MacAuliffe Vikings Trilogy 3 - Lord of the wolves (23 page)

She had hated him forever, so it seemed. Yet to her great dismay, she realized now that she didn"t actually hate him, she hated what he had done to her. Not only was there her anger against him, there was something else, too.

She didn"t know exactly what it was. He was a challenge, she had always enjoyed defying him.

Even though she had meant to win.

Now, having him atop her, she was frightened of him in a way she had never been before. Because she wasn"t really frightened of him, she was frightened of herself, of the way that he was making her feel, of the sudden longing within her for something that she really didn"t understand. She moistened her lips, shaking her head. “An annulment would make so much sense. Your heart always seems to remain in your father"s country, you would always fight there first. There is so much else that you want!” she told him breathlessly.

“There is nothing else that I want,” he corrected her. “At this moment there is nothing else in the world that I want.”

“We"ve got to go back,” she said desperately. “They"ll miss you, your family will miss you.”

“Now
you"re worried about returning to the fortress!” he exclaimed softly.

“Please, milord, if—”

“Ah, lady!” he murmured, and it seemed his cool blue eyes raked her face, her heart, and soul. “It"s far too late for „Please"! Alas, I"m afraid that I must convince you that an annulment is entirely out of the question.” She stared at him, his meaning slowly dawning upon her.

“No!” she protested.

But her protest was quickly swallowed by his lips.

Chapter Eleven

He hadn"t known what he intended when he came to the stream to find Melisande.

He might have been so angry at first that his inclination might have been to drag her back by the hair.

But then he had seen her, and everything had seemed to stop.

She had been changing, subtly, as time passed them by. He had known when he had left her that she was swiftly leaving youth behind and becoming a woman.

Still, he had not imagined the creature he met today.

She had grown very tall, lithe, supple, graceful. She moved effortlessly and with a gentle sway. She had grown into exquisite curves that added a mesmerizing sensuality to her slightest movement. And her face, her beautiful, exotic face …

Her cheeks had become slimmer, adding a fascinating maturity to her. Her lashes had grown richer, her wealth of silken ebony hair even longer. And her eyes, when they touched upon his at long last …

Their violet was open, compelling. In his life, he knew, he had never seen more beautiful eyes. Indeed, in all his life he had never seen a more beautiful woman. And this one was his wife. The pretty, precocious child had grown into a stunning adult.

It hadn"t surprised him that she didn"t come to greet him. Or that she hadn"t been within the fortress walls. She would always do whatever was within her power to defy him.

It had stunned him to see her with the youth, Gregory. Watching her, seeing her earnest conversation, he thought back to the day when he had watched her with one of the young guards in the courtyard of her father"s fortress. The feelings of anger and jealousy that stole over him shocked him. He could scarcely catch his breath. His heart slammed within his chest, and it was all that he could do to control his temper.

She was incredible, Melisande. More than willing to defy him, she was determined to go much further. When he walked to her, he saw that she was willing to fight him forever, her chin high, her eyes blazing, meeting his, determined that she had done nothing wrong.

And determined that she would have an annulment.

He had to have her now, he thought. He had to have her now quite simply because she had to forget that thought. He had taken her as his wife, he had taken Count Manon"s place, the land was his, the fortress was his, and she was his. He had discovered, looking at her today, touching her, even waging war with her, she was his. Their destinies had been locked together for a long time now. Now she was his.

He wanted her, with a fever such as he had never known before, with a desire that blinded him to all else. She lay beneath him, cool and wet from the stream, her flesh like marble, her lips like a rose.

Warm when he touched them, full, sensual. He touched them with the fullness of his mouth, pressed inward with his tongue, seeking the play of hers.

She lay still a moment, and he seemed to taste all the haunting sweetness within her, touched a wealth of fire and heat. She tried to twist from him, gasping, and he raised his head from hers, meeting her eyes.

“Please!” she said. “We"ve all this time between us. I don"t know you anymore, I"m not accustomed to—”

“Kissing?” he asked softly against her lips.

“Ah, but it appeared you were adept at it when you were kissing the young Saxon boy!”

She tried to shove against him. She couldn"t budge his chest, nor twist away from beneath him.

She stared into his eyes again, angry. “You"ve absolutely no right—”

“Indeed?”

Blazing violet eyes met his. “You spend years neglecting me, milord, and becoming quite adept at all manner of things yourself.”

“I"m ever so sorry I"ve neglected you. I intend to rectify that now.” His mouth descended hard upon hers, his hand easing from her wrist to hold her cheek. He stroked its exquisite lines, feeling the softness of her flesh. Her hand pushed his shoulder. She writhed and twisted, but he granted no quarter, not moving in the least. She tasted of sweet wine and mint, and he kissed her ever more deeply, fascinated, exploring, hungry, his tongue pressing hers. A pulse came alive within him, hammering, demanding. A whimper left her throat, and he lifted his lips from hers at last, fascinated then by the sleek wetness upon them, the way they parted slightly as she gasped for breath, those violet eyes now condemning and seething.

“You can"t mean to do—this—here. In the woods.”

“I"m quite partial to streams, milady. And woods. The sway of the branches, the kiss of the breeze. And, I might remind you, you were quite willing to be here with another man.”

She shook her head wildly. “You came upon a moment"s warmth—”

“I am partial to warmth, too, milady,” he assured her, his voice hard.

“It was a gesture of friendship—”

“Indeed, I am waiting for such friendship.”

“It was a tender kiss—”

“It was scarce a kiss at all,” he replied with a disdainful snort.

“And you are so much better!” she cried.

“Indeed, I am,” he murmured, “and I"m damned sure that you know the difference!”

“Your Viking sword is going to rust!” she warned him.

“My Viking sword will soon be sheathed.”

