The Iron Princess (15 page)

Katia unconsciously thrust her pelvis into his hard thigh and felt a sudden rush of excitement from the friction. She could feel the bulge in his trousers pressing against her belly—she knew what it was, and vaguely understood how it was to function. She wanted to touch it. She pressed her flat, open palm over the top of his trousers.

“No,” Lothair groaned unconvincingly.

“Does it pain you?” She didn’t want to sound like a fool, but she didn’t want to stop.

“No, but you mustn’t touch it,” Lothair said. He returned to assaulting the sensitive skin of her nipple. His action led her to a conclusion: if he got to touch her, it was only fair that she got to touch him. She returned her hand to the forbidden member.

“Katia, you don’t know what you are about,” he hissed, and moved to take her hand away. She answered him with a bold but gentle squeeze. He closed his eyes and his head dropped to the side.

“What? Does that not feel good?” she whispered in his ear. He stifled a groan. She took that as a yes and rubbed her hand up and down, trying to touch all of his manhood, which was still safely secured under the fabric of his leather trousers.

“Damn it, Kat. Why must you make everything so hard?” He jerked and twisted above her, not retreating from her touch but adjusting it.

“I didn’t make anything hard. It was like this after you kissed me.” She defended herself with a smile. She was confused as to why he could not just be happy and admit that these feelings were enjoyable.

His hand clamped down around hers, squeezing with increased pressure, and he rocked against their joined hands. His eyes were closed and his nostrils flared out as he pulled in a deep breath, taking his pleasure from her touch. He withdrew his hand, leaving hers in place, and seized the bottom of her gown, raising it midway up her thigh, and stopped. He looked down at her sharply and drew in a shallow breath.

“Are you sure about this, Kat?”

“Aye.”

His large hand disappeared under her gown, and with a feather touch, his fingers stroked the insides of her thighs.

“Bloody hell,” he said in a whispery groan. “You’re so wet.”

“Sorry. I don’t know why that happens.”

“’Tis your woman’s dew . . .” He sucked in a painful-sounding breath. “’Tis natural. Your body preparing for—” He couldn’t finish the sentence but instead caressed the inside of her thigh. It almost felt as if he was toying with her before finally moving closer to her throbbing center. Every kiss, every groan, every suckle of her breast seemed to dampen the flesh between her legs.

With tender care, he stroked her there again and she jerked at the sudden shock of pleasure. She could do no more than arch and gasp, paralyzed by the powerful feelings. Her body began to jerk and twist against his fingers. Every breath sped her forward, toward something she couldn’t quite identify. His mouth latched on to hers, and his tongue returned to her mouth with a growl.

His breathing was hard and fast but hers seemed harder and faster, and before she fully understood what was happening, her body was sent into a convulsion. Her feet pressed against the bed and her backside pressed up.

“Lothair!” she gasped.

It might have lasted for a breath, a moment, or an hour. Katia was too bewildered to be able to guess.

As her senses returned, Katia realized Lothair had begun to move above her with small, intense thrusts into her hand. After a few moments, his head dropped to the mattress and he breathed heavily on her neck.

It took a few motionless moments to realize that it was over.

She wiggled her wrist free from between their bodies and wrapped her arms around him, clinging to him. She never wanted to leave the comfort of this bed again.

Suddenly, in a singular fluid movement, he pushed up and turned away, leaving her instantly cold.

With a brisk stride, he crossed the chamber to the washstand. She couldn’t see clearly in the dark, but he appeared to be washing his hands and himself at the waist. Perhaps she should bring the candle for him. She crept out of bed, away from the sudden shift of his mood.

She touched his shoulder. “Lothair?”

He jerked away. “Your virginity has been tread upon, yet it is safe for one more night.” He was angry. Without even a brief glance her way, he retrieved his sword and unbarred the door.

“I beg your pardon, Lady Katia.” His tone was imbued with painful sincerity. Clearly, Lothair regretted the moment they had just shared. She wanted to die of embarrassment.

“But—” She stepped toward him as he silently closed the door behind him.

***

“What do we have here?” Tosha tugged the bedsheet off Katia. “Lazing about is my talent, not yours.” She flopped down on the bed next to her friend.

“Be gone with you.” Katia yanked the sheet back up and over her head. She would hide away from the world for one day. She felt entitled to one day of consuming self-pity.

“I wish I could, but I cannot. We viscountesses have many responsibilities, I am finding out. We must curtsy for the duke, and host annual feasts, and,” she laughed, “drag our besotted sisters out of bed.” Tosh pulled at Katia’s arm, dragging her out of bed. “What has gotten into you? Are you ill? It cannot be your courses; they are not due for a fortnight.”

