beside her and grabbed his sword from the pile of discarded clothing. Holding it in a defensive stance, he tried to push her behind him. A lump rose in her throat at his protective gesture. Other than her brother, she couldn’t think of a single man who’d ever tried to protect her—not even her father had bothered. Of course, his neglect had been more of an emotional sort, but still Ronan’s behavior warmed her. 40
Ronan’s Grail
She laid her hand on his back, loving the play of muscles beneath his skin. “It’s okay,” she said, “I think the door just blew open.” “I will look.” He turned to glower at her. “Stay here.” “I don’t think so.” He opened his mouth to speak but Morgan pushed past him. “You don’t know the building and besides, it’s just the wind.” His expression darkened further and he adjusted his grip on his sword looking like an avenging angel. A pissed off avenging angel. She didn’t need him to shelter her, but she had to admit, it felt nice knowing that he wanted to. Of course, he’d feel honor bound to safeguard anyone he considered weaker than he. A flutter of appreciation rippled through her belly anyway. Or maybe it was just the memory of having his hard, throbbing length pounding inside her. She guided him through the backstage area to the scene shop. The bloody cloth she’d used to wash his face lay forgotten on the floor. The wind caught the metal door again and threw it against the cinderblock wall. Morgan jumped at the sound, but Ronan scanned the area looking for anything wrong. Crossing the room, she shut and locked the door. Though she’d tried to convince him they were the only ones in the building, he insisted on searching it to be sure. As they wound through the darkened hallways and rooms, she had the sensation of being watched. She rolled her eyes at her paranoia. Obviously the bizarre events of the night were catching up with her. Once he was satisfied that she was right, she took him to the costume shop. The most recent show had been a contemporary piece and not all of the costumes had been brought back to the storage loft yet. She should have something that would fit him. She scanned the length of his nearly naked body, her pussy suddenly damp. How could she want him again? The towel draped lower on his hips exposing the sharp curve of his hip bone. How could she not want him again was the more pertinent question. 41
Bronwyn Green
Sorting through several laundry baskets, she found jeans, a t-shirt, some boxers and socks. She tossed everything to him. “Try these on.” She thought about turning her back and giving him the semblance of privacy, but she did need to see if everything fitted properly. After all, she was the costume mistress. Holding her eyes as if he knew her thoughts he laid his sword on the cutting table. He pulled the towel from his body and let it fall to the floor along with the armload of clothing. His cock hardened under her gaze and she fought the urge to close the space between them and take him into her mouth. She could still feel the sensation of his hands in her hair and hear his hiss of breath as she wrapped her lips around him. Still watching her through heavy-lidded eyes, he grasped the root of his erection and stroked upward. “Do you see something you fancy?” he asked in his midnight velvet voice. Did she ever. Boy, did she ever… His lips quirked in a crooked smile and he picked up the jeans from the floor and shook them out as if he was going to put them on. “Hey, big guy, you’re gonna want to wear some underwear with those.” His brows drew together and he looked at her quizzically. Crossing to stand in front of him, she picked up the boxers. “You need to put these on first.” She slid the zipper up and down on the pants he still held before wrapping her fingers around his cock and squeezing. “I’d hate to see you hurt anything important.” Morgan walked back to the laundry basket and pulled out a pair of black yoga pants and a camisole. She frowned. How pathetic was it that she spent so much time at the theater that she actually did laundry here? That really had to change—she needed to get a life. Of course, it wasn’t like she had anyone to go home to. Maybe she should get a cat. She spared a glance at Ronan. She’d almost consider bringing him home with her but she knew better than to make that mistake.
42
Ronan’s Grail
She looked over her shoulder and her mouth went dry. She’d gauged his size perfectly. Barefoot, he leaned against the waist-high cutting table, jeans slung low on his narrow hips. He’d managed the zipper but had left the button at the waist undone like an invitation. It was all she could do not to rip his pants off. Swallowing hard at the way the well-worn fabric hugged his muscular thighs, she wondered if the back view was as mouthwatering as the front. “Turn around,” she commanded. “Let me see how they look in the back. I want to make sure the fit is okay.” His eyes brightened with amusement as he saw through her lame attempt at manipulation, but he turned anyway. Dear God, his ass was perfection in denim. She tried to tell herself she was admiring him with a seamstress’ eye but she knew that was a big fat lie. Holding his arms out slightly, he spun in a slow circle. With his hair loose and flowing around his shoulders and the nonchalant stance, he almost looked more twenty-first century grad student than medieval knight. The wariness in his eyes and the scars and bruises that covered his chest belied that impression though. He was a knight on a quest—a quest that now involved her. How the hell was she supposed to help him find the Holy Grail? Especially when it might not even exist? Eschewing socks and shirt, Ronan wandered around the room picking up various objects—CDs, plastic boxes, batteries, her MP3 player. His brow furrowed as he inspected each one before returning it. He trailed his fingers over the sewing machine and she saw recognition flit through his gaze as he handled her fabric scissors and hand needles. Crossing the room, he stood in front of the computer and frowned. Morgan couldn’t imagine how she would feel if she’d been plopped into another century. She’d bet it wouldn’t be with the quiet dignity Ronan exhibited. She imagined a lot of kicking and screaming as well as plenty of tears and recriminations. Nope. It wouldn’t be pretty. Thankfully, she didn’t know any wizards hell bent on having her
43
Bronwyn Green
find mythical objects. All things considered, her knight in blue jeans was handling everything amazingly well. She smiled as he picked up the remote for the costume shop’s CD player and began pushing buttons. Apparently, the male necessity to control the remote transcended time and space. He pressed another series of buttons and Ani Difranco blared through the speakers. “What in the name of God is that squalling?” When she’d been sewing earlier, she’d turned the sound way up. “It’s hardly squalling.” She plucked the device from his hand and adjusted the volume to a conversational level. Ronan frowned and took possession of it again and began experimenting with the buttons turning the sound up and down. Perhaps the male need for control of the remote was a genetic predisposition. Shutting off the music, he replaced the remote and moved to a pile of PreRaphaelite art books she’d left spread open over her desk. She’d been finishing up the sketches for the costume designs for the upcoming show. He turned a glossy page and his hand fell limply to his side. Peering around him she saw a painting of a knight with his head bowed forlornly. She glanced at the title— Sir Galahad. Ronan’s aura radiated a sudden, sharp blue and she could practically feel his sadness. Yesterday his brother had been alive, today he’d been dead for nearly fifteen hundred years. It was as if some of the fight had drained from Ronan as he stared at the book. The slump of his shoulders was reminiscent of the knight in the image. What would happen if he failed to find the grail? Though she hadn’t known him very long—no more than a handful of very eventful hours—she knew him well enough to know that if he failed in his quest, it would destroy him. An idea occurred to her and she laid her hand on his back. “I’ve got a friend who may be able to help,” she said. 44
Ronan’s Grail
Her friend, Quinn, was an English Literature professor with an unhealthy fascination for all things Arthurian. Maybe they could get some idea of where to look from him. He turned to face her, his eyes lit with determination. “Bring me to your friend.” “I can’t. It’s the middle of the night. I’m not just going to show up on his doorstep and start pounding on his door.” Ronan took a step toward her, his expression unreadable. “His?” Was he jealous? “Is he the one who hurt you?” he demanded. Anger and sympathy tangled in his gaze. She sighed. She’d rather deal with jealousy than sympathy. She suspected Ronan was trying to do his knightly duty in an attempt to protect her. “No. He’s just a friend and I think he can help us.” “Help us?” His eyes narrowed a bit. Morgan shrugged ignoring the blush that warmed her cheeks. “Merlin sent you to me, right?” “Aye, lady.” “And I bear the mark.” She could still feel the damp heat of his mouth as he’d thoroughly examined her tattoo. Her pussy clenched wanting to feel him buried within her again. His gaze darkened and he traced the line of the towel where it covered her breasts. “That you do.” She drew herself up straight. “Then I’m going to help you.” He opened his mouth, but she cut him off as she walked past and headed back to the dressing room. She heard the scrape of metal on wood as he picked up his sword and followed.
45
Bronwyn Green
Feeling a bit silly at her continued paranoia she slid the lock home as soon as they entered the room and then turned to face him. “Don’t you dare think about dragging out any of that ‘I-am-a-manly-man-you-are-a-fragile-delicate-flower-bullshit’. I’m completely capable of helping you.” He laid the sword on the counter by the door and prowled forward, backing her into the wall. She’d been so distracted by watching Ronan explore the wonders of the twenty-first century, she’d forgotten to put on her own clothes. He placed his hands on either side of her head effectively caging her between his body and the concrete behind her. There were far worse places to be. “Oft-times I understand only every fourth word that passes your lips.” Stroking his hands over her shoulders, he circled her upper arms and pulled her to him. “Oft I care less for understanding your words and care more for tasting your lips.” Her stomach flip-flopped at the intensity in his gaze and the warmth of his body seeping into her skin. She hooked her fingers in his waistband and pulled him closer. His stomach was hot against the backs of her fingers. Why had she thought finding him clothing was a good idea? She was a moron. Powerful longing simmered in his gaze as he fisted his hand in her hair and lowered his head, capturing her lips. She released a pent-up breath into his mouth as his tongue slipped past her defenses, tasting and inciting her. With a groan, he ground his straining cock against her mound and tightened his hand in her hair. She clenched her thighs together to ease the building ache. A shiver of unease snaked through her. She’d never wanted a man with the ferocity she wanted Ronan. That would only make it harder when it ended as it inevitably would. Pushing those thoughts away, she smoothed her hands over the plaited muscles of his chest. She slipped her arms around his neck and pressed closer to the near perfection of his body. His muscles bunched under her fingertips as she touched as much of him as she could reach. She dragged her fingers down his back, careful to avoid his wounds when she dug her fingers into his tightly muscled ass. He thrust
46
Ronan’s Grail
against her towel-covered pussy as he ate at her mouth, pulling her deeper and deeper into uncontrollable desire. He left her mouth and dragged his lips along her jaw to her neck. “Fair Morgan,” he groaned as he pulled the towel from her body, baring her to his gaze. “You are so very beautiful.” Pleasure filled her followed by an irrational spurt of jealousy. “I bet you say that to all the fair maidens you’re about to fuck.” He scowled and gripped her by the shoulders, turning her to face the wall of mirrors. Still holding her shoulders he leaned forward and placed his lips against her ear. “I’ve barely left the sweet confines of your body and again my cock is throbbing to take you.” He met her gaze in the mirror. Like the blue of a flame, his eyes heated as they stared at each other. Skimming his hands over her arms, he reached around and cupped her breasts, thumbing her nipples. With a groan, she arched into his hands and he thrust his denim-clad erection against her bare ass. His crisp chest hair tingled across her back as he pinched and rolled her nipples between his fingers and thumbs. Desire flooded through her. She couldn’t look away from the mirror—from his hands on her body. Sun-bronzed skin against her paleness. The sight was almost as erotic as his touch. She watched as his calloused hand slid downward over her belly inch by agonizing inch, stroking the area above her damp curls but never moving lower. He flicked his tongue across the sensitive hollow behind her ear and she shivered. “Please,” she whispered. “Tell me what would please you, lady,” he breathed against her skin. She laid her head against his chest. “Please touch me.”
