Sword of Rhoswen
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by Brenda Williamson
Category: Erotica/Erotic Romance/Historical Fiction
Description: The Silver Dragon is a myth, so they say. But legends are often born from life. When Brienna Rhoswen sets out to find the man she has given a blood vow to marry, she never anticipates falling in love with the handsome rogue warrior. Brogan Torrick has avoided his betrothed for one reason-fear. Rumored she's a Mystic Healer, his prejudice rules his emotions. To garner an ally against an enemy, his father however, binds him into a marriage contract with the sorceress. Meeting as strangers, Brogan believes he's never seen a more beautiful and deadly messenger. On the journey, they struggle with an attraction they think is forbidden to them until they learn each other's identity. Only their love may not be enough to keep them together and a drop of blood from the Silver Dragon may doom all Kingdoms if their enemy gets hold of the Sword of Rhoswen. Product Warnings WARNING: This book contains hot, explicit sex between two people explained in graphic language.
eBook Publisher: Samhain Publishing, Ltd., 2006
eBookwise Release Date: March 2011
1 Reader Ratings:
Available eBook Formats: OEBFF Format (IMP) [336 KB]
Reading time: 222-311 min.
Brogan gazed at the nymph with a newfound wonder of the world. Most things didn't surprise him. What he had not imagined was the Lass scaling the cart like a lizard and firing upon him and his men with the valiance of a warrior. Her lack of voice after slamming to the earth like the discards of the heavens was understandable.
"Well, Lass, be ye real or a vision to my weary eyes?"
He noted her fingers tightening on the handle of the sword at her side. The blade, short and fat, had no less lethal qualities than his. She scrambled to her feet swiftly and swung the heavy-gauged weapon in attack.
Brogan took a defensive stance and let her blow glance off his ready steel.
She stepped back, staring in surprise.
"Do ye think for a minute I have lost all me senses, Lass?"
He had a keen anticipation for her moves and had no wish to fight the woman. The unfortunate part was, female or not, she could be every bit as dangerous as she appeared. She knew how to stand, to swing, and to lunge at him with her sword. Her looks alone were enough to make him drop his guard. The beauty of her delicate face captivated him into noting details. Small nose, brilliant violet eyes set just right, and rose-tinted cheeks. He licked his lips and wondered what her kiss would taste like. His gaze wandered over her, lingering on the fine details to the way she was put together.
"You will leave me on my way, sir." She held her ground and her sword ready.
His nature never allowed him to think he could be defeated in a battle. Nor did the wee lass, a woodland pixie of extreme beauty, look to be a threat, other than to his throbbing cock. This dance of power only made him hard and aching to touch her in ways he knew would make her submissive.
"Ye, Lass, should put down that steel before ye get hurt." He watched warily as he had already seen her agility in climbing the cart as well. The added skill at kicking him in the jaw during that course of movement amazed him. He rubbed a hand over his rough unshaven face, still feeling the smart of her small foot. He looked down at her shoe. A soft covering that did not inflict pain, but she had put a lot of power into the punch it gave him. His consideration as to what her toes looked like made him laugh again. Now was not the time to be thinking of the girl's feet, nor if they might be pleasing to the eye.
The Lass sliced the air as she brought the sword around at him a second time, a third, a fourth and she kept at him. He knew his laugh fueled her determination. Not weak by any means, she still tired from the fight.
"Now, Lass, I really must ask that we stop. I do not wish to play this game any longer. One of us could get seriously hurt."
He stood his sword on end with the point of the blade resting on the tip of his brown goat-hide boot. He studied the golden-haired beauty in front of him. Her fighting like a warrior was out of place. In spite of that, she oozed excitement. The fire in her violet eyes and the glow that flushed her cheeks ignited flames of desire. If her passionate swordplay could be so hot, he wondered if she could as bring much fervor to his bed?
"Fine, we'll end it," she announced and took a final swing.
He narrowed his eyes as a violent storm washed over his calmness. The Lass hit his sword with such a severe blow in the hilt, it jerked unmercifully from his unready hand. A few more inches and she would have had his hand too. Instead she managed a clean, razor laceration through his brown leather glove. He cringed slightly in pain.
"Damnation, woman!" Brogan yanked his glove off and pressed the clean slice to his mouth to quell the sting.
The Lass backed off and he thought he saw a glimmer of concern in her eyes. Yet, as he regained composure and continued his assessment of her, she really gave away no personal feelings.
When she raised a brow, a thin golden arch, he saw the twinkle in her eye acknowledge her readiness to proceed.
Strip off the dress and tan her hide. That was what he should do. Or... his grin returned. Slice the clothes from her young limber body and make love to her right there on the leaf-strewn forest floor.
He waited to give rise to any fear she had churning inside her, letting her marinate with the mystery of his next move. She remained a pillar of stone, with an expression that appeared contemptuous in nature.
Brogan could not hurt the Lass. He could, however, prevent her from hurting him anymore. The golden-haired angel had a wickedly dangerous side and to rush her could prove tricky.
