MacAuliffe Vikings Trilogy 3 - Lord of the wolves (7 page)

He laughed. The laughter so triumphant. Yet despite it, his arms were infinitely tender as he swept her within them, taking her then, denial or no.

She shuddered violently as the fullness of his sex sank deeply within her. She wrapped her arms around him, her teeth catching her lower lip. She felt she died a little. Felt as if he touched and caressed her from her womb to her heart. He moved very slowly at first, taking her with him. And he did so easily. Within seconds she was slowly writhing to meet him, aching for him a heartbeat before he moved again. Suddenly the slowness became a tempest, waves seemed to crash and cascade around them, and hers was as rampant as his own, her longing as fierce. He moved that magical time within her, and a startling, shimmering climax burst upon her, like light against darkness, stars tailing from the skies. She nearly cried out, caught the sound, and lay shivering against him, the taut slick feel of his bronzed body exquisite against hers. She felt the incredible constriction of his body, then the easing of it, and in seconds he fell beside her.

She sprang up, furious, ashamed, hating him, and hating herself. Before she could move far, his hand, with its startling long fingers, curled around her wrist.

“And where do you think you"re going, Countess?”

She tried to tug free. “I need to bathe
now,”
she informed him, trying not to meet his eyes.

To her surprise he released her instantly, inching up on the bed to the nest of goose down pillows by the carved headboard. He laced his fingers behind his head, watching her. He was angered by her words, she was certain of it. But Conar was always in control, so it seemed. He gave no sign of his anger.

“Please, my love,” he told her. “Go right ahead. Be my guest.” She turned away from him quickly, her hair a sleek cloak down her back.

She sank into the water, eager now for the warmth, but it was fading. Shivering, she drew her knees to her breast.

“Can"t you at least go away now!” she demanded.

She heard him rise, felt his soundless movement to the back of the tub. He knelt behind her, lifting a tress of her hair.

“You are cruel, Melisande. Cold and cruel. I thank all the gods—and your God, too, of course—that I do not love you. Even your great deity would pity me were I to fall in love with you, for you do so easily tread upon men"s hearts!

All of your men—all of my men, for that matter!—are so willing to die for you!

They trip over one another to serve you. Even my foolish sister and brother fell to your wiles.”

“They are more courteous—”

“For Vikings?”

“It is possible to detect that they have some Irish in their blood.” He laughed softly, yet there was a bitterness to the sound.

“I am not the cruel one!” she exclaimed. “I am not cruel at all! I am not the one who commands and demands and orders—”

“And conquers?” he suggested softly.

“I keep telling you!” she whispered. “You have conquered nothing.”

“But I am determined that I will.”

“All that you survey!” she whispered. “But not me!” She felt his finger streaking down her neck. She seemed to feel that touch with the length of her body, feel its heat against the cold of the water, feel it down to those intimate places he knew so well, touched so deeply.

She bit her lip. She would not desire him, she could not, it was impossible to fight him.

“Please go away!”

“Alas, I do have to go away now. There are some things I must deal with.

But don"t miss me too dearly. I will be back. I don"t think you"re really weary enough to be trusted through the night—yet.”

“Cease your taunts! You"ll not best me—
Viking!”
He stepped away, reaching for his clothing, his skintight chausses, his linen shirt, leather vest. His mail he left where it had fallen, but when he"d pulled on his deerskin boots, he reached down for his sword.

She was startled when it fell upon her shoulder. The point of it reached beneath her chin, forcing her eyes to his.

“This is it, Melisande,” he warned very softly, blue eyes seeming to impale her. “I taunt you no longer. Playtime is over. For all that you have seen in your young life, my love, there is nothing like what is to come. I will need all my strength, and I will not have time to deal with you as I have in the past.”

“Deal with me?” she snapped angrily. “You don"t understand! I had to come here because you could not! This is my land, my fortress—”

“I beg to differ, milady. You and the fortress and the land were given over to me on a battlefield long ago. And since then—”

“You have been an odious tyrant! A—a Viking. A—”

“Need you say more?” he taunted her. The sword shifted suddenly, causing her to catch her breath. The point lifted a long lock of her hair from her breast, easing the damp mass down her back. “No more, Melisande. No more disappearance, and above all,
no more appearances in golden mail!
You might very well have been taken by Geoffrey today.”