47
Bronwyn Green
“I am touching you, but the last time I went too quickly. I want to love you slowly this time.” He traced the outer shell of her ear with his tongue. “I want to love you properly.” She stiffened at the mention of love. Surely that was nothing more than a medieval euphemism for sex. It had to be. She couldn’t deal with anything else. He caught her earlobe between his teeth and the thought vanished with a shudder of need. “I think you are a witch, fair Morgan.” He dragged open-mouthed kisses along the side of her neck as his fingers traveled unerringly toward her aching cleft. “I crave your taste,” he whispered against her skin. “I crave the sound of your voice when you peak.” Morgan rubbed her bottom back and forth across his erection. If he didn’t touch her soon, she’d lose her mind. “Witch,” he growled as he parted her folds and entered her aching pussy. She thrust against his hand. “More.” He chuckled and the sound rumbled through her, teasing her already sensitized nerve endings. He added another finger to her clenching body but refused to hurry his slow, steady pace. His touch was heavenly but she wanted more. She wanted his mouth on her taut, heavy breasts. She wanted him hard and thick and thrusting inside her. She wanted everything he had to give. A whisper of warning sounded in the back of her mind but it was hushed by his murmured words. “You react to my touch as though you were made for me.” She caught her breath as he brushed his thumb over her clit, arching against him as he repeated the motion. She tried to turn to face him but he secured his other arm across her stomach and kept her locked to him. “You will stay right here,” he breathed in her ear. “I want you to see how beautiful you are when you find your release.”
48
Ronan’s Grail
His midnight velvet voice stroked her just as effectively as the fingers she writhed against. “See how hard your nipples are. When I taste them again they’ll draw even more tightly against my tongue.” His words sent a fresh rush of cream flowing over his fingers as he worked his hand over and inside her flesh. Shudders of pleasure trembled through her middle as her pussy rippled slightly around him. “So hot,” he groaned, “and wet.” Lightly scraping his thumbnail over her clit, he whispered, “And all mine.” She closed her eyes at the sound of his rough voice and his deepening advances. All his? His words sank in and panic knotted her stomach. Obviously he didn’t mean that. It was just a figure of speech. If she really thought it was more than that, she’d be long gone—grail or not—orgasm or not. He pushed his fabric-covered cock against her ass. “Open your eyes, Morgan.” Hell, the way he said her name was almost enough to make her come on the spot. “See what I see,” he continued. She did as he commanded and stared into the mirror. Her nipples were tight little pebbles aching with neglect and her breasts were flushed with the same pink that brightened her cheeks. One of his big, scarred hands splayed over her belly, his long fingers teasing at the top of her mound. The other was shiny with her juices as he delved deeper into her pussy. Raising her arms, she locked them around his neck. As badly as her legs were shaking, she needed all the support she could get. She pushed and ground against him as he worked her body into frenzied need. “Open wider for me,” he urged. When she complied, he shifted his hand and she felt one finger stroke the sensitive skin between her pussy and her anus. Oh God, he wouldn’t. He worked his slick fingertip
49
Bronwyn Green
around and around the puckered flesh. Apparently he would. She tensed and he nuzzled her ear. “Calm yourself, fair Morgan. I seek only to bring you pleasure.” Gently but firmly he pushed until her flesh parted. The slight pinch and sting gave way to a pleasant fullness and the pleasant fullness gave way to indescribable pleasure when he brought his fingers together inside her body. Stroking the same tender flesh from either side, he let his other hand slide downward until he reached her clit. Tapping sharply he worked her hard and fast as she rode the sensations tearing through her body. She tangled her hands in his hair and held on while she bucked against him. Quivering urgency ratcheted through her body as she strained toward the release that dangled just out of reach. He sank his teeth into her earlobe before flicking his tongue over the small wound. “Your woman’s flesh grips me so tightly I long to sheath my cock within you.” The rough, desperate quality of his voice heightened her need to an almost unbearable level. She met his blistering gaze in the mirror as he dragged his lips along her jaw and neck. “I would see you come,” he murmured. Her cunt tightened and rippled around his fingers as shudders racked her body. She couldn’t focus on his words, only the taut longing that permeated his speech. The need that had coiled so sharply within fragmented and shimmered through her, sending intense pleasure to every nerve ending. Still kissing the curve of her shoulder, he eased out of her. Morgan slumped against the counter in front of the mirror and tried to catch her breath. In the reflection, she watched as Ronan washed his hands. She wanted to touch him, to give him the same kind of satisfaction he’d given her. Straightening, she turned to face him but he moved behind her and pinned her between the heat of his body and the chilly formica countertop. “I want to touch you,” she gritted out.
50
Ronan’s Grail
Insinuating a thigh between hers he held her firmly in place. “You will be. You will be wrapped around my body very soon.” Her stomach fluttered at his sensual promise. How did he know just what say to her? The edge of the hard plastic bit into her legs, but she didn’t care. It only served to heighten her arousal as he skimmed his hands up and down the sides of her body. Occasionally, his fingertips grazed the outer curve of her breasts. Unable to stand his teasing any longer, she grabbed his hands and covered both breasts with them, arching into his palms. While he massaged her and tortured her nipples she reached behind her and fumbled with his zipper. His rough chuckle skated along her spine and she shivered despite the warmth of his body. “So eager for my cock?” A nod was all the coherence she could manage. Removing her hands from his waistband, he placed them palm down on the counter. “You will want something to hold to,” he said his words dark with promise. His knuckles grazed the small of her back as the rough metal rasp filled the room. She caught her breath at the sound. Just a few more moments and his heavy, thick cock would push between her swollen folds into her pussy where he belonged. A thread of panic wound around her. Where he belonged? What the hell was she doing having thoughts like that? Before she could examine the aberrant idea, he distracted her by stripping off his jeans and boxers and kicking them aside. His freed cock brushed against the small of her back sending shivers through her. Hard and silky and hot, he felt like heaven. She wanted nothing more than to touch him, to give him pleasure, but he kept her pinned where she was, his eyes holding her captive in the mirror. Placing his hand in the center of her back, he pushed her forward until she was braced on the countertop. He splayed both hands over her back and caressed her,
51
Bronwyn Green
dragging his fingertips up and down her spine, following the same path with his lips. Shivers skated over her skin as she tensed waiting for him to fill her. He pressed behind her. Gripping his cock, he dragged the thick, blunt head through her gathering moisture, up and down the length of her cleft. She pushed back into his groin, begging him to fill her. Having his cock inside her had become more important than breathing. Morgan watched him in the mirror as he grasped her hips with his huge hands, his fingers dark against her pale flesh. She’d never felt petite in her life, but there was something about the way he touched her that made her feel almost delicate. Prodding her opening, he raised her just slightly. Staring into her eyes, he paused for an endless moment before surrendering to their need and entering her body in a long, smooth stroke. Her breath left her body on a whoosh and his gaze never left hers. She clamped down hard on his cock, her pussy pulsing around him until he closed his eyes, his face contorting in what looked to be exquisite agony. Slowly, he drew back through her slick folds before shoving forward again. He filled her completely. Nothing had ever felt as good as Ronan. He pulled back again. She wouldn’t have believed it possible, but he was moving even slower. She pushed back against him, urging him to hurry his pace. He merely tightened his grip on her hips and kept the same maddeningly deliberate rhythm. “Faster,” she demanded. If anything, his pace diminished further. Eyes still closed, he strained into her body, stretching her, filling her, completing her. She pushed that thought away and focused on the moment. And this moment involved nothing more than Ronan fucking her. That’s all it was. Nothing more complicated than that. Just because he seemed to know her body better than she did didn’t mean that this should be anything other than temporary. Unable to bear even the inkling of a wish that 52
Ronan’s Grail
it could be something much more, she looked away from their reflection. What a mistake that was. Across the room was the floor-to-ceiling mirror that took up most of a wall. It was impossible to miss the way the muscles in Ronan’s ass tightened and released as he plunged slowly in and out of her. Nor could she miss his cock, slick with her juices as he drew back so far he nearly pulled free of her grasping cunt. She watched as their reflection writhed in the mirror. His head was tilted back and his hair fell loosely down his back. The sight was beyond erotic. Desire flooded her core as she continued to stare at Ronan’s glorious body as he continued his unhurried, even lunges. As hot as it made her, she needed more. Bracing her hands against the counter, she met his next thrust with one of her own. “Open your eyes,” she insisted. “Look at us.” He lifted his head and turned in the direction she stared. His eyes widened slightly and a groan slipped through his slightly parted lips. She shuddered at the low, desperate sound. As if in direct response to the scene before him, he increased his pace. He pounded harder and faster, penetrated deeper, lifting her to her toes with each wild thrust. His fingertips dug into her hips as he drove into her. Urgency built as she watched their bodies move in perfect, primal rhythm while the wet slap of his balls against her body sent sharp need twisting through her pussy. She tried to hold back but the sensation of him filling her over and over swamped her and she cried out her release. Tremors racked her. If she hadn’t been holding on to the counter, she would have sunk boneless to the floor. He withdrew leaving her empty and suddenly bereft. Without warning, he swung her into his arms and laid her back on the giant couch. She’d been trying to talk the prop master into storing the monstrosity anywhere but the women’s dressing room, but now looking into the savage hunger in Ronan’s eyes, she was glad the other man hadn’t listened.
