Ena’s Surrender Page 5

  Ena shook her head. “I wouldna tell ye if I dinna want to.”

  “Why did you?” he asked.

  She met his eyes and the final layer of her wariness fell away. “Because ye’re different. Because I trust ye.”

  6

  Renault gazed at Ena, absent the words to put to the force of his emotions. She’d trusted him with her story. She’d unveiled to him the depth of her pain by sharing the horror of her past. It was no wonder she hated the English with such vehemence.

  Trust. It was a powerful word for being so small, and fragile despite its impact. And Ena had given it to him, a sincere and beautiful gift.

  “Ye dinna have to come rescue me.” Ena pushed herself up from the table. The shield was sliding back into place.

  Renault followed behind her, cautious to express his appreciation to her, too fearful of scaring her off or having her shutter herself completely once more. She was hurting and everything in him wanted to be her comfort. He had saved her once that night from the man trying to break down her door.

  It had been easy and quick—a strike to the man’s head. Though Renault hadn’t realized the man was not wearing a helm, nor had he intended for his head to bounce off the door as it did. Unease twisted in his stomach at how the man had not moved.

  If he had killed his own countryman, that would be treason.

  He shoved the thought aside. What mattered now was Ena and taking her mind from the horrors she’d shared. He longed to be there for her, for whatever it was she needed. For whatever she would allow him to provide.

  “I actually came for Maribel,” he said.

  Ena lifted a brow.

  Renault held out his hands. “You see, I’ve discovered I’m quite taken with her.”

  “Are ye now?” Ena folded her arms over her chest. “What is it about her that draws ye? Her stubbornness?”

  “Oh, aye.” Renault closed the distance between them. “And her bravery. Her strength.” He reached out and caressed the softness of her cheek with the back of his fingers. “And the tenderness she won’t ever let anyone else see.”

  Ena couldn’t help but stare up at him. “What else?”

  A smile tugged at the corner of Renault’s lips. “She’s beautiful, graceful, intoxicating.”

  “Intoxicating?” Ena’s cheeks colored. “You’d think she was a jug of ale.”

  Renault shook his head. “A bottle of the finest Noirien wine, bold with spices and sweet beyond measure. A simple taste wouldn’t be enough to slake one’s thirst, but simply whet the appetite for more until all one can think of is that next velvety sip.”

  “’Tis an exceptional bottle of wine for a goat,” Ena said.

  Renault scanned the empty room and leaned closer as if imparting a grave secret. “Maybe I’m not talking about a goat.”

  Ena’s breath caught. “So, it isna Maribel ye came for then?”

  “It was you.” Renault trailed his thumb down her jaw and ended at the bottom of her chin, which he angled upward. “Always you, Ena. I couldn’t bear the thought of you being hurt.”

  “I dinna need…” Tears swam in her eyes. “I could have…” She rested her forehead against Renault’s. “I was so frightened.” She whispered her confession, as if she was ashamed for even him to hear it. “I worked so hard to no’ ever be a victim again, but when I heard him at my door...” Her voice choked off. “I was so scared, I couldna move. I—”

  He couldn’t help himself then. He pulled her into his arms and held her as her tears came.

  “I’m such a fool,” Ena said brokenly against his shoulder.

  “You’re the bravest woman I know.” He rubbed her back while keeping an arm protectively curled around her.

  He wanted to stay like this forever, saving her from her own hurt. Being her comfort.

  When at last her tears subsided, he tilted her chin up so she would look at him. He wiped the evidence of her sorrow away and intended to tell her once more how brave she was. But her focus dropped to his lips and her lashes swept closed as her mouth softened for a kiss.

  Barely registering the thought, his body reacted to her need. He lowered his head to hers and captured her lush mouth with his own. The tender pressure of their lips gave way to the brief touch of tongue to tongue.

  He stroked his against hers hesitantly, not wanting to take advantage of her overwrought state. But then she increased the intensity of their kisses, slanting her mouth over his, her hands running down his chest.