“And if I had—”

“We all would have had to die for your honor, milady. All those fine men out there you claim to hold so dear to your heart. Even if you feel that one Viking is the same as the other, I regret to inform you that I am the Viking you have wed.

And for that matter, Geoffrey is no Viking, but one of your own.”

“He might as well be a Viking!” she cried.

“Ah, yes, for that term covers all that is wretched and evil, is that it, Melisande?”

The point of his sword hovered at her breasts. She grit her teeth suddenly and shoved it aside. “I thought you were leaving.”

He knelt beside her. “I want you to know that I will be back.” Was his elegant blond rune reader with him? The jealousy she so hated in herself surged through her. What did he want of her when he brought the other girl with him everywhere he traveled? Oh, she hated it! But he had already touched her again, and she felt, despite herself, terrible pain in wondering if he would touch another in like fashion, even here.

“Are you sure you wish to spend the night here?”

“What?” he demanded.

“What of—” she broke off, unwilling to say the name.

“What of who?” he demanded.

“Never mind. Just leave—”

“Who?” he seemed to roar.

She hugged her knees more tightly to her. “Brenna! Your Viking rune reader—”

“She is half Irish, too.”

“Damn you all!” Melisande cried furiously. But that brought about his laughter.

“So you are still jealous, my love!”

“Never. Relieved when you are led in different directions,” she lied smoothly.

“Ah, well. Have no fear. I am going in no other direction tonight, Melisande.” The mocking tone suddenly left his voice. “Melisande, listen to me. Battle is just engaged. You cannot imagine how rough the future shall be.” He didn"t seem to realize just how rough the past had been.

“Melisande!”

She tossed her head back and stared at him with cold fury. “So come back!” she hissed. “I haven"t the strength to throw you out.”

“No, you haven"t,” he informed her.

“So go!”

“Just be aware,” he said softly, “that I sleep lightly. If I were to awaken to find a knife at my throat, I would definitely act the Viking.” Her lashes swept over her eyes. “You have already acted the Viking!”

“With the greatest pleasure. We face incredible odds, Melisande. So from this moment forth, I warn you. You are my wife. And so help me, Melisande—

by your God, by all my father"s people"s gods—you will not risk yourself again! Geoffrey covets you as he does this fortress. I fear his efforts to have you as I fear nothing else about the man. Heed me, Melisande. You will do as I command. Listen to my words, obey my orders!”

Her eyes opened, glaring into his. “I cannot be your wife now! Too much stands between us! I—”

“You may start by getting out of the water!” he snapped. His sword fell, and his hands were upon her, pulling her up. She pummeled him viciously but only found herself on the bed again, Conar straddled above her. “You"re pruning, my love. You wouldn"t want that!” he assured her, eyes narrowed. “And,” he added more softly, “you are shivering like a toad in a frost.” He was silent for a moment, then the tip of his thumb moved down over her cheek and rubbed her lower lip. “Like it or not, Melisande, this is what will be. Loathe me as you like, Countess, but I am here to stay.” He moved close to her, whispering softly.

“And I will return,
your husband,
to sleep with you, lie with you, from this night onward.”

“Don"t count on my being here!” she cried passionately.

“Oh, but I will,” he warned her.

She clenched her teeth, feeling the rise of desperate tears to her eyes. She would not shed them. She bit her lower lip, looking away, determined to keep silent so that he would leave.

At last he lifted himself from her. She curled quickly away from him and didn"t glance his way as he caught hold of his sword once again and left the tower room.

She clasped one of the furs on her bed and sat shivering there, afraid to think of what had been, afraid to think of what was to come.

He was coming back tonight. To sleep here, to make the marriage incredibly real again. To take what was his, to have it, hold it. She shuddered.
Thank God I
do not love you!
he had said.
Dear God, dear God, dear God! Don’t let me love
him. Please, God, don’t let me love him!