“Leave me be!” Katia shoved against her friend. “Tell everyone I died in my sleep.”

“I will not. Not until you tell me what is going on with you.”

“Nothing,” she grouched. “I am tired, is all.”

“Lothair claims that nothing is wrong either, yet he insisted I come up and check on you all the same. Even though he has two perfectly well-formed legs himself.”

“What did he say?” Katia’s head sprung up from her pillow.

“Nothing.” Tosha raised a curious brow. “What is going on between you two? Did he finally propose? Did he finally tell you how hopelessly in love he is with you?”

Katia flopped back down hard on her pillow and buried her face in the fabric. “Go away,” she said into the feather stuffing.

“I will be sure to keep my distance from the pair of you today.” Tosha smacked Katia’s bottom. “Up with you now. We have a long, cold road ahead of us this morn, from the look of the dark sky.”

Katia finally rose, grumbling, and after a very hurried bowl of porridge, they joined Lars, Lothair, and the guards out in the yard. The dismally gray morning gave way to a frigid day of riding.

The weather cooperated for the next two days, allowing the group to cover a considerable amount of distance.

Breaking the silence one drizzly afternoon, Lars comforted Tosha by informing them they were less than two days from Lubeck. Katia’s heart sunk like a stone. Her friend’s reprieve would signal the beginning of Katia’s mourning. Tosha would stay behind and begin her new life as a wife with a man who worshipped her while Katia would lose her closest friend. She would gladly sleep forever in ill-kept inns and along frigid roadsides if it meant spending each day at Lothair’s side, with Tosh nearby to raise her spirits.

Katia stared at the back of Lothair’s head. He had said scarcely five words to her in the last two days. She’d caught him staring in her direction several times, but he would quickly turn away. And yet she spent every waking hour of the day with him. It was equal agony and comfort. The world made no sense.

That night, they rode until well after dark. The men wanted to guarantee that they would make it back to Lubeck by tomorrow night. They arrived frostbitten and starved at an inn that suited Lothair’s strict security standards. Their evening meal held little to no conversation. Forks scratched over plates, horns of ale clanged to the table, bread was torn and chewed, and then all made a hasty retreat to their private chambers.

Katia tiptoed around her cold chamber, preparing for bed. She dove under the cold sheets of the small, creaking bed and tugged up the blankets. The smells of weathered fur and the crisp coldness of the chamber reminded her of home. The familiarity, combined with her body’s exhaustion, drew her quickly into sleep, yet even then her mind wouldn’t stop spinning with frustrating thoughts and images: Lothair’s eyes staring at her as she rode next to him; his firm, possessive touch around her waist as he lowered her to the ground from her mount; and the sight of his hard, fixed lips. His lips that didn’t speak to her, didn’t smile at her . . . and then there was the torturous memory of those lips upon her breast. She jerked the fur covering higher, turned over, and with her face in her pillow, released a loud, long, overdue curse.

She heard the sounds of floorboards creaking outside her door, yet no footsteps coming or going. Someone was loitering just outside her door and she had a very strong suspicion as to who it was.

She threw her coverings off in frustration. Whoever it was, he was about to get an earful. She crossed the small chamber with her sword in hand and silently raised the thin metal latch to the door. She jerked it open.

Lothair stumbled in, tripping and grasping at furniture to find his footing.

“What in the blazes do you think you’re doing?” he asked, sounding slightly drunk.

“What am I doing? What are
you
doing?” she asked.

He just scowled.

“Why didn’t you just pick my lock, like you usually do?”

“Get back to bed before you catch your death,” he said.

She crossed her arms against the cold.

“You should share a room with Tosha and Lars. You’re not safe alone,” he muttered.

“Well, then, be my guest to come in and keep me safe.” She gestured at the bed.

“I imagine we’re both safer with me sleeping in the hall.” He swayed a little toward the door.

“Lothair?”

“No,” he responded flatly, without even needing to hear her question.

“There is no hearth in my chamber. I am cold.” She pouted her lips out, remembering her grandmother’s saying, “
All is fair in love and war.
”
So this is what that meant.

“Get to bed then.” He didn’t take his eyes off her.

She shook her head and smirked.
Silly drunk man
.

“No?” He pushed back a thick thatch of hair that had been hanging over her eyes. “You intentionally wish to catch your death?”

He swept her up in an instant, tossing her over his shoulder, kicking the chamber door closed behind him, and striding the three short steps to her cold bed. He dropped her down like a sack of wheat and covered her roughly with the blankets and fur, tucking them in tightly around her.