53
Bronwyn Green
“I need to taste you,” he murmured against her lips, before covering her mouth with his own. His tongue delved inside while he settled between her thighs and pressed into her. Planting her feet on the cushion, she arched upward to take him as deeply as possible. With a groan, he seated himself to the hilt. Raising his head, he stared into her eyes, his expression serious—almost reverent. “Your body welcomes me like no other.” Worry flitted through her middle, but he seduced it away with the tender caress of his lips and insistent thrust of his hips into hers. Her cunt rippled around him as he throbbed within her. Morgan wrapped her arms around his shoulders and urged him forward loving the feel of his chest hair as it rasped across her tender nipples. Shifting, he slipped one hand under her ass and cradled the back of her head with the other as he stared into her eyes. She kissed his neck, his jaw, ran her tongue across the base of his throat where she tasted the slightly salty pounding of his pulse. Ronan dragged his mouth over her jaw and collarbone. Shivers coursed through her body at the contrast between his soft lips and stubble-covered cheeks. The intensity in his bright, wild eyes wound the sensation in her womb tighter. She’d never been fucked like this. Primitive need stripped away the mask of civility and filled her with raw, aching hunger. His gaze pinned her, feral and focused, his jaw tight with exertion. The intensity in his expression set off uncontrollable tremors throughout her body. The tremors became rolling waves as he pounded into her, carrying her closer to frenzied bliss. She clung tighter to him. His muscles twisted and flexed under his slick skin as she dragged her nails down his back to clench his ass and urge him on. God, had anything ever felt as amazing as having him inside her—straining over her? Release coiled in her middle as Ronan drove deeper still. Spearing both hands through her hair he captivated her with the ferocity in his gaze. “You are unlike any woman I have ever known.”
54
Ronan’s Grail
She knew it wasn’t true but there was no denying that part of her wanted it to be. But she knew better than to wish for the impossible. She wasn’t special. She’d treated him kindly and she was convenient—nothing more. “You are a fire in my blood that cannot be quenched,” he rasped. The desperate craving in his voice sent the waves that tumbled through her spiraling out of control. Sensation wound her womb tighter until finally she burst. Shuddering beneath him, she pulled him closer and kissed deeply him, her tongue mimicking their frantic movements. He continued to drive into her, unrelentingly drawing out her orgasm. She contracted around his thick, pulsing cock, writhing against him. An agonized hiss escaped his clenched teeth as he slammed himself home one final time and spilled hot and heavy into her body. Panting, he rested his forehead against hers as he brushed his thumbs across her cheeks. A tired grin pulled at his lips. “You wield wicked magic, my lady witch.” Her heart fluttered in her chest and an answering smile crept across her face. “I’m not a witch.” “I beg to differ.” He dropped a gentle kiss on her mouth. “You have enchanted me.” Worry spiked in her middle until she reminded herself that none of this was permanent. She’d never willingly tie herself to one man—especially one who thought women were only meant for cooking, cleaning…and fucking. Wouldn’t he be surprised when her class arrived tomorrow—Sword Fighting 101. Slowly, he withdrew from her body. When she would have moved away, he pulled her into the crook of his arm. “I would hold you. Rest with me.” When was the last time she’d let herself enjoy simply being held? What would it hurt? Morgan lay in the protective circle of Ronan’s arms, her head resting against the sturdy warmth of his chest. His heart thudded soothingly under her ear and his deep, even breaths stirred her hair. Asleep already. Absently, she skimmed her hand over his 55
Bronwyn Green
belly. In his sleep, he tightened his arms around her and she nestled closer enjoying the intimacy. It didn’t matter how right it felt—she still wouldn’t be foolish enough to think they had a chance at anything more than some spectacularly hot sex. For years, she’d watched her mother make the same mistake over and over—taking her father back after every affair he’d had. And every single time someone younger or prettier or richer came along, he’d leave again. His love had been conditional. She’d never seen anything different in any of the men she’d dated. She’d learned her lesson time and time again. Men didn’t stay, which is why she never let anything go that far— she always left first. Her brother wasn’t like that, she reminded herself. He’d never treat his wife Temperance the way their father had treated their mother. Of course, he’d seen the hell their mom had been through. He hated their father almost as much as she did. Ronan sighed in his sleep and memory niggled at her. He’d been so angry when she’d asked if he had a lover. Even if he was an honorable man, it didn’t matter. He belonged with a woman from his own time. After he found the grail, he’d be gone— back to the place he belonged. A sad smile curved her lips. Even honorable men didn’t stay. Which was why she’d do what she’d always done. She’d leave first. It was less painful that way. She’d do what she needed to help him find the grail and send him home. It was the right thing to do.
56
Ronan’s Grail
Chapter Four Ronan woke in total darkness and reached for his sword trying to remember where he was. He rubbed his hand across his face as he tried to think and was poleaxed by the scent of a woman—his woman—on his skin. Morgan. Where was she? Kicking off the blanket she must have covered him with, he felt his way around the room, searching for the small lever she had manipulated to light the room. He found the small protrusion and pushed it upward. Sudden brightness burned his eyes and he blinked rapidly. As his sight adjusted, he noticed the clothes she’d given him folded in a pile on the table-like surface she had held when they’d made love last night. Next to the clothing were a couple of apples and some sort of circular bread. His stomach growled insistently. He’d been so focused on Morgan, he hadn’t realized how hungry he was until he’d seen the food. He ate ravenously as he pulled on the unfamiliar garb. He would find her and discuss the need for more substantial sustenance. They’d also discuss the need to have her in his arms when he woke. Navigating the labyrinth of corridors, he checked the rooms she had brought him to the night before. The room where he’d found the book with the rendering of Galahad was empty—as was the room where she’d first tended his wounds. He turned, preparing to retrace his steps when he heard her voice and the sudden clang of metal. He knew of only one thing that made that particular noise. She was in danger. On swift feet, he followed the sounds and emerged into a brightly lit area and stopped dead. Morgan, clad in scandalously tight black braes and only the briefest of shirts, wielded a sword and engaged a young man. Without warning, her opponent advanced. She held her ground, blocking the boy’s pitiful thrust but the sight of that blade near his woman propelled Ronan into action. With a shout, he ran to where the
57
Bronwyn Green
two battled and threw himself on the youth pinning him to the floor. Ronan drew his fist back to pummel the boy. “Ronan.” Morgan shouted. “Stop it. What the hell are you doing?” Obviously, she was distraught. He shifted his weight on the child and returned his attention to his target. “Dude,” the boy wheezed. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” “You will stay away from the Lady Morgan,” he ordered, his fingers around the child’s neck. “Do I see you near her again, I will gut you like a boar.” “Professor Foster,” the boy choked, his eyes darting wildly toward Morgan. Cold steel pressed against Ronan’s neck and he stiffened. “Let. Him. Go. Now,” Morgan bit out. Not slackening his grip on his opponent, he glanced at her from the corner of his eye. Color shown high on her cheeks and her eyes were bright with fury. Her pebbled nipples stood out against the flimsy black fabric that covered them as her breasts rose and fell hypnotically. “I’m trying to teach a class. You’re hurting my student.” Her lips had drawn tight with her displeasure and he had the urge to kiss her until they softened against him. The sword pressed harder against his throat but he wasn’t worried. It didn’t have an edge to speak of. More importantly, he realized that he trusted Morgan with his life. “What, precisely, are you teaching this child?” “What does it look like?” she snapped. Muffled giggles erupted behind her and Ronan noticed a small group of young men and women watching avidly. The rest of her students he presumed. “Who’s the hottie, Professor Foster?” one girl asked. “Is this your boyfriend?” another questioned.
58
Ronan’s Grail
“No. He’s not,” Morgan answered, her eyes never leaving his and her sword never wavering. Ronan held her gaze. “He is her lover.” Whispers flew among the gathered as her cheeks flushed and her eyes narrowed. “I would watch you teach, fair Morgan,” he murmured. The blade trembled in her hand then dropped to her side. Rising, He offered his hand to the boy who warily took it and struggled to his feet. Morgan looked at her pupil who shrugged while Ronan settled himself against the wall, ignoring the curious stares of her students. Laying her weapon aside, she pulled a brightly colored scrap of fabric from her hair and shook out the strands before scraping it away from her face tie it back again. His hands clenched as he recalled the thick slide of silk through his fingers last night. Soon he would remove it from its confines and bury his face in the sweet scented strands. A blonde woman pushed through the milling students. “Is everything okay?” she asked, glancing pointedly between him and Morgan. “It’s fine, Norah.” She nodded toward Ronan. “He’s a friend.” The blonde, Norah, leaned close to Morgan and whispered in her ear and Morgan shook her head. Picking up her short sword, she gestured at the youth. “Engage me.” The child did as she demanded, clumsily making his approach as Norah returned to the remaining students. Morgan swung at the boy. “Hold your sword up, Marcus. Block my advance.” She made quick work of knocking aside the half-hearted parry. Lowering her blade, she motioned for him to do the same. “You guys need to remember, every action your opponent takes should have an equal reaction from you. We need these scenes to look real—not choreographed. To do that, all combatants must be equally engaged.” She glanced around the room, her eyes straying to Ronan’s before she quickly looked back to her students. “Are there any questions?”
