Free Dark Immortal by Julia Keaton Page B

being detected. 
     
    The
castle’s defenders, seeing their cause lost, began to throw down their weapons
and cry for quarter. 
     
    When
the man who called himself Raventhorne had ordered his men to round up the
weapons and secure the enemy soldiers, he lowered her carefully to the ground
and dismounted.  It occurred to her to run the moment he released her.  The
urge was strong, but she knew even if she managed to escape she had nowhere to
run to.  She might barricade herself in her chambers, but that was not likely
to hinder the conqueror and might well anger him enough to beat her for her
impudence.
     
    Instead,
she stood docilely as he dismounted, shivering with both fear and the cold.  He
grasped her arm when he had handed the reins of his horse off to a squire and
led her inside.  Releasing her once they had reached the great fire at one end
of the great hall, he removed his gauntlets and finally his helmet.
     
    Bronwyn
stared at him with a mixture of emotions, her mind chaotic.  “You are … you
are.”
     
    “Marcus
Raventhorne,” he finished for her, amusement gleaming in his eyes.
     
    Bronwyn
blinked, feeling a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach.  “I thought …
you look....”
     
    He
caught her face, forcing her to look up at him.  “You do not know me?”
     
    His
expression was harsh with some emotion she had difficulty interpreting and
Bronwyn felt again an upsurge of hopefulness.  “Do I?” she asked a little
breathlessly.
     
    His
gaze flickered over her face and he swallowed thickly.  “You told me you loved
me,” he said in a low, husky voice as he stepped closer. 
     
    Tears
sprang into Bronwyn’s eyes.  “Nightshade?” she whispered, torn by the fear that
she was wrong.  “But … I don’t understand.”
     
    His
lips twisted wryly.  “I will be vastly disappointed, lady, if you tell me this
face is less to your liking than the beast I once was,” he murmured, dipping
his head to cover her mouth with his own. 
     
    Bronwyn
flinched, but the moment she felt the heat of his mouth, the moment his taste
and scent enveloped her, all doubts fled.  She swayed against him, kissing him
back with all the longing and passion she had felt for him from the first
moment he had touched her.
     
    She
was disappointed when he ended the kiss until he pulled her snuggly against his
length, holding her tightly.  “I hope this means that I was not precipitate in
bringing a priest with me,” he murmured against her hair.
     
    Bronwyn
pulled away enough to look up at him.  “We’re to be married?” she asked a
little dazedly.
     
    He
smiled wryly.  “By your leave, little rose--or without if needs be.  I’ll be
damned if I will let another have you.”
     
    She
smiled up at him.  “You will not find me unwilling, my lord.”
     
    It
was late into the night as Bronwyn lay curled contentedly next to her new
husband before the questions that had gathered in her mind finally made it to
her lips.
     
    “Tell
me,” she murmured as she traced circles along his broad chest and followed the
path with her lips, “everything.”
     
     “I
would far rather make love to my wife than talk.”
     
    Bronwyn
was instantly torn, because that sounded a good deal more appealing to her,
also, now that he’d brought it up, but she was still curious.  “Tell me first.”
     
    Uttering
a long suffering sigh, he tucked her more tightly against his body.  “How I
came to be a man?  Or how I managed to sack Raventhorne so easily when it is
reputedly a nearly impregnable keep?”
     
    “Both.”
     
    He
rolled, pushing her onto her back.  “I am Marcus Raventhorne-- the Raventhorne
who built this keep, the man cursed to guard it for eternity--unless I found a
woman who could love me as I was.  You broke the curse.  What I had
never considered since the possibility seemed remote, to say the least, that
any woman would love me as I was, was that it would still be nigh