She giggled, happy to play Lothair’s prisoner.

When he finished, he stood up straight. She turned on her side, holding his gaze, silently inviting him to join her.

Without a word, Lothair released his belt. His sword, ankle blade, and dagger were all quietly removed and placed on the small table next to the bed. He sat down on the edge of the bed with his back to her and removed his boots, placing them neatly under the bed. He slipped under the blankets. Not a word was spoken.

***

Lothair decided he wouldn’t touch her tonight, not in that way. The last few nights spent guarding her door had exhausted him. He would not kiss her—that was when the trouble always started.

She nuzzled into his arm, wiggling her hips to press into his side. He curled his arm around her back, pulling her in, and she instantly molded against him. Neither one moved for a long while, but as his breath returned, he found himself sinking farther into the thin straw mattress. Her softness and fluttering heartbeat against his chest soothed him into sleep.

***

The thundering sounds of a thousand stampeding feet woke Lothair in the predawn hours of morning. The inn must be under attack from bandits. Releasing Katia from his arms, he twisted and dove for his sword just as the chamber door crashed open.

“You!” A giant, white-bearded warrior filled the doorway, his sword drawn. His chest was heaving, eyes flooded with murderous intent.

Lothair drew his sword and widened his stance, preparing for a battle he had no certainty of winning.

“Rikard?” Katia leapt from bed and rushed to stand between Lothair and the raging giant.

“Will you ever learn self-preservation?” Lothair said, grinding his teeth and hooking an arm around her waist, but Katia broke free and flung her arms around the man.

“I am overjoyed to see you. How is Mama? How are the boys? Oh my stars, there is so much to tell you.”

“Katia, who is this man to you?” The Norrland warrior pointed his drawn sword at Lothair.

“Do you not remember Lothair? Baron Hanseatz, Lord Blienskastel, traveled to Tronscar with the Duke of Saxony several years ago. Do you not remember meeting him?” She vainly tried to defuse the tense situation.

“Answer me, my lady. Who is he to you? Why is he in your chamber?” Rikard demanded.

The corridor was chaotic with activity and raised voices. Before Katia could form her response, two more men shoved their way into the chamber. Lothair reached for Katia’s arm and dragged her quickly behind him.

“Cover yourself,” he whispered for only her to hear. “And put something on your feet, for God’s sake. The floor is freezing.”

“Lothair, really. Why must you always be so grumpy in the morning? Rikard is my dear friend. This is wonderful—”

“Get your robe on.” He shoved her toward the satchel in the corner.

“Lothair! You’re alive. Thank God.” His father shoved forward into the chamber and embraced him. “We heard reports that you were taken in Kazik. Where have you been? Your mother is beside herself with worry.” The duke embraced Lothair, but he pushed him away and stepped closer to Katia, away from the men that crowded the small chamber. Light from the torches in the corridor illuminated them from behind, sending shadows over their faces and concealing their expressions.

“What is going on here?” Count Charles of Flanders pushed forward into the chamber, and Katia, now covered in her dressing robe, stepped to his side to greet her uncle.

“Oh, Uncle, I have dreamed of this moment a thousand times in the past months.” Katia spoke into the count’s chest.

“My child, we feared that we had lost you. But here we find you, with . . . my dear.” Count Charles looked back and forth between Katia and Lothair and Rikard’s sword and then down to their bare feet. The entire assembly of men followed his gaze. “My dear, there is much that needs to be said. Yet first I believe it appropriate for you to dress.”

“I agree,” the duke said firmly. As the men began to slowly retreat, Lothair held his place, rooted next to Katia. The jarl’s men would have reinforcements to secure her final voyage home. It hit him like a brick to the head: Katia would be taken way from him in a single moment. Lothair had completed his mission to return her to safety. She would no longer be his duty to protect.

He was free of her.

He had lost her.

The white-haired giant cleared his throat from the doorway. His eyes fixed on Lothair. “Do you share a chamber with my lady?” Rikard asked with a snarl that would frighten the skin off any man.

“Of course he does not, Rikard,” Katia said lightly as she stepped closer to the doorway. “His chamber is across the corridor.”

“Why are his boots under your bed, Katia?” Rikard’s snarl turned into a growl.

“He was guarding me.” She pressed her lips tightly together.

“This land is secure. Why does he need to guard you? You can protect yourself.” He pointed to her sword, resting against the far wall.

“I injured my good arm a few weeks past. My strength is not yet fully restored. Lothair has been protecting me for months, Rikard. He has saved me countless times. Now, do excuse me. I will dress and rejoin the others below stairs,” she said confidently.