She would not! she promised herself.

“I hate you!” she cried out loud. It was childish, but she suddenly felt very young and forlorn. “I hate you, hate you, hate you!” She buried her face in her hands. It was true, it wasn"t true. She hated him, wanted him, feared him …

Wanted him.

Loved him, too.

But so much lay between them.

The battle was about to ensue, he had said. He was here, to lie with her, sleep with her.

He would come back.

No!

She did hate him …

Love him.

No, no, no. She had promised herself she would not.

She started suddenly, hearing a sound within the room. He had come back, she thought, silently, as was his way.

She turned, aware that she must always be ready with him.

But it was not Conar who had crept so silently into the room. She gasped, a scream rising in her throat as she saw who had come.

Geoffrey Sur-le-Mont, her most loathed enemy. Tall, lean, with his cruel, handsome face, gold-tinged hazel eyes, lank dark hair. He stood there, staring down at her as she clasped the furs to her.

She inhaled, ready to shriek and scream like a wild woman. She had no chance. As she stared at Geoffrey, a hand clamped hard over her mouth. She struggled valiantly, kicking, wriggling, but there were three men in all, Geoffrey and two of his ablest henchmen, Gilles and Jon de Lac.

“Bastards!” she gasped, breaking free for a moment, but Geoffrey had ripped the sheet and it was instantly tied around her mouth.

She was trussed into the furs, her hands tied behind her back. They rolled her and picked her up. Gilles threw her over his heavy shoulders, and Geoffrey, chuckling softly, lifted her head by her hair, meeting her gaze.

“I have said that I will have you, Melisande! And see! I do have you! And I will have this fortress, too, before God! I swear it!” She shook her head wildly. He moved the gag just a half an inch.

“He"ll kill you!” she gasped.

“Ah, you think so? I heard some of your conversation. I don"t think he"ll realize at first that you were abducted, dear Melisande. You did threaten not to be here. And he is fully aware you are less than fond of his presence! Ah, Melisande, if and when he realizes that you did not leave here of your own volition, it will be much too late!”

“You will never get out of this castle with me!” she hissed.

“Ah, but I will. My Danish friends are remarkably like the Wolf"s own Norse warriors! We shall just act drunk and wind our way among them. It is a celebration tonight, Melisande. I will celebrate, you will celebrate! It"s as it should have been, all those years ago!”

“You will die, Geoffrey, he will slice you to little pieces—”

“That he will, Count Sur-le-Mont,” Gilles said quickly, looking nervously about. “We must be gone!”

The gag was still off her, Melisande realized. She inhaled and quickly began to scream. Just as quickly the strangling gag was brought back over her mouth.

“What if she screams again?” Jon demanded.

“She won"t,” Geoffrey promised.

He had his assurance of her quiet well planned. Even as he spoke, he lifted a brass candle holder from the trunk at the foot of Melisande"s bed.

And brought it down hard over her head.

There was little she could regret or bemoan at that moment.

Some time later she awoke. She was still tied, still wrapped in furs, tossed over a horse. They had managed to escape the castle with her. And God alone knew where they were now.

“Ah, you"re awake, my lovely!” Geoffrey"s husky tones touched her ear.

“Soon, very soon, we"ll be there. Where, you would ask—if only you could!

Ah, the ruins of the old Roman fortress—yes, that same place where your father found so much of the stone for his excellent castle! The Viking will not find you there. And if he does … well, I"ve a very large Danish contingent there.

They"re going to Rouen, and on to Paris. All they really want is plunder. And all I really want, my love, is power. And you. So the Viking must die.” Flapping against the horse, bound as she was, Melisande could not reply.

Geoffrey suddenly stopped his horse, leapt from it, and wrenched her from the brown mount she"d been cast across. As he lifted the gag from her mouth, she stumbled over a piece of the wrap of fur that covered her. “A cloak!” Geoffrey commanded, catching her before she could fall, completely uncovered, to the ground.