MacAuliffe Vikings Trilogy 3 - Lord of the wolves (22 page)

“Milord!” Gregory agreed. He was instantly on his feet.

Melisande discovered that he could run very fast. He raced from the stream to his horse, mounting him in a frenzy, and quickly disappearing.

And she was, quite suddenly, alone with Conar, her husband, the stranger she knew only too well.

He stared at her, very long and very hard. The rivulets of ice that had come dancing down her spine now seemed to be full rivers. She forced herself not to move, returning his cool stare. The silence between them seemed incredible.

She could hear the soft gurgle of the water, the swaying whisper of the trees. It was so beautiful here, so peaceful, with little rocks in the way for the water to dance upon. She heard the chirping of a bird, and still no sound at all from him.

“Well?” he murmured at last.

Melisande hiked a finely arched brow, determined that he"d never know how she stood there shivering. “Well, what, milord?”

He dismounted. She found herself backing away a step, and then forced to halt as he stood before her since she had backed her way against a tree.

“It didn"t occur to you that I might have been ever so slightly displeased with the fact that you fled across the sea to England when I sent a message specifically to inform you that I was coming for you? Ah, and then, when you knew I was coming here, you didn"t think it might be wise to greet me with the others, and somewhat soothe an ever so slightly heated temper?”
Ever so slightly heated …

She could see the fury of his pulse, ticking against the corded strength of his throat. Maybe she was a fool. She"d fought him before and lost every time.

But she"d been a child then. She refused to be one any longer.

“Well, milord, you will forgive me,” she replied smoothly, her chin high, “if I refuse to take any message of yours to heart. You sent me away bound up in a sheet once. Therefore it is difficult to believe that you are eager to find me once again.”

“Trust me,” he warned, his voice with an edge of danger, “I would like to see you bound in a sheet at this moment.” He stared at her still, shaking his head with disbelief. “By the gods! I cannot begin to believe your behavior now!

Have you no sense?”

“Sense?”

She gasped as the tip of his sword swung like mercury in the air, coming to rest just at her throat. “Some men would take great offense at your actions, lady. Not only do you defy me, but I find you in the act of seducing some poor boy in the woods.”

She froze for a moment, her breath gone, wondering if she hadn"t gone too far, if he would, in fact, skewer her through. She inhaled raggedly, seeking some emotion in his eyes, but there was nothing there except for Nordic blue frost. So she had offended him. All that he had done to her meant nothing.

Let him skewer her.

She touched the sword with her fingers and thrust it from herself, challenging him. “Really? Some men would take offense! Well, milord, I have taken grave offense, many a time. So you are angry that I did not run to beg your pardon when I heard that you were near! And you are disturbed that I have acquired friends within the households of your family. Pray forgive if I do not quiver with fear! Just what is it that you intend to do, milord, in retribution?

Steal my land, perhaps? Seize my property? Why, I do believe that"s already been done!”

“Take care, Melisande, I can surely find something.”

“Ah, well! I don"t think that slitting my throat the Viking way would serve you well. If I die, my property will revert to my father"s nearest male heir, I believe.”

He sheathed his sword, staring at her. “You are quite incredible, Melisande.

Time has not improved your manners in the least.”

He seemed so calm. She had done well to stand up to him, she thought. She still wished that the tree was not so tight to her back, that he did not seem to tower over her so. He created a certain breathlessness within her. She had felt it all that miserable night when they had last met. She felt it now. That and a heat that spread throughout while she continued to shiver at the same time.

She arched a brow again. “I have been left in the care of your family, milord.

Surely, then, I have matured as you might have wished.”

“Umm. Perhaps. And then again, perhaps it is a pity that I have not had much time to see to your
maturing
myself!”

Her hands pressed against the tree at her back. She realized that she was using it for strength. “Shouldn"t you be with your family now?” she demanded.

“I don"t think so,” he told her. He took a step closer. One of his hands landed against the tree, as well, just above her head and to her right. No matter what her sense of victory had been, she discovered then that she was tempted to spin to her left and run. She forced herself to stand still, meeting his gaze.

“I think I"m exactly where I need to be. With my wife. Remember, Melisande? That is what you are. My wife.”

She moistened her lips, her eyes falling from his as a new wave of shivers swept over her.

“By a contract only. It means nothing.”

“It means everything. And you will learn that, milady!”

“It has meant everything to you—”

“You are a little fool—my love. I tried to consider your feelings. Your dislike for me—”

“Ah, milord! Dislike? How gentle a word! I
despise
you!” she assured him swiftly.

“Forgive me for so sorely understating your gentle heart, Melisande. But then you must bear this in mind. It"s a good thing the boy wasn"t a shade older,” he snapped out, his voice so raw that she could feel its fever. “I"d not have stayed my hand.”

The passion and fury in his words suddenly frightened her, not so much for herself as for Gregory. Perhaps she had wanted Gregory to stand up to Conar, but now she was afraid. Conar was older and harder and far more experienced.

He had learned everything he knew from his father and the fiercest fighters on earth. He was built like brick and steel and remained as quick and agile as a buck.

“Nothing happened here!” she whispered, furious herself. She didn"t want to whisper, she wanted to cry out. But then suddenly she saw her opening. “Yet if you are in the least concerned I beg you, have this marriage annulled. I"m sure—”

“Nothing happened?” he demanded, arching a golden brow.

“Nothing. You may ask Gregory to swear so before God. Gregory is a Christian noble—”

“How applaudable. I"m quite sure that he is many things I am not!” She didn"t like the cool tone in his voice. He was still absolutely furious, and she was painfully aware of it. “Speak with him if you so desire.”

“Ah, but I"ve no intention of asking that poor besotted boy a thing.”

