Hunted(48)

Her belly was full of delicious cuts of meat, fruit and vegetables. Ryon had selected the choicest pieces and put them on her plate for her, as was tradition. Only one little problem caused Penelope to wish the day would end sooner rather than later.

The longer she sat next to her husband, an excruciating problem developed. His thigh would brush against hers, and she could feel the strength in his legs. Every so often his hand would stroke the middle of her back, or touch her waist as he leaned in to say something. When they danced, he would pull her close—to the raucous cheers of the drunks—and sneak in kisses to her neck.

It was wickedly flirtatious and delightfully arousing. With all the merriment going around, she could not keep from smiling until her cheeks hurt. Ryon had never smiled so much either.

It was late into the night when the band began to tire and stop playing to eat and get rest. Worn-out party-goers made their well-wishes known to the bride and groom, then shuffled out of the arena.

Ryon leaned over again to whisper in her ear, the scrape of his jaw against her skin sending a shiver over her. “I believe it’s safe to leave, love.”

Lyle, who’d spent much of the celebration looking barely above stoic, lifted his gaze from the glass he’d been staring a hole into. “Ah, yes, I suppose it’s time to see the bride and groom off. My congratulations to the both of you. You’ll make a fine pair. I can already see it—two children,” he predicted.

Penelope’s eyes about bulged from her face. Two! She’d never even thought of one. For Ryon, well, maybe she could see herself having his child.

Ryon pulled her to her feet. When she wobbled, giggling, he hugged her close. “Thank you, my friend. This couldn’t have been a better wedding celebration. We’re honored to have been a part.”

Lyle stood and shook Ryon’s hand. “See, it wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Ryon laughed in agreement. “Not so bad at all.” He squeezed Penelope’s waist in meaning. She sucked in a breath—that meant—soon they would be together.

“Until the trial,” Lyle said, referring to Lysse’s trial which would continue tomorrow with the king’s testimony.

“Go on now and have a good time. Make her happy.” Lyle turned and left, leaving the rest of the table to stare at his exit.





Chapter 18





Ryon led Penelope to his black stallion which the stable hand untethered for them.

“Let me help you up,” he said and gave her a push. Up and over she went, followed soon by Ryon’s larger body behind her. The horse shook its head and whinnied.

Ryon snickered a command at the horse and off they went into the night. The occasional peel of laughter floated from the arena, the sounds of merriment too contagious to be ignored.

The strength of the horse pressed against her legs. Penelope dropped her head onto Ryon’s shoulder and, sighing dreamily, stared at the midnight black expanse of space speckled with glittering stars.

“It’s beautiful.”

“What is?” Ryon asked.

“The stars.”

He leaned down and spoke in her ear. “Not as beautiful as you.”

She elbowed him playfully. “That’s ridiculous.” Still, his compliment charmed her and he knew it. Joining in on the laughter, he wrapped his arm around her waist pulling her closer to him. The night held a bite of chill to it, but his heat more than made up for it.

“This is the best day of my life,” she told him.

He replied after a moment. “Mine too, Pen.” His thumb stroked against her stomach.

Her body took that touch and went wild—making her nipples pucker and her breath catch. Nerves, it was just nerves. About tonight.

“Ryon?”

“Heh?” he grunted.

“Do you think that woman is evil?”

“What woman?” he asked, distracted.

“Lysse, the traitor.”

“I don’t want to talk about that right now. Not on our wedding night. Do you know how good you smell?” He buried his face in her shoulder and inhaled deeply.

Amused at his sweetness, she gently pushed him away. “You can’t steer the horse and flirt with me, you know.”

“Want to bet on that?” You could hear the challenge in his voice.

“Yes, as a matter of fact.”

“What are we waging?” Kisses, warm and damp trailed across her neck to her shoulder sending rushes of sensation down her body. She shuddered but not because of the chill.

“I’ll wager we’ll never make it home if you keep on touching me like that,” she said, breathless.

His own voice had grown deeper, huskier, the tone something she’d heard only when she’d had his manhood in hand. Literally.