Lothair didn’t know what to expect next. Would Rikard believe her claim of innocence, or rightfully dispose of him for compromising the reputation of the daughter of a jarl of Tronscar?

“He guards you with no boots.” Rikard challenged, with broadsword in hand, clearly itching to swing.

“For heaven’s sake, Rikard. Go below. I will be with you all in a moment.” She actually shoved the warrior toward the doorway, and to Lothair’s astonishment, Rikard let her. With the beast hovering outside in the corridor, Katia turned to face him.

“What will happen to us, Lothair?” she whispered and took a slow step toward him, genuine fear in her tone and expression.

“Nothing. You are safe. That’s all that matters.”

“I mean . . . never mind.” She lowered her head and reached for her traveling gown, which was draped across a chair. He shoved his feet into his boots, reclaimed his weapons, and crossed the chamber once more to the door, where he hesitated. Once he stepped foot outside this chamber, he would never again have the right to enter. She had sufficient guards now, loyal, proven men that would die for her as . . . as he would.

“Lothair.” She breathed his name from behind him. He turned to see her clutching her gown to her chest. She appeared close to tears. “My eternal gratitude,” she said, her voice quivering. “I will never be able to thank you enough for all you have done for me.”

Only he could do was stare at her. She looked frail and scared—this was a version of her that he hated. “Your servant, Lady Katia.” He bowed his head.

She nodded at the floor. Her shoulders were shaking up and down as she wept silently into her gown.

Rikard cleared his throat from the doorway and Lothair backed out of the chamber.

***

Lothair entered the inn’s small dining room, interrupting a seething argument between his father and Count Charles. Lars sat next to Tosha by the fire, concerned looks on both of their faces.

“I think we have replaced one war with another,” Lars was saying. Neither his father nor the count acknowledged Lothair’s presence.

“What have I missed?” he asked his friend.

“Nothing more than the terms of your beheading. Count Charles insists that the Jarl of Tronscar be granted the right and the duke is trying to claim it for himself,” Lars drawled.

A stifled sob escaped Tosha.

“My love, do not tremble. All will be well.” Lars kissed his wife’s temple and tucked her in close to his side. “Would you be so good as to go above stairs and perhaps assist your friend? The sooner she rejoins us, the better, I think.” Tosha nodded obediently and stood. Lars patted his wife’s back as prepared to take her leave, his hand straying a hair too low on her backside to be polite.

As suddenly as a blinding crack of thunder, Rikard’s blow came down from above, leaving Lars out cold on the stone floor.

Lothair sprang to his feet, stepping in between Lars and Rikard, who looked primed to take another swing at his unconscious friend.

“You will keep your hands to yourself, you German scum, or I will take your hands as souvenirs.” Rikard’s nostrils flared.

“Rikard! What have you done?” Tosha fell to the floor next to her husband, collecting his head into her lap and stroking his hair.

Apparently Katia had been spying on them, because she appeared in the doorway to the dining room and stomped angrily toward the Norrland guards. “Lars needed to keep his hands off his lawful wife, Rikard? A Polish priest blessed their union over a month ago.” Katia stood with both hands on her hips, in her own version of a battle stance.

“Tosha is wed?” Rikard bellowed. “My sweet Tosha?” His thick white brows rose nearly into his hairline.

“Aye, you jug-headed fool!” Tosha scowled at every man in the room and then dropped her head down to kiss Lars’s forehead. “You touch my husband again, Rikard, and I will tell my mother just how to handle this.”

“He wed a serving girl from Tronscar?” The duke stepped forward.

“Aye, sir.” Lars had come to and pushed up, blinking and rubbing the back of his head. “She was good enough to have me.”

The room went silent for a moment. Curious glances were exchanged, everyone trying to make sense of the situation.

“While young Lars might have the blessing of the church to lay his hands on Tosha,” Count Charles said calmly, “this does not remove the issue of the baron’s return to Tronscar. Jarl Magnus still has the right for recompense.”

“Recompense for what exactly?” Katia had the look of an unkempt hellcat, her long, unbound hair rumpled and clothes askew.

“For compromising your honor, Katia,” Count Charles answered plainly. “Surely you cannot think that your father, nor his men, could ever allow such a disrespect to go unanswered.”

Katia reached out and placed her small hand into Lothair’s arm. Was she trying to get him slaughtered?

“My father will be grateful and I expect very generous with my husband, as I would expect the rest of his men and my kinsmen to be as well.”

“Husband!” Rikard and the count exclaimed in unison.