“Then if you"ve doubts—”

“If I"ve doubts, I will still them myself, milady.” Jesu, if he came any closer, he would be on top of her! She wished fervently that she had realized he was coming, that she had been in Eric"s house, that she had stood with his family to greet him. Anything to take him away from her now. She was too keenly aware of his heat and vitality, his height and breadth.

The fury in his eyes …

And that simmering of tension within him. He stayed very still. He didn"t touch her, didn"t reach for her throat, and didn"t begin to threaten to strike her.

But still, just looking in his eyes and feeling the great warmth that seemed to spill from him, she realized ever more fully just how angry he was. His temper was under control, but just barely. His shirt sleeve had fallen back when he leaned against the tree over her, and she could see the taut bulge of muscle within his arms, the sinew, the steel of it.

She stiffened her spine, wishing that she were not finding it so hard to speak.

“No true marriage, eh?” he said suddenly and very softly. She realized that he had come upon them when she had been telling Gregory that she didn"t consider herself obliged to Conar in the least. If the tree hadn"t been behind her then, she might have fallen. But she wouldn"t be able to bear having him so very near her much longer. She wanted to scream as it was, strike out against him.

“You"re extremely rude to listen to other people"s conversations.”

“No true marriage, and I am merely a guardian?”

A rush of color made its way to her cheeks. “You shouldn"t have listened.”

“You shouldn"t have spoken.”

She inhaled, wishing she could run from him now, and it didn"t matter where. If she took a step, he would drag her back, and once he had moved, once he had touched her …

“I didn"t say anything that I didn"t mean,” she informed him in a brash rush.

“The land is mine. You"ve no interest in me, that has certainly been evidenced over the years. An annulment could surely be had easily enough, if we were both agreed upon it. You could move onward wherever you liked, you"d be free—”

“Ah, yes. The property is yours. I"m the one who risked my life for it, but the property is yours.”

“The inheritance—”

“No.”

“Damn you—”

“No.”

He was a tyrant. Standing here condemning her for a silly tryst in the woods with Gregory when he kept mistresses by the scores, not to mention his precious Brenna. He was too close, he was suddenly denying her all her dreams.

It was perhaps the most foolish thing she had ever done, but she lashed out at him with fury, her fingertips catching his cheeks before he had a chance to lash his fingers around her wrist.

“No!” she cried, trying with all her strength to wrench free. She tore away from the tree, whirling before him. Her nails clawed at his hands but he didn"t seem to feel them, his eyes were so hard upon hers.

“I gave you playtime, Melisande,” he said, his voice still raw, his tone husky.

“Time to grow. Time to live. I was told so very often that you were old enough to be a wife, but I still gave you time. Well, my love, that playtime is over now.

You"ve wanted to enter the real world, milady, you shall do so now.” She managed to wrench her wrist from his hold. “I want my world!” she cried to him. “My home, my land. I do not want you!”

“Your home and your land come with your husband, Melisande.”

“With or without your help, I will get an annulment!” she swore to him.

He was silent for a moment, his jaw locked, his eyes like ice.

He stood with his foot resting upon a rock. She didn"t know what stupid demon possessed her then, but he always managed to make her behave wildly, rashly. She suddenly rushed toward him, hurling her weight at him. He was falling, she realized triumphantly. The great Prince Conar had fallen into the cool bubbling brook, and his very handsome mantle was sodden. She spun around, ready to run at long last, but she gasped instead, for his fingers were wound tightly around the hem of the blue linen tunic she wore over the deeper blue full-sleeved bliaut beneath. “Let go!” she cried, grasping at her hem.

“I"ll never let go,” he promised her.

The next second she was down in the water with him, her clothing drenched, her hair soaking down her back. She gasped for breath, then realized that he lay at her side. In a split second she was up, and running once again.

She tore downstream in the shallow water, inhaling deeply, wishing just to escape him for a while. She needed some shadowed sanctuary now, somewhere to still her racing heart, to calm her spirit.

She paused, jumping upon one foot as she rubbed the other, for she had hit hard upon a rock in the stream. She thought she heard someone in pursuit and spun back. He wasn"t there. The trees, dense here, surrounded her with their green darkness. Rays of light shone between the swaying branches in delicate flashes of brilliance. She narrowed her eyes, searching for him, then turned to run again.

And there he was. He had mounted Thor and ridden the crest of the stream to come before her. She grit her teeth and turned to run back. The war-horse slammed through the water, spinning to cut her off. She turned, and he was there again. Once more she ran, once more the horse followed her, cutting off her route of escape each time.

“What!” she cried. “The great Lord of the Wolves cannot catch his own wife on foot?”

She panted, playing for time. He leaned down to her, blue eyes acute. “I use whatever is at my disposal, milady, to gain what I am after. And I repeat, milady, I will never let you go.”

He dismounted from his horse, water spraying from his boots as his feet hit the water. She was nearly out of breath, but she backed away from him. In doing so, she tripped upon a stone. She cried out, falling backward into the water. He reached out for her, catching her before she could strike the ground.

In a second she was swept up into his arms, and long strides quickly brought them from the water to the pine-laden floor beneath the towering trees. She was shivering wildly from the cold of the stream, from the feel of his arms.

He set her down and straddled her.

“Let me go!” Melisande whispered.

“I told you, milady, I will never let you go.”

She brought her hands up to slam them against his chest. They were captured within his grasp. She stared into his eyes, seeking something in their blue depths. She bit her lip, still staring at him as he leaned low against her, pinning her hands to the ground just above her head.

She had felt such ice when she had first seen him. Now she felt as if all the fires of hell had invaded her. Her breath came too quickly, mercury seemed to leap through her. Despite her great heat, she shivered suddenly, looking at him, at the hard lines of his face, at the startling color of his eyes. At the breadth of his chest, at the ripple of muscle within his arms as he held her.