MacAuliffe Vikings Trilogy 3 - Lord of the wolves (31 page)

He waved a hand impatiently in the air. “I cannot win! I was a wretched Viking for taking you, and now I am a wretched Viking for leaving you alone.” She ignored that. “You need me now. You saw Count Odo, and he warned you that you needed the barons to see the strength of your marriage in order to solidify your position among them. So you have come for me—because you need me to repeat my vows in public.”

“Ah …” he murmured. “And you think that this is your bargaining point?”

“I"m not a child any longer, Conar. You cannot force my words now, and neither can Ragwald. It would hardly stand you well if we were to enter the church and I were to denounce you!”

“Is that what you"re planning on doing?”

“It is my bargaining point,” she said flatly. He entered the room, pacing before the fireplace. The night was damp and cool, and a low blaze burned. He watched the flames for a moment, then his pacing brought him behind her. He lifted the fall of hair from her shoulder, allowing the length of it to sweep over his arm. He studied it. She started to twist. The warmth of his breath touched her shoulder and throat and earlobe. His lips didn"t quite touch her flesh. She felt a spiraling of liquid heat seep slowly into her.

“Indeed. Just what is it that you would bargain?”

She turned, unable to bear him so close to her back, that near touch that sent hot tremors racing within her. She faced him, yet he held the rich length of her hair in his hands, and he remained uncomfortably close.

“Freedom,” she said softly.

He arched a brow. “Restating your marriage vows before a sizable crowd is no way to find freedom—since I"m assuming the freedom is from me.” She spoke quickly, nervously, despite all her resolve, moistening her lips and starting over again. “Freedom in that I wish to be let alone. I"ll sail back with you tomorrow. My eagerness to return home is certainly evident enough.”

“As it"s evident enough that you have found friends here!” he reminded her.

“I have longed to go home forever,” she said softly, “and everyone knows it.”

“Go on.”

Her mouth was dry again. He remained too close, almost on top of her, one thigh brushing hers as he continued to run his fingers through the long fall of her hair.

She tried to draw the ebony length back. His fingers wound more tightly around it. “Go on,” he urged her, and the tone of his voice was harsh.

She moistened her lips quickly again to speak, then felt the rise of her temper when she least needed it. “Are you daft!” she cried. “I"ll go back with you, I"ll state any vows you wish, but I want to be left alone. Sleep alone. I take my father"s room. You keep out of it!”

He was dead silent for the longest time. Eons. She held her breath through all that time. Her heart began to pound too fiercely, but she did not draw breath, for she felt the searing ice-fire of his eyes pinning and impaling her.

He lifted the length of her hair between them, his fingers entwined within it.

His voice was husky, nearly silken, not at all the explosion she had expected.

“I have told you—I will never let you go.”

“I didn"t ask that you do so!” Once again she tried to tear her hair from his grasp, tugging upon it. His fingers closed into a fist. “You"re hurting me!” she charged him.

He shook his head slowly. “Nay, lady, you are hurting yourself. Stand still, and your hair will not pull.”

She ceased for a moment, standing very still, staring into his eyes and realizing this had nothing to do with her hair.

They were discussing her life.

Obey him, and she would not be hurt.

Try to break his rein upon her, and the tendrils would be pulled back, one by one.

“Obviously I cannot best you in this room!” she cried. “I cannot tear out your hair, throw you about! But I can create great havoc for you in Rouen, and I swear that it will be so unless—”

“Ah, threatening me now!”

“You are forever threatening me.”

“But I thought you were bargaining with me.”

She let out an oath of frustration. “Call it what you will, in any language! I can be the most charming of heiresses, the most giving. I can—”

“There"s nothing for you to give me, Melisande. I earned my title to that land, not by marrying you, but by coming when your father summoned me, slaying his murderer, and besting his enemies.”

“Be that as it may!” she cried. “You are here now because Odo warned you that you need me.”