59
Bronwyn Green
A cacophony of voices sounded and she held up her hand for silence. He smothered a laugh as several of her pupils stared openly at him. “About the lesson.” The sound diminished. “Okay, does anyone else want another turn before class is dismissed?” Unable to resist the challenge or the temptation of engaging Morgan, Ronan rose and crossed to where her opponent still stood, limply holding the sword. “Give me your weapon, boy.” The child quickly responded and handed over the blade. Ronan hefted the unfamiliar weight. It was far lighter than his own sword, but it would work and there was far less risk to Morgan. Experimentally, he slashed through the air, testing its balance. It would do. Morgan glared at him. “What do you think you’re doing?” “I would have my turn, lady.” Despite the excitement shimmering in the depths of her eyes, she frowned. “I’m working.” He circled her as she talked, forcing her to move with him knowing she’d never trust an opponent at her unguarded back. “C’mon, Professor Foster, do it,” one pupil yelled. “You can take him,” another added. He grinned at her. “You certainly can,” he murmured just loud enough for her to hear. Her lips tightened and she lifted her blade. She was his. Holding the blade in one hand, he gestured her forward with the other. “Come and take me, my lady witch.” As expected, she advanced with a wild swing which he quickly blocked. Backing up, she seemed to get hold of herself before springing forward with a controlled lunge. 60
Ronan’s Grail
A lunge he narrowly avoided. With a grin, he spun to the side and thrust at her trying to assess her skills. She deflected it easily and circled closer. His heart pounded as he watched her lithe body prowl toward him. Her tight muscles moved smoothly under her skin as she searched for her opening. Wisps of hair had loosened themselves from their confines to flutter about her face. She blew upward to keep the strands from her eyes. Blood filled his cock and he hardened painfully against the metal closure on the braes he wore. With her back to her students, he watched as she dropped her gaze to the telltale bulge before meeting his eyes and licking her lips. The wench was trying to distract him. He feinted and parried, but she didn’t fall for the ploy. Her concentration was focused solely on him as it should be. Tall and proud, she reminded him of the stories of the fierce warrior queens of old—Boudica and the like. He loved the way Morgan’s breasts quivered with every clash of their weapons. Sweet Mother of God, she was beautiful. And she was skilled. He hadn’t expected that. Leaping forward, she brought their swords together pushing with all her might as the blades slid against one another until the hilts caught. With strength he hadn’t thought she’d possessed, she shoved him backward and he stumbled. “What’s the matter, Ronan,” she purred. “Surprised?” The shock must have been evident on his face, much as the delight shone on hers. She didn’t know it, but his warrior witch was about to fall.
Morgan’s glee at the sight of Ronan knocked on his ass was short lived. He leapt to his feet and stalked toward her, his smile feral. She was in big trouble. Raising his sword, he tested her guard again and again. The clanging of metal rang in her ears and the impact of steel on steel vibrated along her arms to settle in her throbbing cunt. Who knew sword fighting was such a turn-on? She’d fought plenty of other guys before, but
61
Bronwyn Green
none had made her want to take off her clothes and beg for mercy…or no mercy as the case may be. “Usually there is a wager made on such a fight as this.” His powerful arms lifted and he effortlessly blocked her attack. “So,” she huffed, sidestepping his downward slice. “What do you wish to wager?” Knowing he was trying to distract her with his conversation, she focused on his movements. “So it will be winner’s choice, then?” he asked. She shrugged and circled him warily, her arms burning with the strain of the fight. “No matter.” He grinned, a wicked glint in his eyes as he raked her body with his gaze. “I know what my choice will be.” From the huge erection straining his jeans, she knew what his choice would be too and her cleft tingled with anticipation. “Don’t get too cocky.” He raised an eyebrow and continued stalking her. Pressing forward and falling back, he seduced her without ever touching her. Her taut nipples ached with need as the knit fabric of her camisole chafed at them with every movement. “You should know,” he said, wiping the thin sheen of sweat that dotted his upper lip. “I plan to claim my prize as soon as I win.” “If you win,” she countered, even though they both knew the outcome of this battle. He’d been holding back from the moment they’d begun. “I will win, fair Morgan.” He turned aside, easily evading her strike. “And I will claim you. The only question is, will your students still be here to see it?” That was all she needed to round out her teaching career. Sex in front of a classroom of students. Yeah. That would go over real well with the tenure committee.
62
Ronan’s Grail
She tried to push past his guard, but it backfired on her. He hooked his ankle around hers and knocked her off balance, catching her with his free arm as she went down. “Drop your weapon.” “You first,” she snarled, struggling in his grasp. His cock rubbed against her sensitized pussy and she had to fight the urge to groan. Closing her eyes, she dropped into a faint, becoming dead weight in his arms. It threw him off balance. He either had to drop her or fall himself. In what had to be a split second decision, he dropped his sword and rolled with her, taking the brunt of the impact. She sighed. Of course, he’d do the knightly thing and possibly hurt himself rather than risk injuring her. She quickly straddled him and brought her blade to his neck. A dark scowl twisted his lips when he realized what she’d done. She pressed the blade firmly against his throat. “I win.” Her class cheered raucously, but she did her best to ignore them and focus on the man between her legs. His eyebrow raised in annoyance. She caught her breath at the simmering irritation in his burning blue eyes. “I think you may be assuming too much, my lady witch.” She knew she was in for it as soon as their audience was gone. But it was nearly impossible to drum up any real trepidation. She was sure that she’d enjoy whatever he had planned as payback. “I don’t know about that.” Bracing her free hand on his chest, she wiggled back and forth as she settled firmly over his body. “I’ve got the sword.” “Do you truly think you can keep it?” Leaning forward, she rested her weight on his sternum while she kept the blade at his neck. “I’m sure as hell gonna try.” Surreptitiously he lifted his hips under her, knowing full well she could feel his heated length pushing against her aching pussy. “You will have to endeavor greatly.”
63
Bronwyn Green
Her students formed an eager half circle around them, but she barely noticed. She kept her eyes on her errant knight, waiting for him to make his move. One minute, she sat astride him and the next she was flat on her back with Ronan’s weight holding her body still and his hand pinning her wrists above her head. How the hell had he done that? “You were saying, fair Morgan.” She glowered at him and then glanced at her students. “Class is dismissed. I’ll see you all next week.” Ignoring the disappointed groans, she turned her head to look at Norah as Ronan eased off her and helped her to her feet. “Will you please make sure the building is empty and locked before you go?” Without warning, he picked her up and tossed her over his shoulder ignoring her struggles. “I’m on it.” Her teaching assistant squelched a smile. “I can see you’ve got everything under control here.” Discreetly flipping off Norah, she tried to get Ronan’s attention. “Put. Me. Down.” “You forget, my lady witch, you lost the wager.” With a determined stride, he headed off through the backstage area. “I’m serious, Ronan. Put me down. This is unacceptable.” He stopped in the far corner of the building where the scene crew was building the set for the fall musical. “I will tell you what is unacceptable.” He let her slide down the length of his body, against his rock-hard cock and then set her on a high table. His hands felt so good on her. He could touch her forever if he wanted. She closed her eyes at the sensation rocketing through her body, hardly believing she was ready for him again. He nudged his thigh between hers and spread her legs, stepping between them.
64
Ronan’s Grail
Cupping her breasts, he sank his teeth into her earlobe. Releasing it, he soothed the area with a flick of his tongue. “Unacceptable is the way your students watch you with such lust in their eyes.” “What students?” she asked leaning back on the table and bracing her arms behind her. He shoved her camisole up over her head and devoured her nipples, biting and sucking until she thought she’d go mad. She tangled her hands in his hair and tried to hold him to her but he raised his head and stared into her eyes. “The boys.” She grinned. “I hate to tell you, big guy, but several of those boys were lusting after you.” “Be that as it may, you belong to me.” She waited for the familiar twist of unease that should have accompanied his pronouncement, but there was nothing but a tingle of warmth—warmth that had nothing to do with the runway wattage of the Kleiglights overhead.
Ronan looked down at the woman sprawled on the tabletop. Caging her body with his hands, he leaned over her and kissed her again. She sucked his lower lip into her mouth, nibbling at it as she pulled him closer. He drove his fingers through her hair, gently pulling the fabric restraint. Her meadow-fresh scent rose around him as the freed locks slid against his skin. Her lips were soft against his. The teasing nips of her teeth pushed his need higher. Filling his hands with the firm mounds of her breasts, he palmed her nipples, loving the way she arched into his touch. Whether she believed it or not, she did belong to him. He couldn’t understand it, much less explain it, but he knew it to be true. His mother had always insisted that the heart knew when it had found its mate. Unfortunately for her, his father had paid far more attention to his cock than his heart. He wouldn’t make that mistake with Morgan.
