Read Online Ronan's Bride by Gayle Eden - Free Book Online

lads were gone. Sefare stood, catching her breath, watching Ualtar reload the wagon and pick up items, clearing the yard.
    She knew, heard his tread, and sensed him, when Ronan stood by her shoulder. He nudged it, and she looked up.
    He was holding a deep gourd of water. Sefare took it, drinking all of it before handing it back. He tossed it in the nearby pail and as Ualtar took the cart out said, “You’ll feel sore on the morrow, but ‘tis better to keep at it, work through it.”
    “Aye.” Sefare turned and followed him. He strode back toward the far wall, where her forgotten pouch waited. She had brought food and forgotten it.
    Half way, they both stopped, noting a sudden darkness. She looked toward the sky as he did, seconds before it opened up, and a deluge hit them. The rain had her hunching her shoulders, the downpour so thick that it felt as pelting stones on her head.
    “Sblood.” He took her arm and they hurried forward. Nevertheless, the packed soil in the yard made for rivers and slickness, mud that had her sliding a time or two.
    His chuckle sounded loudly when she went down hard, her boots just flying out. Because she grabbed his arm, he was pulled to his knees over her. Sefare laughed at the comedy of it, because it was bloody cold rain and muddy.
    She had a difficult time getting to her feet, even with his help.
    Thunder boomed, lightening sizzled, and he called, “I’m less apt to fall.” Just moments before he stood and picked her up. She screamed with hilarity, because he carried her not in his arms, but thrown over his shoulder.
    Ronan ran with her, across the yard, leaping up and using one hand to pull them up the wall.
    Having let her fall away, onto the soaked ground, she was still laughing, trying not to drown in the rain when he stood up again.
    There was amusement in his voice as he shouted, reaching his hand down, “Hurry. We should make it to the kitchens...”
    She reached up grabbing his hand, her clothing soaked and legs only half-able to keep up as he ran in that direction. Sefare was slid, half pulled around him when they reached the overhang, just back of the old structure, her back against the wall, his to the open gray curtain of rain.
    They had to nearly stand facing, thigh to thigh, to share the dry space.
    Dragging her hair back, skimming the rain from her face, Sefare looked up and met his downward gaze. “From whence came that? I know ‘tis spring but—”
    “Ualtar swore he smelled a storm this morn. But I scoffed at it.” He braced a hand above her head, using his other to swipe water that ran over the brow of the mask into the eyeholes.
    Face upturned, Sefare was both aware of the chilly cold, of being wet, and that though he was also, his long sleeved leather shirt wet, there was a heat from him that reached her.
    “It will be good for crops, the wells and ponds…”
    “Aye but we’ll be wading mud for days.”
    She wet her lips and saw his hand pause in the middle of lowering, his eyes on her mouth. Tension seemed to explode on the next rumble of thunder, the sound of rain was deafening, and the shell roof drains pouring thick around them.
    She lowered her eyes a second, seeing the space between his shirt ties and the mask, a space he normally covered that though thick scarred was brown and sinewy. When she thought to drop it further, it was only with the knowledge that he was broad and muscled, and with a sense of breathing his scents, warmed and keeping her warm. Sefare flickered her gaze up, seeing he’d watched her, absently aware his sensual mouth was a bit darker as if he’d scraped his teeth over his lip.
    She jumped slightly at the next boom. Gaze unbroken, his eyes were a smoke gray, rimmed with raven lashes that were thick. She breathed shallow, too rapid, and unable to help it.
    There was no mistaking the source of the tension, the sensual rawness of it. His nostrils flared slightly, reminding her of her own damp scents. He seemed both tense and