He suddenly released her hair and strode back to the fire, stretching his hands with their long fingers before it. She watched him, praying that she had found some small victory.

He turned back to her, a rueful smile curved into the corners of his lip, his eyes sizzling. “Let me repeat this one more time, to be sure that I have it right.”

“You know exactly what I"ve said—”

“Daft Vikings sometimes need to hear things twice,” he said.

He began to walk toward her again, his hands clasped behind his back, his stride easy, lazy. “You promise to vow eternal love and obedience and all manner of wonderful things in Rouen as long as I leave you be. Quit this chamber now, I assume, sail to the coast, remove my things from the master"s chamber, and let you live there alone in chasteness and purity.” She didn"t reply. She didn"t like the tone of his voice.

“Is that it, Melisande?”

Again her temper flared, perhaps because he had made her so very uneasy.

“Aye, that is it. Are you so daft a Viking that it must be repeated one more time?”

As soon as the words had left her lips, she was heartily sorry.

Once again he stood dead still. Until he reached out, caught her arm, and drew her to him. Hard against the length of his chest. Her head fell back, her eyes met his.

“No,” he grated out harshly.

“I can make your life hell in Rouen!” she cried, straining against his hold.

“You do whatever you damned well please in Rouen, Melisande.”

“Damn you! Damn you!” she cried, trying to kick him. “You just sit there and let me go on and on—”

“You were determined to do so,” he interrupted, swearing as her foot managed to connect with his knee. He swept her off her feet suddenly, and she was startled to find herself clinging to his neck, lest she fall.

“Set me down!” she cried desperately.

He did so, dropping her down upon the expanse of the bed. She was ready to leap away from him, but he turned away himself, striding back to the fire, stretching out his long fingers again, as if he could not get his hands warm. He turned at last with a weary sigh, striding back to her. She started to rise, but he sat by her side, and she remained there, leaning upon her elbows, her gaze upon his.

“You cannot bargain away what is, Melisande,” he said at last. “Rouen is intended as a pretty show, but you are my wife now, lady, and have been, and I will not turn back again.”

“But you want—”

His finger fell upon her lips, hushing her along with the force of his eyes. “I have told you before, Melisande, I want you.”

His finger fell from her lips.

“How dare you take such a chance!” she whispered.

“Recklessness, perhaps,” he suggested.

“Ruthlessness!” she returned.

He smiled, his finger stroking her cheek. Her lashes fell, she looked away, and his touch ceased. Her gaze fell upon the door. More than anything in the world, she wanted to run to it, escape. She had been so certain of her victory!

“Ah, the door! Freedom!” he murmured.

Her gaze met his. Clashed with it.

“And if I were to run?” she demanded.

“Ah, well, if you were to run, I"d have to come after you, of course. Drag you back by the hair, throw you down, and ravish you.” His voice was light.

The words were mocking.

Nay, he"d not pull her hair out.

But she would never leave the room.

“And if I were not to run?” she asked him, alarmed that she should be so breathless.

“Ah, well, then …” His fingers were suddenly upon the lacing of the soft linen tunic she wore. She clutched at his hand, but the binding gave. The shift she wore beneath it was as thin as gauze, and her breasts were all but bared. He stared upon them, then met her eyes again. “I would beg you to lie still. I would strive my hardest to seduce you,” he informed her.

“That is far worse!” she protested.

“Nay, lady, nay. Far better!” he assured her.

His lips found hers, his weight pressing her back to the pillows. His tongue found entry, delving deep, stroking, bringing its touch of liquid fire.

His lips broke from hers. His gaze touched upon her mouth, then rose to her own.

“Lie still,” he urged.

“It"s better to run.”

“Better to stay.”

He lowered his head. His mouth closed over her breast, tongue stroking it through the thin veil of her shift. He circled her nipple, laving until the crest hardened into a pebbled peak, then sucked upon it until she began to writhe beneath him, the fires wild and rampant within her, her protest at the alarm that rose so swiftly in her heart.