“Aye, husband. As you all know, my father years ago granted me the power to write my own marriage contract if I chose to wed. There is no more for any of you to discuss. We have far more important matters to deal with in preparing for the Rus invasion. Uncle, I conclude from your rapid arrival that you received my letter?”

“Katia, I would read this marriage contract first. Where and when did these supposed nuptials take place? You made no mention in your letter,” Count Charles challenged.

“After traveling two weeks alone through the remote mountains, we thought to wed once we arrived in Boshrain,” she said. “My dowry is substantial and I thought it the least I could do by way of compensating Lothair for saving me from a most disagreeable end.”

Katia knew she was walking on dangerous ground, both with her father’s men and with her friends, but something had to be done to halt the useless banter over her reputation, and regardless, her father would surely understand and help smooth out any slight inconvenience to Lothair. She decided to change the subject to distract the men from her lack of a contract.

“What news of Korski, Uncle?” Katia leaned into Lothair’s side, ignoring the piercing glares of Rikard and her unconvinced uncle.

“The contract, Katia.” Her uncle firmly set his chin high. “I will read it directly.”

“I do not see why that is necessary. My far gave me leave years ago to write my own contract. You are well aware that this is true.” She pressed into Lothair’s side farther and he responded by putting his arm around her back and tucking his hand tight around her waist, locking her to his hip. She liked the feeling of being held at his side in front of everyone. “I am so concerned, Uncle. Pray, what news from the north?”

Rikard crossed his arms disapprovingly, her uncle sighed in frustration, and the duke just stood there with his mouth partially hanging open.

Tosha broke the standoff by helping Lars to the table, saying he needed to drink a strong dark brew to clear his fogged head. Soon after, servants began to filter in with platters of warm bread and soft cheese from the kitchens.

See
, Katia thought.
All is well again in the world
.

Lothair escorted Katia to a bench across from her uncle. She clutched possessively to his arm. This posture felt right, as if she always had been at his side, attached to his hip as she was at this moment. He touched her with familiarity, even though he had never touched her so openly before. They sat as one, as a pair, as a team, and Katia knew she played the part of his wife convincingly.

The news from her uncle was not good. Prince Andrei had indeed pushed with ease into the north of Finland. The few spies that returned from Korski reported that it was near empty, with only a few old fishermen living roughly in the forest. Her half brother Urho and his family have not been heard from and were assumed either in hiding, taken captive, or dead. Katia buried her face into Lothair’s chest and grasped the front of his tunic. He kissed her head tenderly and rubbed her back, offering comfort as a newlywed husband would. Posing as a doting husband apparently came naturally to him.

After a few moments, Katia was able to collect herself. A hushed conversation had begun between the duke, the count, the dazed Viscount of Northum, and Katia’s pretend husband. They agreed that they would head for the North Sea, spend the night aboard the jarl’s ship, and sail for Tronscar first thing in the morning. If they rode hard, they would arrive before nightfall.

Katia and her companions prepared to return above stairs to collect their belongings, but Rikard stood and blocked her path.

“Why are his chambers across the hall from yours if you are lawfully wed?” he asked, glaring.

“You know me, Rikard.” She attempted to coax a smile from him with one of her own. “My temper gets the better of me on occasion. I needed to toss him out to prove my point. He apologized, as he always does, a short time later, and that is when you happened upon us. Thank you so much, my dear friend, for coming to my aid. I have missed you terribly.” She embraced him again.

“Katia, your far has his entire fleet searching every port in the known world for word of you. Tronscar is on the verge of declaring war on every known enemy. I’m sending a messenger north this hour.”

“Seems unnecessary, Rikard. I don’t intend to dally. I shall be returning to Tronscar directly.”

“I will send word in advance, as are my instructions. But before I write my report, I will examine this marital contract. Now.” He turned his attention to Lothair. “I’ll accompany you to your chamber, baron.”

“You dare question my wife?” Lothair stepped forward, coming chest to chest with Rikard. The men were of nearly equally height, although Rikard’s thick beard and build made him appear slightly larger overall. “You dare accuse her of a falsehood designed to deceive her own kinsmen, for whom she risked her life, though in a misguided manner?”

“Misguided?” Katia elbowed him in the ribs, but then she realized he was probably trying to distract Rikard with a marital spat.

“Aye, wife,” he answered dismissively. “We have been over this many times.”

“I told you I had everything under control until you happened upon me.” She stomped up the stairs ahead of the men. Refusing to allow Rikard to see the nonexistent contract would only heighten his suspicion and heighten the chance of weapons being drawn.