Free Tatiana March by Surrender to the Knight Page A

asked, his voice dangerously soft.
    Lady Brenna blinked, appearing startled by his anger. “Everyone I care about always leaves,” she told him. “I lied to you about my father. His death was no accident. He drove his horse down the cliffs. My mother chose to leave, my father chose to die, and my brother died, although it was through no fault of his own.”
    “You thought that I would leave too?” The first stirrings of relief eased the sharp edge of Olaf’s anger. Was that why she’d kept her distance? Had he finally discovered why Lady Brenna had erected barriers around her feelings, closed him out of her heart?
    She nodded but didn’t speak.
    Olaf strode over to the bed where her treasured Moonbeam stood propped against the corner post. “I told you that if I ever betray you by lifting my hand against you, you can cut off my arm.” He hastily stripped away his doublet and the linen shirt beneath. Picking up the sword, he covered the three steps between them, stood before her, and pressed the tip of the blade to his bare chest, angling it upward between his ribs, pointing at his heart.
    “If I even betray you by leaving, you can cut out my heart.” When Lady Brenna didn’t move but merely stared up at him with wide, terrified eyes, Olaf reached out one hand and pulled her up to her feet. The force of the motion pushed the tip of the blade he was holding with his other hand deeper into his flesh. “Do it,” he growled. “If you think I’m planning to leave you, take your sword and push it through my heart.”
    “Stop,” Lady Brenna cried. She sank down on her knees in front of him and pried the sword from his hands, leaning back to get the weight of her entire body behind the motion. She tossed the sword aside and scampered to her feet. “Dear God, you’ve drawn blood.” Using the hem of her linen shift, she patted away the thin trail of blood that ran down the muscled ridges of his stomach.
    Olaf ignored her frantic ministrations. He curled his hands around her upper arms and pulled her up to her feet, hauling her body close to his. “Show me,” he said in a rough murmur. “Instead of worrying that I’ll leave you, show me that you want me to stay.” Tightening his hold on her, he lifted her on tiptoe and bent his face to hers, halting with his mouth a fraction away from hers.
    She raised her gaze to him, and in her eyes Olaf could finally see the look he’d been searching for. And yet he waited, his mouth poised over hers. Blood thundered in his veins. The need to kiss her burned on his lips, swelled inside him until it was greater than the inky black moors outside. But still he waited. Waited, until she craned her neck, a tiny movement that brought her mouth against his.
    Her lips were soft and gentle, the kiss shy and tentative, but it was enough to break his restraint. He took her mouth fiercely, his tongue delving deep. Lady Brenna made a startled sound and sagged against him. Too impatient to seek the bed, too impatient to undress, he eased her over to the wall, trapping her body with his, one arm around her shoulders to shield her back from getting scraped against the rough stone.
    Not breaking the kiss, he unfastened his codpiece with one fumbling hand and shoved the leather out of the way. Reaching beneath the hem of her linen shift, he slid his hand down her thigh, to the back of her knee, and lifted her leg to hook around his hip.
    He fitted their bodies together and thrust with his hips. A long, powerful stroke, burying himself to the hilt in her slick heat. He could feel her tighten around him, first in resistance, then holding him in, meeting his force with her own. He paused for a second. Waited. When Lady Brenna rocked her hips in a silent plea for more, he started moving again, powerful surges that brought her to completion almost instantly.
    “Say it,” he growled as his wife came apart in his arms.
    “I want you to stay,” she replied.
    He thrust again and took his own