“No!”

Her fingers tugged upon his hair. His lips rose from her breast at last, but his answer was firm and unyielding.

“Lie still …”

His hand had slipped beneath her tunic and shift, drawing each up against the length of her limbs. Fingers stroked her upper thigh gently above her hose.

Circular motions brought them higher and higher. The fabric bunched to her waist. His eyes were upon hers.

The palm of his hand caressed the ebony curls between her thighs.

She closed her eyes, swallowing hard. “No …”

Again, “Lie still” was his only response.

She started to speak, then inhaled sharply, for his touch was suddenly searingly intimate, parting tender, intimate places, delving within them, discovering the most sensitive and erotic feminine spots of her sex, playing upon them.

She stiffened wildly, straining against him, a gasp escaping her.

He silenced that gasp with his kiss, stroking her with his touch and with his tongue. Harder, deeper, more and more demandingly. He knew how to stroke, how to tease, caress, arouse.

She trembled massively and was so filled with the burning sensation of need he had aroused within her that she was startled when he rose. She realized two things then.

That each time he touched her now, she was more attuned to his touch, her body more eager for it, her flesh more traitorously willing to be kissed, caressed, and aroused.

And that her husband could strip more quickly than she thought humanly possible.

Strip and return to her, impatiently pulling upon the clothing that was all knotted around her now.

“You want to help!” he whispered.

She shook her head, violet eyes dazed as they touched him.

“I am not expected to help in a ravishment,” she informed him.

“In a seduction,” he corrected.

“You commanded me to lie still.”

“So I did,” he agreed. He no longer attempted to maneuver her clothing from her body, but tore upon it with his powerful hands. The fabric ripped and shredded to his will, and the vital, muscled heat of his naked body lay flush with hers, the hard pulsing thrust of his sex against her as intimate and arousing as all else had been. His weight thrust her thighs apart. Within seconds he was sinking deeply into her, and her fingers were curling into his shoulders.

And her lips were parting to accept his kiss.

Once again she was filled with that searing liquid heat as the steel of him thrust into her body. He stroked her tongue and lips as he began to move. He rose from her, his breath having grown ragged. A groan escaped his lips even as they closed around her breast, suckling hard, moving still, harder, faster, with an ever more erotic rhythm, more and more demanding, more and more a tempest. The wind swept her, lightning filled her.

Hours later she lay exhausted, frustrated, and dismayed that she could have given in to him so completely.

How could she be so weak?

And yet as she lay there, she became aware of the way he lay beside her, body curled to her back in a protective shell, leg draped over hers, an arm about her. His great golden head was above hers, chin resting upon it. His hand moved suddenly, fingers moving tenderly, curling around hers, and he shifted behind her. His scent was rich, his breathing deep, the masculine feel of him still warm and pleasant. Perhaps in all of her life she had never felt quite so well

… used. Yet neither had she ever felt so strangely protected or secure or …

comfortable.

Perhaps surrender had not been so awful a thing after all.

Not in the darkness, perhaps.

But daylight would come again. Daylight, with Brenna and his other mistresses and his autocratic tone of command.

He didn"t sleep, either, she realized, for his lips were suddenly upon her back. Fingers brushed away her hair, damp seduction stroked along the length of her spine from her nape to her buttocks. His hand traveled at that same slow, sensual, mesmerizing speed, sliding under her arm, cupping the curve of her breast, caressing the rise of her hip. She caught her breath as she was turned in his arms, as her flesh knew his caress again, her lips the ardent, hungry fever of his kiss, so intimate, liquid fire against her, determined, no matter what protest left her lips.

No matter what soft moan, what sensual cry, no matter how she writhed, arched.

Exploded, like the burst of a log within a fire, beneath his expert manipulations.

Again he rose over her, demand written in the hard lines of his features, in the blue blaze of his eyes.