  She was too alluring to resist, especially when she took his hand and settled it at her waist. The reins of control that Renault held in a tentative grasp slipped. Suddenly he was kissing her with the same fervor as his hands roamed over her lithe body.

  Ena wore only her sark, just a thin bit of linen. She might as well be naked. He felt everything concealed beneath that insubstantial layer of cloth. The curve of her waist, the tantalizing flare of her hips and the roundness of her bottom. Heat seeped from the fabric, warm as her skin beneath.

  She tugged at the ties of his gambeson and pushed it from his shoulders. He reluctantly released her for the instant it took for the padded garment to fall to the ground. His hands were immediately on her once more, catching the weight of her firm breasts and rubbing his thumbs over her nipples.

  She cried out against his mouth and her hips bucked against his. The small action gave an element of friction at his groin that set his blood alight with fire. His cock swelled with such force, he thought it might pop free from his trews.

  One of her legs eased up the side of his body, opening her thighs to accept the fit of his pelvis to hers. It was too much. Too soon.

  He should leave.

  Yet, even as the thought blared in the back of his mind, his hands cupped her bottom and pulled her snugly against his straining cock. Her head fell back with a moan of pleasure.

  He wanted to stay, to kiss her and grind their sexes together through the layers of clothes he wished they could both remove. But she was a maiden.

  He withdrew from her with earnest intent.

  He should—

  “Touch me,” she whispered.

  He stared intensely at her. Had he heard her correctly? Should he listen?

  Nay. He should leave.

  Now.

  A slow, coquettish smile spread over her kiss-reddened lips. “Touch me, Renault.”

  He shook his head. “I shouldn’t—”

  She took his hand in hers and lowered it, first to her breast. Her eyes slowly closed, and she exhaled with obvious enjoyment. She opened her eyes, watching him as she moved his hand down her flat stomach to the apex of her thighs.

  His breath came more deeply, but he did not draw his hand from her light hold. Instead, he allowed her to guide him to her most intimate place.

  Her brows rose with a surprised pleasure. “There,” she gasped. “Please.”

  He kept his hand in place where it cupped her sex. The linen was damp against her body, wet with her need. How he wanted to sweep his finger against her, to watch her eyes flutter with pleasure. “You’re a maid.”

  “I dinna have a dowry and I dinna expect to wed.” Her fingers worked over the sark, drawing it higher up her legs. “My body is my own to do with as I please.”

  The thin linen passed her knees and crept up her slender, fair thighs.

  “And ye please me.” She gave a little tug on her underclothes and the linen slipped out from beneath Renault’s cupped hand, leaving her sex naked for his touch.

  She kept her eyes locked on him, deep brown and alight with a desire that made his ballocks tighten. Her hips flexed forward into his hand.

  He could refuse the invitation no longer. His finger curled inward, stroking the sweet line of her slit.

  She gasped and held onto his shoulders as if she needed him to help her stand.

  “Like that?” he asked.

  “Aye,” she breathed.

  He traced the path, up and down, up and down, paying careful attent
ion on each pass to stroke the sensitive nub at the top of her sex. Each time he swirled his fingertip over it, her eyes closed, and her breath caught.

  He wanted to make her pant with need and elicit husky screams of passion. His cock raged with unspent desire, cramped in the leather trews. He gripped it from outside his clothing and shifted it as he touched her, trying to find some comfort in the limited space.

  Ena reached for him and framed her palm over the shape of his shaft. Tingles of pleasure radiated out from the simple caress and left him clenching his teeth.

  “Don’t,” he ground out.

  “Because it feels too good?” she asked breathlessly. “Because ye dinna want to stop?”

  “Aye.” He paused a finger over her entrance and gently eased it inside.

  Her knees buckled and she fell against him. He drew her up into his arms. For as strong as she was, she weighed almost nothing. He carried her toward the pallet where the sheets were rumpled from her sleep. A small cat slumbered on another pallet set against the opposite side of the wall, curled atop a blanket.

