MacAuliffe Vikings Trilogy 3 - Lord of the wolves (19 page)

“No,” he said flatly. He"d just realized what a tempting and tender morsel she might be. The last thing he intended was to send her home without him.

“What?” Her fingers stopped moving. She came around the side of the tub, violet eyes brilliant in her fury.

“I said no, Melisande.”

“But I have stayed here quite
obediently.
I—”

“You"ve not stayed here, you were gone when I first arrived. And if you"ve been at all obedient, it"s because my
Viking
father does have a stern eye, you"ve surely realized that.”

Her lashes flickered, her eyes narrowing upon him.

“I need to go home!”

“No.”

“You don"t seem to understand, you stupid
Viking!
I have done everything, I have learned your history, I have—”

“No! And if you"re not going to rub my shoulders anymore, you might want to get out of here.”

She remained there, staring at him furiously.

He arched a brow. “Unless you wish to join me in here? I have actually done my very best to practice restraint—against your
sweet
innocence of course. But if you feel so determined to linger, I might begin to believe that you are anxious to begin marital duties in full.”

Color rushed to her face, washed over it like a tide. For a moment he was certain she had controlled her temper. She turned away from him. There was a kettle of hot water heating over the fire, ready to be added to his bath.

“Ah, marital duties!” she whispered. “Do, please, let me see to your bath!” Too late he realized her intention. She had the kettle up, and the scalding water cascading in upon him.

He let out a cry of rage, leaping up and out of the bath just in time to avoid any real injury.

She stared at him, all of him, her eyes widening in a sudden panic. The kettle clattered to the floor. She turned to run, but his fingers wound into her hair, and she flew back into his arms. Perhaps it was a revelation to them both. He had never imagined the way her breasts would feel, pressed through the linen fabric of her gown against his naked chest.

And he was quite certain that she hadn"t been prepared at all for the raw and aroused feel of his full body flush against her own. He heard her gasp, felt the wild pounding of her heart. Indeed, she was equally aware of him!

“You are no longer newly orphaned!” he warned her tensely. “You know that I will not hesitate to deal with you. But it has been some time since I have seen you, so I will offer you this warning—don"t ever seek vengeance against me! I will tend to you, my love, in turn. I assure you!”

“Please!” she gasped, violet eyes wide, ebony hair curling around them both.

“Let me go.”

He did. Then he cursed in fury because she managed to kick him in the shin before departing. He counted to ten, and then a hundred, to control his temper.

He managed to do so, and let her go.

That had been the first of it.

In the weeks that followed, Melisande kept her distance from him. It was not so difficult, for his mother had given Melisande rooms above the floor of his own chamber, assuming Melisande would find the view of the river close to that which she would have had from her own chambers across the sea.

She appeared dutifully at mealtimes and sat quite politely at the table, even responding to him when she was spoken to. That, of course, might be a part of her great performance for his family, because she continued to seem nothing less than perfection when she was with them. No matter what his anger with her then, he found himself watching her, and once again, granting her a grudging admiration. She did have an incredible mind, and she learned with astonishing speed. She"d had some smattering of the Irish language when he"d sent her here, he"d known that, for she"d used it upon occasion with him, though she had more frequently slipped into the Norse words she had apparently known very well when she was angry with him, which was often.

He and his brothers—and his sisters, for that matter—had always been taught the languages of their neighbors across the seas, since his father had known that with a brood his size, many would leave home and have to make their way upon distant shores. In the same way, he was certain, Melisande had learned the Norse language—in self-defense, perhaps. The more astute households with power were often careful to speak the language of the sea invaders themselves—making it easier to negotiate whenever possible. Besides which, many of the Norse who had already sailed had acquired new homelands, like his father, and now traded liberally throughout many ports.

But in this household Melisande had quickly learned to speak with the others as if she were a native. Upon occasion he even saw her smile, but that was not so strange, for his father"s was a lively household. Leith, Elizabeth, Conan, and Megan had married, and were sometimes in the king"s residence with a supply of toddling babes to keep them all careful of their movements. Eric was most often across the sea on Alfred"s coast, and their youngest sister, Daria, most often remained there. Bryan and Bryce were two and four years, respectively, behind Conar, and usually kept up a lively discourse through any meal when they were home. All of them donned battle gear and fought when they were called to service by their uncle. It was the way of things. It still made his mother grow pale after all these years, but she had watched her brothers fight for peace, and now she had to watch her sons do so, too.

Bede still dined with them sometimes, though she seemed to think she had carried out whatever Conar had wished of her when he had sent Melisande.

Perhaps she had done so, for Melisande gave all appearances of being perfect.

She spoke beautifully, and he was certain, had gained an honest affection for his mother and perhaps even his father.

She had also formed easy enough friendships with Bryce and Bryan. Conar noticed that upon occasion she even laughed with the two, and then her eyes would light up. Once he watched her and then found his father"s gaze upon him, and he was forced to admit that there was a magic about her, that she definitely had his brothers entwined within her web of charm, and that she was, quite simply, every bit as beautiful as he had been warned.

A prize.

Yet he had not been back so very long when one of the ships that now moved constantly between his home in Dubhlain and his new acquisition across the channel brought a message from Swen urging him to return immediately. They had been watching Conar"s neighbors, and there had been a great deal of activity on the ridge to the west.

Gerald"s son was growing bolder, watching them constantly.

Conar had thought it best not to tell Melisande, but he hadn"t realized that she received constantly long letters from Ragwald and that she returned them, keeping her people well abreast of all that happened within Dubhlain. She was determined that she was coming with him, and he was equally determined that she was not.