65
Bronwyn Green
She moaned as he swooped down to capture a hardened nipple, sucking it hard into his mouth. Tangling her hands in his hair, she held his head right where she wanted it. Not that he minded, but there were other areas of her body begging for attention. Everything about her demanded his attention—particularly the way she handled a short sword. When he’d heard the sound of clashing metal and seen the boy with the blade, he’d attacked, never realizing that aside from him, she was the most dangerous person in the room. The sight of her smooth skin bared by a shirt that scarcely covered her had knotted his gut with possessive need. Each glimpse of her belly as she circled him waiting for her opening had heated his blood. Her muscles bunching under her skin and the light dancing in her eyes as she’d advanced on him had his body screaming to take her then and there—the others be damned. Nipping and kissing her flesh, he dragged his mouth between the valley of her breasts, down her belly to her snug-fitting braes. Hooking his fingers in the stretchy fabric he eased them over her hips and ass. Today, her pathetic excuse for an undergarment was black. The contrast between her pale, perfect flesh and the dark fabric made his mouth water and his knees weak. He dragged a chair toward the table, the legs scraping loudly across the wood floor. Morgan struggled to her elbows. “What are you doing?” Sitting in the chair, he brushed his face across her silk-covered cunt and inhaled her sweet aroused scent. “Anticipating a feast fit for a king,” he murmured, satisfied when he heard her breath catch in her throat. He traced patterns on the quivering flesh of her inner thighs as he drew in her luscious fragrance with every breath he took. “Please just fuck me already,” she rasped, need glowing brightly in her beautiful brown eyes.
66
Ronan’s Grail
It was almost impossible to deny her—especially when his cock ached to be buried as deeply in her as possible. “Not yet, fair Morgan.” He skimmed the black fabric from her body and bared her completely to his gaze. His cock pushed insistently into the metal closure that fastened his braes. Spreading her lips with his thumbs, he swiped his tongue through her gathering cream, groaning at the honeyed taste of her. She trembled under his touch, collapsing as he drove her desire higher. He needed her release, craved it almost more than his own. Her fingers scrabbled for purchase on the smooth surface of the table as he took darting tastes, lapping at her petal-soft flesh. “More,” she moaned. “Please, Ronan.” Her passion-husky voice raked his senses and pulled his balls up tight. “As my lady wishes.” He plunged his tongue in and out of her grasping channel as her supple body writhed. Slipping both his hands under the rounded globes of her ass, he pulled her snugly against his mouth. Circling her opening with his thumbs, he flattened his tongue and slid upward toward her clit. As he drew closer to his destination, her beautiful body arched upward, taut and quivering like a plucked bowstring. Covering the engorged nub of flesh with his lips, he sucked hard. Fresh honey flowed from her center as she convulsed, his name an aching plea from her lips. He drank from her, filling himself with her essence as the shudders slowly ebbed from her body leaving her limp and sated. He stood between her spread thighs and watched as she opened her eyes. A lazy smile curved her lips as her gaze dropped to his straining cock. “You know, you still have some prize left to claim.” He brought his hand to the closure of his braes and opened the cursed metal teeth. “I am well aware, my lady witch.”
67
Bronwyn Green
Freeing his cock, he stood poised at her center and stared at her. Her eyes were bright with need and her tongue darted out to moisten her lips. He wanted that tongue and he wanted those lips—by the saints, he wanted every part of her. With a barely restrained growl he fell on her, entering her slick heat with a determined thrust. Her cunt gripped him tighter and sweeter than anything he’d ever known. Bracing his hands on either side of her, he pushed deeper throwing his head back. Morgan cried out and clutched at him, pulling at his shirt. “Take it off. I need to feel your skin.” He helped her yank if from his body before he covered her again and surged inside her. Her internal muscles rippled and bunched around his cock, drawing him deeper. He was close—too close—but he wanted more. He wanted to prolong the magic of joining with this woman as long as possible. Taking her mouth in one last plundering kiss, he shifted. He stood upright and pulled her closer to the edge of the table, changing the angle of contact. For a moment, he saw black and it was all he could do not to come. Gripping her hips, he shafted her with slow, measured strokes, watching his cock slide in and out of her liquid channel. Her short, breathless moans punctuated each thrust. His chest tightened as he stared into her velvet brown eyes. This was what he’d been looking for all his life and he hadn’t even realized it. Morgan ground her hips into his as he worked in and out of her, whispering her name like an invocation. The table creaked and groaned with the force of his thrusts and she cried out. “Harder.” He pumped harder and faster—mercilessly— into her shuddering body. He needed to be closer to her when she climaxed. Skin to skin. As much as possible. He gathered her into arms and she wrapped her legs tightly around his waist. Saints, she fit him so well. Putting his knee up on the table, he surged onto it and carried them to the center, pressing her onto the unforgiving wood as his thrusts grew deeper and rougher. A 68
Ronan’s Grail
keening moan passed her lips. He felt the beginnings of her climax and the last shred of his control vanished. She clawed wildly at his back, writhing in his embrace as she shattered in his arms. Clamping down on his cock, she pulsed around him making it nearly impossible to move. And just as quickly he didn’t need to. Her cunt milked him so hard he stiffened as the hot rush of release shot through him. His shout mingled with hers as he emptied himself into her waiting body. Still clinging to each other, their breathing labored, he stared into her eyes. Trembling slightly, she ran shaking hands up and down his back and rained gentle kisses everywhere she could reach. He rested his head on her chest and lost himself in the sensation of her hand smoothing over his hair. A sense of peace blanketed him. How long had he been fighting? How long had he been searching for the place he belonged? If he closed his eyes, he could believe that he was meant to be right here with Morgan. As right as it felt, he also knew it wasn’t true. He had a quest to fulfill. And once he did, there would be no place for him here, in her time—just as he had no real place in his own. For a moment, he entertained the idea of taking Morgan to Camelot when he returned but discarded it immediately. What kind of life could he possibly give her? He was the bastard son of a whoring knight. He had his sword and as much as he wanted Morgan, he never really had her. Morgan who was shaking almost violently beneath him with tears leaking from the corners of her eyes. He raised himself from her warmth. “Have I hurt you, lady? What is the matter?” She shook her head and he noticed the mirth in her expression. Relief slammed into him. “What amuses you so?” She gestured loosely to the room they occupied. “This is part of a set for a show that my students will be performing this fall.” He nodded slowly not following her logic.
69
Bronwyn Green
“The show is called Camelot. It’s about King Arthur.” She wiped tears from her eyes. “We just fucked on the round table.” She dissolved into giggles again. “I’m pretty sure that must be some sort of sacrilege or something.” Surprised laughter burst from him and he pulled her close again. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so happy. “I am sure Arthur would understand, given the circumstances.” She stroked his cheek, her eyes soft. “And what circumstances would those be?” “The fact that I need you.” He kissed her gently parted lips. “And the fact that you need me too.”
Morgan caught her breath. She didn’t need him. Sure, she wanted him, but she didn’t need him. She didn’t need anyone. Ronan caught her jaw refusing to let her look away as if daring her to disagree with him. “What we need,” she murmured, “is to find the grail.” Guilt and disappointment dulled the light in his eyes, and he pulled out of her body. “You are right, of course.” She needed to keep him on track. The sooner he found the grail the sooner he’d be out of her life. The more time she spent with him the more likely it seemed that her heart would be broken. She needed to get a hold of Quinn. They could work together to find the grail and she could walk away from Ronan now while she still could. She was doing the right thing. So why did she feel like crying? With courtly politeness, Ronan gathered her clothes and handed them to her, refusing to meet her gaze. Their easy intimacy had vanished as if it had never been there. She swallowed past the lump that clogged her throat and took the clothes he offered. Turning his back to her, he zipped his pants and lifted his shirt from the floor where he’d flung it. Privacy? He was giving her privacy after what they’d shared? Chivalrous to the bitter end.
70
Ronan’s Grail
Her nail marks were visible along with the rest of his wounds. The scratches would heal, and she’d fade from his life as if she’d never been a part of it. But that was the way she’d wanted it, wasn’t it? Scooting off the table she stepped into her panties. She let her hair fall forward and to cover her face so she could watch him through the strands. Her lips still tingled from his slow, masterful kisses. The memory of his touch would be forever imprinted on her body. And her mind. She quickly pulled on her clothes. Forcing cheer she was nowhere near feeling, she gestured to him as she passed walking toward the dressing room. “Let’s call my friend and see what he can tell us about the grail.” Ronan followed on silent feet, his jaw tight and his eyes distant. He watched dispassionately as she dialed the phone, but he couldn’t quite hide his interest as she left a message. Closing the phone, she met his gaze. “He’s not answering his phone.” Ronan pointed at the one she held. “He has one of those?” She nodded. “Is there no one else you can contact who might have the knowledge I seek?” It shouldn’t hurt that he was so eager to leave but it did. “I could call my friend Temperance. She might be able to cast some sort of location spell. She actually is a witch.” A sad smile curved his lips. “As are you, fair Morgan.” He turned away and fiddled absently with her tarot deck while she made the call. She sighed and snapped shut the phone. “She isn’t answering either.” When he didn’t respond, she turned to face him. He held the Six of Wands and studied it intently. A shiver ran down her spine and with sudden clarity, she understood the meaning of every reading she’d done recently. Victory, peace, bravery,
71
Bronwyn Green
achievement, honor. Ronan encompassed all of it. And the reverse aspects of the card— treachery, disloyalty, dishonor and betrayal—all that negativity pointed to Mordred. The Six of Wands was pivotal. There was no middle ground here. If she and Ronan didn’t find the grail…well, she wasn’t sure what would happen but she knew it wouldn’t be good. She scrubbed her hand across her eyes trying to think. So she couldn’t reach Tem or Quinn—there were other options. A flash of insight occurred to her and she felt like a fool for not thinking of it sooner. The library and the internet were the obvious places to begin. She laid her hand on Ronan’s arm. “I’ve got an idea.” He met her gaze, his emotions hidden as if they’d never been there. “What is it, lady?” His voice wasn’t cold, but he’d reverted to stiff formality and she missed his teasing lilt. She missed the way he’d called her “fair Morgan”. She blinked her eyes against the sudden burn of tears. “I thought of a place where we might be able to find some information.” His expression didn’t brighten as much as she’d hoped. Grabbing his sword from where he’d laid it, he nodded toward the door. “Lead on, lady.” “You can’t take that with you,” she said, pointing at his weapon. “I may have need of it.” She put her hands on her hips. “They won’t let us in the building if you’re carrying around a giant sword.” His lips quirked as if he might smile but the brief flash of amusement disappeared and he resumed his mask of polite indifference. “Or you can wait here and I’ll go do the research.” “I cannot let you go alone, lady.” Anger flared. How dare he treat her like some fragile flower in need of protecting? “I don’t need a knight in shining armor,” she practically growled. “And I sure as hell
72
Ronan’s Grail
don’t need to be rescued, so you can either sit here with your sword and pout or you can treat me like an equal and come with me.” Without waiting for his response, she stormed from the room. The moment she left the security of the dressing room, she had the discomfiting sensation of being watched. It made sense. Ronan would be following soon enough if he wasn’t already. Navigating the maze of hallways, she found she’d begun walking through the Camelot set. Her heart squeezed. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t pretend she didn’t feel anything for him. At the very least he deserved an explanation of why she’d pushed him away. For a moment, she stared at the table remembering the sensation of his body blanketing her and his cock surging in and out of her pussy. Even now, her cunt tingled with awareness and building need. Turning, she ran smack into a hard chest. The metal rings scraped her face and she took a step back. The pungent stench of unwashed body and old blood filled her nostrils and she fought back a gag. What the hell? A giant with matted blond hair shoved her backward into the table. The edge hit her in the small of the back and she crumpled to the floor. Pain radiated from the injured area. Scooting under the table she peered at her assailant. The Klieglights glinted slightly off the stained sword he leveled at her. “Where is it, whore?” “Mordred,” she whispered in horrified realization.