  Renault’s arousal thundered with a need he couldn’t ignore. The musky perfume of her arousal clung to his fingers, driving him mad with desperation. He set her onto her feet and gently kissed her again, warring with himself over his need to have her and to do what was right—to walk away.

  Her hands worked at the ties of his trews, pulling one free before he could stop her. It was one thing to please her, and yet another to take her.

  She yanked the second tie free and his cock sprang from the partially opened flap, eager for whatever heat she would wrap around it: her hand, her mouth, her sex.

  With trembling hands, he tried to put himself back to rights, but she stopped him, watching him, her eyes wild with lust.

  “Nay,” she whispered. “I want ye. I want ye as badly as ye want me.”

  He shook his head, unable to give voice to his protest.

  She rose on her tiptoes and curled her arms around him. “Make me forget,” she whispered. “The fear tonight, the fear all those years ago.” She clutched him to her. “Please.”

  She kissed him, her mouth and tongue now skilled from the experiences of their passion. Her right leg slid up his body and curled around his hip, opening herself to him.

  Jesu.

  His hand moved of its own volition, cupping the underside of her thigh, cradling her bottom, pushing her against him. The wet heat of her sex grazed his cock and he knew he could protest no more. Not when this was clearly what they both so desperately wanted. Not when she was asking for his comfort.

  He could not turn her away.

  The intimate place between Ena’s thighs thundered with the need. For the escape from everything she endured. But it was more. Her desire was for Renault. For the honest man he was, for his selfless deeds. And, if she were being entirely honest, for the pleasure she knew he would give.

  Her mouth trailed over the collar of his shirt before she grasped the hem and drew it upward. She paused at the sight of him, taking all of him in. Pale skin stretched over rigid muscle, powerful and beautiful and peppered with scars.

  She pressed the flat of her hand to his chest and let it slide down his powerful torso. The wiry hairs on his chest rasped against her palm, a sensual contrast to his soft skin. He groaned at her touch, a long, low growl that sent chills skittering over her flesh.

  His fingers settled between her legs once more, rubbing, caressing, teasing, until she was gasping with the intensity of it and her knees were weak.

  “I want ye,” she panted.

  He buried his face against her neck and inhaled as he kissed her throat. “Let me see you.”

  She stiffened. She knew what he meant. He wanted to see her naked. Which meant the full extent of her scar would be uncovered, bared for him to see.

  He straightened and looked at her with a tenderness that touched deep within her, a place she had once thought cold and dead.

  “My parents died when I was young.” He brushed his fingertips over her collarbones. “My mum in childbirth and my da in the fields.”

  Despite her nerves, a pleasant heat followed his touch. “I’m sorry for ye,” she whispered.

  “I was seven summers.” He stroked lower, to the tops of her breasts. “Too old to be taken in by others. Too young to be on my own. Too damn poor for anyone to bother caring.”

  She was familiar with people’s lack of concern, and how they treated overlooked children in need. They’d done the same to her and Bran. But at least she’d had her brother. Renault had had no one.

  “People are cruel,” she whispered.

  “Aye.” His gaze found hers. “I had little choice but to beg for my food. As you said, people are cruel. Their maliciousness is in greater abundance than is kindness. It made me want to be better when I grew up, something greater than my father who had worked himself to death in the fields, and certainly more than a mud-streaked boy kicked at on the street by drunkards.”

  She winced at the image of the lad he’d been.

  His fingers caught the lacing of her sark and gently tugged. “We all have our scars, Ena. They shape us into who we become, what we believe.” He cupped her face in his palm. “Who we love.”

  Her heart tripped over itself. Surely, he didn’t love her. They’d only known one another for a few days. They’d been enemies longer than they’d been lovers.

  Why then did his words make her pulse race?

  He took her hand and put it to his chest. His heart ticked with a steady, strong beat against her palm.