He laughed. When had his life not been complicated with precarious confrontations? He charged, catching her off guard. Swift and sure, he offered no time for her to raise a defense. He tackled her to the ground. A man he would have fought to death's door. The Lass he could do no more than pin her struggling frame to the earth's floor. He crushed her under the entire length of his frame. He held her arms to the ground alongside her head and stared. Every ounce of strength she mastered in wielding the sword began to show with the depletion in some of her fortitude. He had the advantage of strength, size, and weight.
"This is how I prefer my women, Lass... on their back." He breathed heavily, regaining his composure.
He took in the delicate lines of her face. The soft feminine features were flushed. Her cheeks, painted by God's paintbrush, tinged them a burnished pink. Perspiration shimmered like diamond dewdrops over the bridge of her nose. Her lips parted, expelling sweet pants of exhaustion. Nobility, honor, chivalry--where were these qualities when needed most?
Brogan's head dropped so his mouth covered hers instantly. He plied her moist lips with a long hard kiss she did not resist. He gained no participation either. No fight, no win. He lifted his head to look at the lovely almond shaped violet eyes.
He felt the heave of her firm breasts as she gasped for the air he did not allow when he sucked at her sweet fiery breath. He kissed her again. Soft, gentle, and so deeply that he waited for her resistance to waver. However, something highly virtuous took root and he did not want her submissive. Not right at the moment when she was most vulnerable. No, he wanted her naked under him when she was eager for his caress and begging for his kiss. Both dreams were highly unlikely as he pulled free and studied her complacent gaze.
"What happened to the fight in ye, Lass? Are ye ready to yield?"
He watched the honeyed lips turn with a small smile as she nodded her head. It was a grand triumph; he could get such a surrender. She hardly seemed the type to give in and then when he should have questioned his instincts, he let her arms go.
"Very good then." He raised his weight up to get off her and in that second realized his mistake. The girl's knee caught him between the legs and he tossed himself off the seething Lass. A wolf in sheep's clothing, she tried to crawl away. He grabbed the back of her hair and dragged her up on her feet.
"This is the end, Lass." He strapped her against him with an arm around her narrow middle and one around her surging chest. Her heavy breath rose and fell under the constraints. He could not help glancing over her small shoulder at the pearly swells of her breasts, expanding with every deep gasp she took. How tasty she looked. How deliciously beautiful she was. How hungry she made him. She did not look built for brandishing such a weapon, let alone doing it very well.
"Let me go!" she demanded and bit firmly into his arm.
"Ye will have to do better than that," he informed her when she could not draw blood by sinking her teeth into his leather covered forearm. "Yield to me and I will let ye stand on your own." His thumb accidentally brushed over the tip of her breast. Through the heavy cloth, he felt the hard bead of her nipple. The protuberance seized his concentration. He could not stop his thumb from making another pass, firmer, more defined in cause.
When the Lass stomped hard on his foot, he released her with an annoyed grunt of pain. Then he grabbed hold before she could get away and her struggle caused them to fall.
"Ye are a real spitfire, Lass." He considered the beauty in her vehement stare. The violet eyes fired and ready to fight, yet calm and undaunted by her predicament. She had an amazing gift that most men could not possess. The Lass had an overabundance of true courage.
He wouldn't have touched her again if it hadn't been for the whimper he extracted from her. His fingers moved back up the hillock of her breast. Her chest heaved, pressing the mound tighter to his audacious teasing touch. The laces of her gown were loose and he took his gaze from her face to look at the ivory skin hiding beneath the fabric. The length of her slender neck and the appearance of flesh so soft drew his lips.
"Please," she whimpered when his mouth ran a rampage over the buttery smoothness.
He crossed her collarbone while his fingers made a steady project of loosening the points of her gown to give him access to her breasts. He kissed the top swell and followed the curve as the cloth gave way to his pursuit. He lifted his head and looked at the dusky peak, her nipple puckered in the aftermath of his stare.
"Please, don't...oh God," she whined.
The sound of her pleas weren't for his quitting. She squirmed and arched, presenting him with the fullness of her succulent tit. He took the advantage and swirled his tongue around the raspberry hued nipple before sucking the sweet nub into his mouth.
Her hands clenched in the throes of her rising excitement. Brogan slid his hands over hers and laced his gloved fingers to hers. She continued to flex her fingers, driving him insane with the thought of how she could be squeezing his cock in the same manner. The rhythmic pumping and kneading made him groan. If he didn't stop the torturing of himself, he knew the serious problem from his rise would make the insides of his britches extremely uncomfortable.
In all assessment, God had not put her together like other women. The ones he knew...and knew them well, were rounder, softer, meatier. This girl, whom he quickly corrected in his mind to deem a lady, was small, slender, and her contours were firm. Yet, she had a splendid, feminine softness in all the right places that made him want to melt into her embrace, if ever she should offer one.
He lifted his head and looked at her. The tint of a blush covered her nicely--from the pale rosy breast to her enflamed cheeks. He liked the way the Lass appeared so complacent.
"No more fight?" he asked.
She shook her head quickly. Tendrils of golden hair bounced with the action.
"Very good, my wee Lass, do not break a valued trust again unless ye wish to anger me more than ye have done thus far," he warned sternly, even though he felt not a drop of anger while his hand still throbbed from the sting of her sword.