73
Bronwyn Green
Chapter Five Mordred’s grin was quick and cruel sending ice water flooding through her veins. Scrambling backward on her hands and feet she tried to get out from under the table and away from this freak. Moving faster than she would have expected for a huge man encumbered by at least seventy pounds of metal, he grabbed her as she jumped to her feet and slammed her against the table. His meaty fingers dug into her throat as he pressed her chest and face to the tabletop. “Where is the grail?” he demanded leaning forward and covering her body with his own. “Tell me and your punishment will be swift—deny me and I’ll bleed you when I take you.” Revulsion rolled through her stomach. She fought the vomit rising in her throat as he prodded her ass with his erection. “Ronan!” she screamed, as she struggled against the other man’s bruising hold. Mordred raised her head and smashed it into the tabletop and tugged at her pants to bare her. He froze and she knew the moment he saw the tattoo. “You…” he muttered. Despite the throbbing in her skull she reached behind her, grabbed his balls and twisted as hard as she could. “Bitch,” he bellowed as he threw her to the floor. Through pain-blurred vision she saw Ronan run into the room swinging his sword. Mordred stumbled to a near-standing position and blocked Ronan’s first attack. “Never touch her again,” Ronan growled. Mordred spat on the floor between them. “I will have her before your corpse grows cold.”
74
Ronan’s Grail
With a roar, Ronan swung blindly at the other man. “And after that,” Mordred continued, “I will have her again and again. As many times as it takes to get her with child. And then my blood will rule Camelot. My blood will control Avalon.” Morgan dragged herself to an upright position. Her whole body screamed with pain. “Ignore him,” she yelled. “I will not let you have her.” Ronan spared her a glance, the indifference gone from his gaze. God he was fighting in nothing but blue jeans and a t-shirt against a man wearing armor—a man who wanted him dead. What she wouldn’t give for a hand gun and the skill to use it right now. If Mordred hurt Ronan, she’d kill him herself. Turning back to his opponent, Ronan glowered at him and delivered a jarring blow that connected with the man’s armored shoulder. Morgan gasped realizing just how much Ronan had held back during their mock battle. Mordred staggered into Ronan hitting him across the chest but with no real force behind it. It might leave a mark, but it wouldn’t break the skin. Still, the sight of a weapon hitting the man she loved stole the air from her lungs. Maybe she should call the cops. But what was she supposed to say? Hey, officer, there are a couple guys who magically appeared from the past and they’re trying to kill each other with broadswords. Could you send a car? Panting, the men circled one another, each searching for his enemy’s weakness. “You will not succeed,” Mordred taunted. “Once she whelps my son, I’ll kill her. I’ll destroy the grail.” Ronan swung at him. “Arthur’s line will still continue, you whoreson.” “Under my tutelage. Imagine it, bastard,” he sneered. “Arthur’s blood under my control.” Fear like she’d never known washed over Morgan, but she pulled herself up and leaned against the wall. “What if I’m already pregnant with Ronan’s baby? What then?”
75
Bronwyn Green
She doubted she was—after all, she’d only missed one pill, but nothing was foolproof. She forced herself to remain calm. Nothing mattered but giving Ronan the opening he needed to beat this asshole. Mordred laughed. The sound scraped her already raw nerves. “Then I bash the brat’s head in and get my own child on you.” She tried not to let his words or his leering expression affect her, but they made her blood run cold anyway. Ronan adjusted his grip on his weapon and ran at his adversary. “You will not touch her.” Mordred looked back at Ronan in time to dodge the blade headed toward his gut. It caught his arm, ripping open the unprotected flesh of his forearm. Ronan’s momentum carried the other man to the floor and he rested the point of his sword at Mordred’s throat. “You. Will. Yield.” Sweating profusely, he panted keeping his gaze locked on Ronan. “There is another way.” Mordred spared a quick glance toward Morgan. “If Arthur’s bloodline ceases, she will never be.” “What?” she took several steps toward him. “Stay far from him, Morgan,” Ronan ordered. The moment Ronan’s attention was split, Mordred pulled a vial from a cord around his neck and smashed it against the floor. A cold, clammy wash of magic prickled over her skin. It was nothing like the warm rush she’d experienced whenever Tem cast a spell. The air distorted where Mordred lay on the floor. Eerie blue wisps of energy swirled around his body and he was gone as if he’d never been there. But he’d been there. She felt the evidence of his presence in every sore muscle in her body. Appearing utterly stricken, Ronan sank to the ground, sword still clutched in his hand. “I have failed.”
76
Ronan’s Grail
Heart aching, Morgan crossed to him and wrapped her arms around him. “No, you didn’t.” He raised his head, his eyes fierce. “You are the grail. You are what Merlin sent me to find.” “You found me. It’s all good.” “It is not. All this time, we’ve thought the grail an object.” He laid his warm hand over her abdomen. “Now that he knows it is not, I fear he has gone back to my time to kill your ancestor.” “Arthur?” She was related to King Arthur? Of course, before yesterday, she’d believed him a myth. Ronan shook his head. “Arthur was barely alive when I left. Even Merlin’s magic had not been able to save him.” Understanding crossed his face in a horrified wave. “His sister.” “Morgan Le Fay?” “Morgana,” he corrected. “If he kills her…” As if he couldn’t bear to finish the thought he crushed Morgan to his chest. If Mordred killed her ancestor, he would change history. He’d erase her and her family as if they’d never been. She thought of her brother and her best friend—their baby was due in a couple of months. Suddenly, Ronan pushed to his feet, pulling her with him. “Find me your witch.”
***** The woman Morgan called Temperance stared at him with her eyes wide and her lips parted in shock. The man, Morgan’s brother, Gray, watched him with near hostility mixed with curiosity. Gray looked at Morgan. “You can’t possibly be serious.”
77
Bronwyn Green
“I’m not psychotic,” she snapped “This isn’t a joke. I saw it happen.” She turned to Temperance who was heavy with child. “And now we need your help.” The other woman’s expression softened as she looked at her friend. “I don’t know where to begin…the fact that time travel is possible, Merlin was real or you’re actually in love.” Morgan stiffened at the last and he wondered if she’d deny it. “Please, Tem. I don’t know who else to turn to.” Gray pulled his woman protectively to him, splaying his hand over the mound of his child. “Will it hurt you or the baby?” he demanded glaring briefly at Ronan before turning back to his mate. Temperance pressed her lips together and shook her head. “I don’t know. I don’t think so, but what choice do we have?” Her voice wavered and she laid her hand on Gray’s cheek. “If Mordred succeeds, you, the baby, Morgan—everyone I care about will be gone. I have to try.” He sighed. “I don’t like this.” Ronan stepped forward. “I do not wish to put your mate or your babe in danger. If there was another option, I would choose it.” Morgan slipped her small hand in his. Her eyes brimmed with unshed tears. “There isn’t another way.” “How do we know he hasn’t already succeeded,” Gray asked. Ronan pulled Morgan into his arms. “If he had, we would not be discussing this now.” “I’m going to go see what I can find in the spell book. There might be something I can modify to send you back,” Temperance said. Morgan pulled from his embrace. “I’m going too.” “The hell you are,” Gray snapped. At the same time, Ronan said, “You will not. I will not allow it.”