She ceased to argue, and he realized that he was in all the greater trouble. If it hadn"t been for Bridget, he might well have been tricked by her once again, for on the night before he was due to leave, he visited his mistress and stayed with her very late. It was easy enough to move about in Dubhlain, for though there were nominal guards around the house itself, Dubhlain was a fortified city. He slipped into his father"s house very silently, determined that he would not disturb anyone sleeping within.

And that was when he saw her.

She was moving down the stairway with an equally careful and silent tread, a great hooded cloak over her shoulders, a leather satchel in her hands. He stared at her, frowning for a moment, then realized that she meant to reach his ships and hide away within one.

He allowed her to come down to the great hall. He watched her in the firelight and felt his temper rise, and still he found himself staring at her. The beauty and perfection of her features caught him, the wild violet of her eyes seemed to steal upon the senses.

And yet with all the facilities of her able mind, she could not seem to grasp the danger to herself—or the fact that he did not intend to lose anything that he had taken as his own. Had Swen not warned him of danger, he might well have brought her. He had tried to tell her that, but she had refused to listen.

She had pretended to accept his bidding.

He watched her spin around, the cloak billowing out around her in a shimmering beauty. She saw no one, for he was in the shadows against the door. She walked toward it, reached for it, and came in contact with his chest. A gasp left her lips, nearly a scream. He clasped his hand around her mouth, determined to silence her tonight in his own way.

“Where do you think you"re going, Countess?” he asked softly, his whisper against her fragrant hair, her body caught tight to his. He eased his hand from her mouth.

“For a walk in the moonlight!” she returned. “If you"ll just let me go—” She started to scream again as he swept her up. His hand locked determinedly over her mouth, and no matter how she struggled, he managed to carry her up the stairs. He brought her not to her chamber but to his own, throwing her down upon the bed then quietly closing the door and sliding the bolt. By the time he turned around, she was up, staring at him. But her defiance seemed tempered by fear, and she was watching him very carefully.

He leaned against the door, arms crossed over his chest. “I repeat, where were you going?”

“For a walk,” she said stubbornly.

“To the ships perhaps?”

Her eyes narrowed hard upon him. “Perhaps I missed you, milord, and was anxious to see if you had returned from your visit with your whore!” He arched a brow. Silence fell. She stepped back, as if horrified herself by the words she had spoken.

Conar walked into the room, angry, intrigued. “I rather doubt that,” he said softly, and stood across the bed from her. “But then, of course, I hadn"t realized that you were quite so concerned with my movements. Indeed, it seems to me that you are always happiest when I am absent.”

Her gaze lowered, the richness of her lashes sweeping over her downcast eyes.

“I am!” she whispered.

“Yet you are suddenly so anxious for my presence that you are willing to stow away on one of my ships. And I hadn"t the least idea that my activities distressed you. If I"d realized just how much you longed for me yourself, I"d have taken great care not to sleep elsewhere.”

“You may sleep with the whole of your father"s flocks of sheep for all I care!” she hissed back. Once again she seemed to become aware that though his tone was light, he was both weary and angry. She took another step away from him. “Truly, I just want to go home!”

Tension gripped him, he sighed, stripped off his mantle, and threw it across the trunk at the foot of his bed. She jumped a mile high. “You cannot come now, Melisande, and that is that.”

“We shall see.”

She started to stride by him. He caught her arm and flung her back. She landed upon the side of his bed.

“We won"t see, Melisande. You cannot come now.”

She stared up at him, her jaw locked. Her gaze lowered itself again, and she was silent. He realized that she would leave him and run to the ships just as she had intended—once she had pretended to return to her own chamber, of course.

He knelt beside her, reaching for the brooch that clasped her mantle about her shoulders. Her eyes fell upon his, wide and brilliant—and, he realized, alarmed. A smile curved his lips. She managed to cause him enough sleepless nights.

Her long, delicate fingers fell upon his frantically, but he had the mantle and cast it away. “What are you doing?” she demanded breathlessly.

He rose, ignoring her startled cry as he picked her up and cast her farther upon the bed, straddling her. “I just hadn"t realized until tonight that you were so concerned with my nocturnal activities. Perhaps I have been sorely remiss.

Perhaps the time has come …”

“No!” she gasped. There was a tremor to her voice, and he was certain that it was no act for anyone"s sake now. “I won"t go,” she whispered. “I"ll stay here—”

“Indeed, you will.” He fell from her, lying by her side. He laced an arm around her slim waist, pulling her tightly against him. “I have told you that you will,” he whispered.

For eons, it seemed, she was silent, afraid to move. Then he felt her breath expel. “If you"ll just let me return to my own quarters …”

“I think you"ll sleep here, Melisande. And I think that you will do so without further words or movements, lest I realize that you are old enough now to perform all the sweet duties of a wife!”

For once she was entirely obedient.

He didn"t think that she moved a muscle for the rest of the night.

Oddly enough he did not sleep himself. All through the hours of darkness the scent of her hair teased him. Beneath her clothing he could feel her still. Slim, warm, vibrant.

And, he realized, when she turned in her sleep, a woman now indeed. The pressure of her breasts against his back was a cruel taunt. He bit into his lip, amazed at the desire that suddenly ripped through him.

She probably prayed for his death daily, he reminded himself. She loathed him, fought him. He would not desire her in his life, he would keep her tamed within it! He tried to remember his hours with Bridget, but somehow they suddenly seemed to pale.

He didn"t wait for the dawn, but was ready to sail by darkness, his only relief the sure knowledge that he had left her safely in his room, his brother Bryce there to guard against her determination to follow. His father, too, knew the extent of danger in having Melisande with him. He would never allow her to leave the house.