  “Some of us wear our scars inside.” He ran the finger of his free hand along the neckline of her sark, widening it.

  He bent over her and kissed first her collarbone, then the point of the jagged scar. “Some of us wear them on the outside as well.” His mouth trailed over the ropy, crooked line of ruined flesh in a way that was more intimate than any of his previous kisses or touches.

  Tears burned in her eyes.

  He slid the linen from her as he knelt, loving the gnarled end of the scar. The sark slipped from his grip and fell silently to the floor, leaving her entirely naked.

  He looked up at her in earnest adoration. “You are beautiful, Ena.” He got to his feet and stroked his fingers down her cheek. “Beautiful.” He whispered the sentiment again.

  This time its effect was palpable, stirring inside her chest and down to the very marrow of her bones.

  She threw her arms around him and kissed him fiercely, saying everything with her body that she could not say with her words. Her mouth claimed his, her tongue grazing and stroking; her hands roaming and coaxing.

  Her fingers wrapped around his jutting cock and he gave a grunt through gritted teeth. The skin was smooth as silk beneath her touch and hot with the same pounding lust that reverberated through her.

  His palms skimmed over her as his fingers found the place between her legs once more.

  She was on fire. It ran like scalding liquid through her veins in great pulsing beats. Until she could stand it no more.

  She grasped his body to hers and sank to the bed, bringing him with her. He resisted at first, but she held tight to him. After a moment of hesitation, his body weight settled atop her. She found the waist of his trews and pushed them down.

  He reached for them. “Ena, you’re a—”

  She pressed her mouth to his to still his protests. She didn’t want his chivalry. She was no court lady; she was but a peasant, a woman with few indulgences in the world.

  “Do ye want me?” She gazed defiantly up at him.

  His brows knit together. “You’re a maid.”

  She spread her thighs to fully cradle his pelvis. The length of his arousal rested against her entrance, more temptation she’d ever encountered in her life.

  She flexed her hips forward, so she rubbed against his shaft. Her slick desire made the action easy as she glided up and down. Tingles of delight raced over her skin and a little moan whimpered from the back
of her throat.

  More. She needed more.

  Renault’s nostrils flared and his eyes closed as he clearly savored the sensations as much as she.

  “Kiss me,” she gasped. “Kiss me.”

  He braced himself over her and kissed her, a hungry, deep kiss that echoed his yearning. As their mouths connected, their bodies rubbed against one another, hard and soft, smooth and wet.

  She reached between them and grabbed the length of him, angling his cock toward her intimate place.

  “Ena.” There was a warning note in his voice.

  “There’s so little pleasure in this life.” Desperation seasoned her statement. “I want ye.” She arched her hips, pressing herself to the swollen tip of his prick. “Now.”

  He uttered a low curse but did not draw away. Instead, he settled more fully over her and kissed her once more with a resolve that told her she’d won. And as he did so, he braced her hips with his free hand and slowly began to push into her.

  7

  Ena tensed for the pain of her maidenhead tearing. It was little more than a pinch, but it was enough to make Renault still over the top of her. A wounded expression filled his eyes, as though the discomfort had injured him far more than it did her.

  Before he could change his mind and pull away, she rolled her hips upward to draw him farther into her.

  He moved slowly, his muscles tense.

  The fullness of him was initially foreign, not entirely comfortable yet not awful either. He shifted his hand between them and found the bud of her sex with his finger.

  Pleasure jolted through her. It dissolved the tension trying to force him out, allowing her to relax and accept him. Almost immediately, his careful thrusts sent prickles of bliss all through her.

  “Aye, that’s it,” he said raggedly.

  He continued to circle the sensitive place while he pumped into her, picking up speed so they panted in tandem in the silent room. Her body tightened with something she didn’t understand.

  “Aye, let yourself go,” he murmured. “Let yourself go, my beautiful Ena.”

  It wasn’t the pressure between her thighs that finally sent her sailing into an oblivion she had never known. It was his words.