78
Ronan’s Grail
Her brother nodded at him approval in his gaze. “I’m glad we agree on that.” Temperance glanced at Morgan pointedly and pulled her husband by the arm. “Come help me.” Ronan looked at Morgan. Color showed high on her cheeks and her eyes were bright with fury. She jabbed him in the chest with her finger. “You don’t get to tell me what to do, big guy. If I want to help you then I’m damn well going to help you.” Taking her hand, he pressed her palm to his heart. “You will help me most by remaining here. I could not bear it if you were hurt.” “I wouldn’t get hurt.” He threaded his fingers through her silky hair. “I will not imperil you.” He wouldn’t place her in jeopardy and he certainly wouldn’t allow her to risk herself on his behalf. Lowering his lips to hers, he claimed her mouth in a slow, breath-stealing kiss. He raised his head and looked into her earthy brown eyes. “I love you, fair Morgan.” She trembled in his arms and looked away and he tasted real fear. She might not love him but it wouldn’t change his feelings for her. “How can you say that? You hardly know me.” His heart ached at the pain and vulnerability in her voice. He turned her chin so she was facing him. “My heart knows you.” The tears welling in her eyes punched him in the gut. She shook her head as if she could negate his admission. “I love your passion and your wit. I love your kindness and your loyalty. I desire to spend the remainder of my days discovering new things to love about you.” He smiled even though it hurt. “And new ways to love you.” He prayed he would defeat Mordred and find his way back to her. Morgan slipped her arms around his neck and urged his mouth to hers. He sensed she tried to express her emotions with the press of her body against his and the caress
79
Bronwyn Green
of her lips. Drawing her fully against him, he memorized the sensation of her womanly curves under his hands. He committed her scent and her taste to memory. Sun-warmed meadows and sweetest honey. Her falling tears dampened their cheeks. “This is crazy,” she said with a watery smile. “We haven’t even known each other for a full day and night.” Cupping her face, he smoothed away the dampness with his thumbs. “I’ve loved you more in these scant few hours than some people love in a lifetime.” He gently kissed her lips. “And I have a thousand more lifetimes of love to give you.” Her anguished expression cut him deeper than any sword ever had and he dreaded her next words. “I am not like the men who wounded you,” he said quickly. “I hold your heart more dearly than I hold my own.” “I can’t love you,” she whispered. He gripped her shoulders. “You cannot love me or you do not love me? Which is it, lady mine?” “You’re leaving.” Her full lower lip quivered and she shook her head. “I can’t, Ronan. I can’t do it. It’ll kill me when you don’t come back.” By the saints, in order to save her, he was honor bound do the one thing that would hurt her most. He had to leave her. He didn’t want to cause her more pain but he didn’t have a choice. “No matter what I must do, I will find a way back to you.” Pressing her lips together, she nodded and forced a tight smile. She didn’t believe him. He would endure and demonstrate she could trust him not to hurt her, not to desert her. He would prove himself. This was no different from any other time he’d been forced to prove himself. Many times he’d fought to show that the bastard son was as worthy a warrior as the highest born knight. This was no different. It was no
80
Ronan’s Grail
different…except that it hurt more. No one else, in any time, possessed the power to crush his soul…no one but Morgan.
He loved her? Morgan nearly collapsed under the combined weight of happiness and terror. How could he love her? Probably the same way she loved him. But none of it mattered. He was leaving. Not just leaving, but traveling fifteen hundred years into the past. “I do not want to leave you.” She blinked back a fresh round of tears. “You have to.” He was leaving and taking her damn heart with him. She never should have brought him in out of the rain. Of course, even I she hadn’t, Mordred would still have come forward in time. The only thing that would be different would be the lack of mind-blowing sex. And finding the love of her life. “I would have a token from you, fair Morgan.” “A token?” she asked feeling like an idiot. “I would have something of yours to carry into battle.” In the middle ages it probably would have been a length of ribbon or a bit of fabric torn from a gown. She reached back and pulled her hair tie from her ponytail and handed it to him. He raised it to his nose. “It smells of you.” Putting it in his pocket, he pulled her into his arms. “I will find a way to return to you.” Sure he would. If he didn’t find some hot medieval babe. She quashed the thought as soon as it appeared. She might not have known him very long, but she knew he’d never do that. He kept his word. He was honorable. He was a freaking knight for God’s sake. Sudden fear tightened her chest. His honor could get him killed. Mordred obviously wasn’t a man who cared about a fair fight. “Please be careful,” she murmured, her voice muffled by his chest.
81
Bronwyn Green
He lifted her chin and brushed his lips across hers in a tender caress. “I shall be vigilant for I will be carrying my most prized possession into battle.” Her brow furrowed. “My hair tie?” He placed his hand over her heart. “The hope that you will be mine forever when I return.” Lowering his head, he took her mouth, claiming her with a greedy, hungry kiss. She softened against him feeling his cock harden as it pressed into her belly. He slipped his hands down and cupped the curve of her ass, pulling her closer. “Whoa… TMI about the baby sister.” Clearly Gray was back. Pulling away, she broke off the kiss but Ronan refused to let her leave the protective circle of his arms. He did however slide his hands up to a more respectable position at her waist. They looked expectantly at Gray who was closely followed by Tem. “I think I have something that will work,” she said. Morgan wrapped her arms more tightly around Ronan, turned her head, and looked at her best friend. “I want you to send me too.” “No,” Ronan answered before Tem had a chance to. “It’s too dangerous.” Tem sighed. “I can’t. This particular spell requires so much energy I can’t send two people without risking the baby.” Her eyes filled with tears and she laid her hand protectively across her belly.
As much as Morgan wanted to go with him, she wouldn’t endanger the life of her niece or nephew. Following Tem’s instructions, Ronan put on his heavy mail shirt and sword belt and stood alone in the middle of the room. Morgan kissed him one last time before stepping outside the large circle of sea salt Tem had spread around him.
82
Ronan’s Grail
Crossing the salt line, Tem began a low chant as she walked the perimeter of the circle and activated it. It began to glow with a silver-white light that slowly rose in a column to the ceiling. Morgan spared a glance at her brother. He watched with clenched hands and a tight jaw. He was terrified something would go wrong and hurt his wife. It was clear in every quivering muscle. The pace of Tem’s chanting increased, drawing Morgan’s attention back to the circle. A swirling blue spiral appeared and widened behind Ronan but his eyes remained locked on her the entire time. “Go,” Tem urged. Turning toward the pulsing energy, he looked over his shoulder. “I will return to you, fair Morgan.” He stepped into the vortex and it began to close around him. He’d nearly disappeared from view. Her heart lurched. “I love you.” Abruptly, the vortex closed and he was gone. She had no idea if he’d heard her. Loss overwhelmed her and she sank to the floor, unable to bear the weight of her own body. The pillar of light plummeted back to the gently glowing circle on the floor leaving Tem alone in the circle, looking drained and exhausted. Gray started to move toward her but Morgan reached up and caught his arm. “Wait. She has to close the circle first.” Tem walked slowly around the inside of the circle, her hand extended over the salt. As she moved, she reabsorbed the energy until the light faded completely. Much like Morgan’s hope of ever seeing Ronan again.
***** The heavy stench of death engulfed Ronan before the swirling light had fully cleared from his vision. Once the magic ended, he was alone in the darkness. From the
83
Bronwyn Green
jagged ground beneath his feet and the utter silence, he surmised he’d returned to the crystal cave. Carefully feeling his way, he found the sap-sticky torch and the tinder box. The flames cast eerie shadows and glinted off the crystals embedded in the walls. Holding the light aloft, he peered at the bodies lying in rows in what had become a tomb. Percivale, Lionell, Bors, Lamorak, Palomedes. So many men fallen. So many noble knights. Turning, he saw the crests of Kay and Ector—Dagonet and Alymere. There were scores more he didn’t recognize. Relief spread like fire through him when he realized Galahad was not among the company of the dead nor Tristram nor Gareth. Ronan examined the spot where he’d last seen Arthur. His liege’s body was curiously missing. The man had been mortally wounded. All of Merlin’s magic hadn’t been able to save him. That he didn’t now lie with his men could only mean that Morgana had come to bear him to Avalon. Stepping gingerly, he made his way toward the mouth of the cave and nearly tripped over the last body. The familiar colors chilled his blood and he turned the man over. Not Galahad, but Lancelot of the Lake. His father was dead. Regret and grief tightened his chest He would never be able to prove to his father that he was every bit as worthy as his legitimate sons. Tears or perhaps the fumes from the burning sap stung his eyes. No matter. There was only one person he cared to prove anything to and she wouldn’t be born for another fifteen hundred years. If she was born. He had to find Morgana and kill Mordred before it was too late.
***** The familiarity of the landscape should have soothed him but terror over Morgan’s survival overshadowed every thing else. He’d expected he would have returned to her already, and yet still his quarry eluded him. Memories of Morgan filled his thoughts. He pulled the bit of fabric she’d worn in her hair and breathed in her soft meadow scent. He could still hear her voice as he
84
Ronan’s Grail
crossed the threshold between the past and future. She’d said she loved him. He planned on holding her to that claim when he returned. The rain that had been falling for days continued and still he sought Mordred. It was easy enough to see where he’d been. The road to Camelot was littered with the dead. The blood of the people seeped into the land like so many rainstorms. With Arthur dead, his peace had splintered and war again reigned. Eventually even the memory of peace would be lost and Mordred would have what he’d always wanted. The throne. Ronan’s thoughts grew more troubled as he traveled the countryside. Who had created the talisman Mordred had used to vanish from under his blade? Mordred might have been a tactical genius, but he’d never possessed the necessary intellect or skill to practice magic. Who had assisted him in his treason? The Saxon dogs were his most likely allies. Their people were reputed to possess powerful magic. Ronan sighed. He had nothing more than brute strength and cunning to battle Mordred. How was he to defeat his enemy without the use of magic? He needed Merlin but where was the mage? Avalon, he supposed. He hadn’t been among the dead in the cave but Ronan thought that he’d have shown himself long before now. Instead, it seemed as if he was the last of Arthur’s men searching the mist-covered land for answers…and Avalon. Only the gifted and those summoned ever set foot on Avalon. Ronan was neither. Perhaps the guardians of that place would take mercy on him and lead him to Morgana. As if in answer to his silent plea, he heard the lapping of water on a shore somewhere in the distance. He followed the sound until he reached the shores of a crystalline lake he’d never before seen. Mist shrouded the surface, but he heard the sloshing of water against the side of a boat. “Morgana. Show yourself, witch.” Mordred.
85
Bronwyn Green
“Mordred,” Ronan called. “I challenge you to answer the charge of high treason against the crown.” Wood scraped against gravel as the boat beached on the shore and Ronan drew his sword. His opponent swaggered into view. “I am the crown now,” Mordred sneered. “And my first act as sovereign of this land is to execute all traitors.” He drew his own blade. “I had planned to start with the witch Morgana, but she can wait.” Mordred lunged, but Ronan blocked it easily. “You can either swear fealty to Morgana now, or you can die. You will not receive the chance you had before,” Ronan snarled. “Swear fealty to a woman? You must be mad.” Mordred spun and jabbed at Ronan’s unprotected side. The mail protected him from all but the point. It split several rings and pierced his flesh. It shouldn’t have caused more pain than the scrape of a thorn but searing pain immediately spread over his skin. The coward had tipped his sword with poison. “Even if you defeat me, you will not survive to see your whore again.” If he died, Morgan would never believe that he meant to come back. She’d think he’d only cared about completing his quest—protecting the grail from destruction. She’d never believe that he truly loved her. She’d never allow her heart to trust again. He wouldn’t allow it. Somehow, he’d find a way back to her. Ignoring the worst of the discomfort, he swung his weapon in a sharp arc bringing the edge down on Mordred’s shoulder. His foe’s bellow of pain echoed off the water and he dropped to one knee. “Where did you get the potion you used to escape me?” Ronan growled as stood over the traitor. “A Saxon witch. The same one who helped me poison you, bastard.”
86
Ronan’s Grail
Had his opponent been anyone else, Ronan might have done the honorable thing and waited for him to find his feet before resuming the battle. However Mordred had forfeited his chance for honor and mercy when he’d attempted to kill Morgan. Before the man could stand, Ronan clouted him across the back of the head with the pommel of the sword. Knocking Mordred to both knees, he pulled his knife from his belt and drew the blade across the other man’s throat, spilling his foul blood onto the earth. Pain radiated outward from Ronan’s wound and he fell to the ground beside Mordred too dizzy to stay upright. Bare branches created a latticework pattern against the pewter bowl of the sky and a gentle rain began to fall dampening his skin. Forcing his body to cooperate, he pulled Morgan’s token from his pocket and held it tightly needing his connection to her. He’d promised her he wouldn’t wound her heart as the others had, but his limbs refused to move. Even his chest grew heavy and stiff with each breath. He would hurt her. As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t stop the effects of the poison spreading throughout his body. As he watched the shadows lengthen, a hooded figure leaned over him and laid a delicate hand upon his forehead. “You will live, Ronan of the Lake. You have not yet finished serving your liege lord.”
***** Morgan sat on the floor in the green room staring at the tarot spread she’d just dealt. Why she thought the cards would give her a different answer than the scientific test she’d just taken, she had no clue. Apparently, she was simply unwilling to accept the bright pink evidence that still sat on her bathroom counter. Pregnant. Morgan Foster. The queen of safe sex was six weeks pregnant. As surreal as the thought was, she supposed she was doing her part in keeping King Arthur’s lineage alive. Somehow, she’d managed to fall in love and get knocked up by a guy who was never coming back. She should have known. He was too good to be true. And he’d been
87
Bronwyn Green
dead for over fifteen hundred years. Her chest ached like it always did when she thought of never seeing him again. It had only been six weeks, but she didn’t think the hollow feeling of loss would dissipate anytime soon. She turned back to the cards. The Six of Wands still turned up with alarming regularity. It was puzzling. She knew it represented Ronan—quest, victory and all that, but he’d accomplished the mission he was given. He’d found the grail and obviously defeated Mordred since she and her family hadn’t suddenly ceased to exist. Of course, she really wouldn’t have cared if her father suddenly vanished off the face of the earth. But she seriously doubted he was Arthur’s descendant anyway. Sighing, she looked back at the spread. For a while, she’d thought that the continued appearance of the card meant that Ronan would victoriously return to her. After three weeks, she’d started to lose hope. Scooping up her cards, she placed them in their fabric pouch. She needed to get a grip and focus on everything she needed to do to get ready for the new term. Write syllabi, sew costumes, make an appointment with an obstetrician. Tem had been bugging her about it for days but so far she hadn’t been able to bring herself to do it. This should be something she shared with Ronan. As it was, trying to figure out what to eventually tell her child about his or her father was enough to drive her to tears. Again. She wiped her eyes and stood up. Pregnant or not, she really needed to get some work done. The sound of voices drifted down the hall and she heard one of the tech guys say, “She’s in the green room.” Great, someone was looking for her. The last thing she wanted was to talk to anyone. She’d just end up crying. Waiting for the door to open, she tried to think up an excuse to avoid whoever was on the other side. She tensed, but the footsteps passed by and she started to relax. Maybe she’d just call it quits for now. After all, she’d at least looked at her syllabi today. That was more than she’d managed all day yesterday. Footsteps paused outside her door and she stiffened. She should have escaped when she’d had the chance.
88
Ronan’s Grail
“Dude,” the tech said, “was she in there?” “I saw no green room.” She caught her breath. It wasn’t him. It couldn’t be. She tried to crush the hope unfurling in her chest. She wasn’t sure she could handle the disappointment if she let herself think, even for a moment, that it might be him. “Man…you foreign dudes. It’s right here.” The tech pushed open the door and Morgan forgot to breathe. Ronan stood in the doorway, clad once again in his armor. Before she could blink, he’d crossed the room and crushed her to his chest. He claimed her mouth as if they’d been apart years instead of weeks. His tongue delved inside her mouth, tasting, caressing, bringing her need for him to an immediate fevered pitch. He cupped the taut weight of her breast and she arched into his touch. “I’ll…ah…just leave you to it then,” the tech muttered, backing out of the room and shutting the door. She barely noticed. Ronan was here. In her arms. He pushed her against the wall, trapping her with his body. Like she was going anywhere. Emotion swamped her. Tears, laughter, desire all swirled together. She was a piece of driftwood on a stormy sea and he was the only thing keeping her from sinking beneath the waves. Finally, he lifted his head and stared into her eyes. “I have longed for you more than I can express, lady.” Emotion clogged her throat and she nodded. He looked little pale—as if he’d been sick. She cupped his cheek, hardly daring to believe he was here. Every bit of her heart had been rubbed raw during the last six weeks but his presence—his touch—was a balm that healed her completely. “I’ve missed you so much,” she breathed. “What took you so long?” She tugged at his mail shirt, needing to touch his skin, needing to feel him against her…inside her.
89
Bronwyn Green
He grimaced as he shrugged the armor to the floor. “Mordred.” “Is he…” she couldn’t bring herself to finish the question as he trailed his lips in a heated, hungry path along her neck. “Dead,” he murmured against her skin, slipping his hands down to cup her ass as he dragged her against his rock-hard cock. “I searched for days for the whoreson when the only thing I wanted was to be here with you.” She shoved his shirt up, baring his stomach and gasping when she saw an angry red scar that hadn’t been there before. She carefully touched the healing wound. “If he wasn’t already dead, I swear I’d kill him myself.” She ran her hands over his chest and shoulders still hardly daring to believe he was really here. “How did you get back?” “Morgana healed my wounds and Merlin asked me to choose.” “Choose what?” He lifted her chin and captured her with his searing blue gaze. “I love you, fair Morgan. You own my body, my heart and my soul.” Her breath stalled in her chest at the intensity in his eyes. “He asked me to choose between my life as a knight and my life with you.” He brushed his thumb across her lower lip. “I have no lands, nor treasure, nor home, but if you let me I will find a way to give you everything you desire. I would wed with you, my lady witch.” She pulled him closer, her hollowness filled at last. “You came back to me. You’ve already given me everything I’ve ever wanted.” She brought his hand between them to cover her still-flat abdomen. “You’ve given me your love.” She looked up into his eyes. “You’ve given me your child.” Joy chased the shock from his face and he dropped to his knees, brushing kisses over her belly. Threading her fingers through his hair, she tilted his head back. “I love you, Sir Ronan—more than anything.” She tightened her hands in his hair. “Now…”
90
Ronan’s Grail
she scowled at him. “If you don’t make love with me right this minute, I swear I’ll make you wait until after the wedding.” With a growl, he swept her to the floor pinning her hands above her head and settling between her thighs. “You will defer to your husband in matters of pleasure.” She ground her hips against him. “Then start pleasuring.” “As my lady wishes.” Cupping the back of her head he kissed her, taking her mouth in a long, deep kiss. He skimmed her shirt over her head and drew a taut nipple into the wet heat of his mouth. Flicking his tongue across the other tight peak he grinned and her stomach fluttered in anticipation. “Had I known how precious the grail would be, I would have searched sooner.” Morgan pulled him closer hardly able to believe she was in the middle of a fairytale come true. Ronan might think she was the grail, but he was wrong. Their love was the grail and like that cup of old, it had healed her.
91
About the Author Bronwyn lives in Michigan with her wonderful husband, two amazing sons and seven somewhat-psychotic cats. When not tormenting her characters, she can usually be found helping with reading and writing projects in her sons’ classrooms as well as providing child care and tutoring for several daycare children. Besides writing, she also enjoys reading, knitting, sewing, cross stitching, pottery, drawing—basically anything that helps her avoid cleaning and cooking.
Bronwyn welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email address on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.
Tell Us What You Think We appreciate hearing reader opinions about our books. You can email us at
[email protected].
Also by Bronwyn Green I Put a Spell on You Overlord’s Vessel
Discover for yourself why readers can’t get enough of the multiple award-winning publisher Ellora’s Cave. Whether you prefer e-books or paperbacks, be sure to visit EC on the web at www.ellorascave.com for an erotic reading experience that will leave you breathless.
www.ellorascave.com