She went so pale that he was suddenly convinced that nothing had ever gone further than the kiss she had shared here today, but even that had to be rectified.

As long as she continued as she was, she lived with the hope that she would acquire an annulment from him.

His temper soared suddenly. What had she wanted out of life? He had come at the right time, he had slain the man who had murdered her father. Marriages were arranged, and hers should have been no great hardship.

But that didn"t matter. Wanting her did.

Yet, despite himself, despite the great anguish of his desire, he suddenly felt a welling of pity within him. He didn"t want to rape his own bride.

And maybe there was just a little bit of guilt mingled with that emotion. How had he ever managed to neglect her so?

Easily, he reminded himself. She had been hostile and superior from the very moment they had met. And perhaps he had even known from that moment that one day he would be paying this price, wanting her with a haunting desperation, falling prey to the violet in her eyes, her exquisite beauty.

“After all this time!” she whispered, sensing his hesitation. “Not here, not now, like this!”

For once her eyes seemed to be nothing other than pleading. They captured some small piece of his heart, and he finally felt the chill of the water that soaked their clothing.

“If not now … ?”

“Please …”

He shook his head slowly, wondering what would be gained from this delay.

“What do I gain?” he asked her softly. “You are too eager to escape me, Melisande.”

“I will make it up to you. Tonight,” she promised swiftly, “as it should be.”

“Ah,” he said softly. “So you would barter for time.” There was a sizzle in her eyes once again when she reminded him, “I have had years of it, milord, I cannot see what a few more hours can matter.”

“Melisande, with you, it might well matter greatly. I wonder if it will be worth my while to take the chance! Surely there is some other hapless lad you might find along the way …”

“How dare you—” she began furiously, but a quick look in his eyes seemed to remind her of just what she had been doing when he had come upon her this evening. “There is no one else to come upon,” she said frigidly.

“Hmm. I do have brothers here.”

“Your flesh and blood,” she murmured bitterly.

“I think,” he said, a taunt to his words, yet the taunt against himself, “I think I shall die a thousand deaths if I leave you now.”

“You"ve never had difficulty leaving me before.”

“Ah, but things have changed. You have changed.”

“I"ll see that you are not disappointed,” she promised rashly, pushing against him then. She"d had her victory, she sensed it.

But it wasn"t going to be that easy for her. He leaned low against her. “I want a willing wife, my love,” he told her. “Bathed and perfumed, waiting and willing.”

She was silent, staring at him, waiting for him to move away from her, he was certain.

“Your promise, Melisande.”

“Yes!”

He
would
die just a little bit if he let her go now, he thought, fiercely gritting his teeth against the longing that still assailed him.

But the promise she had made him …

It was too intriguing. He had to see if she would willingly keep it.

He leapt up and reached a hand down to her. When she stood before him, her lashes quickly fell over her eyes. She started to turn away, but he caught her arm.

“I"m just going for my horse—”

“I think that you can ride with me. Your horse can follow.” She wanted to argue the point, he knew. Melisande wanted to argue anything that he suggested. But she kept silent, and he realized that she was shivering as he lifted her onto Thor and leapt up behind her. She was stiff as she sat before him, and they dripped together as he guided Thor from the stream. He found her horse tethered at the water"s edge, and grabbed the white mare"s reins to lead her back to the fortress.

She was silent, trying impossibly to keep a distance between them. Yet when they reached his brother"s handsome fortress by the sea, entered the gates, and came before the keep, she had a question for him, violet eyes suspicious and narrowed. “Why have you suddenly come for me?”

He didn"t answer, and she twisted around to look into his eyes. “I"ll tell you tonight—my love,” he promised.

She swore softly, trying to dismount from the stallion, but discovering that she was caught because he would not let her down. He dismounted himself and reached up for her.

“I can get down on my own!”

“Give in, Melisande. Let us have some peace!”

She stared at him, shaking her head, her eyes blazing. “You seek peace, milord? Not with me. I have been too long neglected and abused.” A smile suddenly pulled at the corner of his lip. Without her consent he set his hands firmly upon her, and her sodden body pressed close to his as he lifted her down without allowing her toes to quite touch the ground. Unwilling, her hands fell upon his equally sodden shoulders.

“The neglect I will cease,” he promised. “But you had best take care, else the abuse will have just begun!”

“Conar!”

His brother Eric was calling him. He set Melisande upon her feet.

She spun around to leave him. The long wet strands of her hair flew in the air with the vehemence of her movement, slapping him in the face.

He caught her shoulder, wiping his damp cheeks, pulling her back hard against him. Eric was coming to them, a frown knitting his brow.

“I see that you have found your wife, but are you two all right?” It was certainly a fair enough question. They both still dripped.

Conar smiled, lifting a length of Melisande"s ebony hair, stroking it gently with his fingers. “Indeed, Eric, we are just fine. Melisande was so eager to greet me when she saw me that she cast us both into the stream.” She shivered suddenly beneath his touch, rigid as steel, but she didn"t deny his words. She was very cold, he realized, and so pressed her forward. “Go in, milady, bathe. I will join you soon enough.”

She sped past them, and Eric clapped a hand upon Conar"s shoulders.

“Come. Let"s indulge in some of that very fine wine you have brought me.”

“I"m afraid that I am dripping—”

“I"ll have the wine brought to your quarters.”

Together they entered the hall. Rhiannon was ordering the table seating, and they paused there for a moment, Eric explaining that his brother and sister-in-law had fallen in the brook.

“Aye,” Rhiannon said. “I sent your wife to her room with a tub and water.” She hesitated a moment, watching Conar curiously. “She is in the far room at the left of the stairs. I have had your things sent to the chamber beside it. There is a door beneath the tapestry connecting the two. Is that what you wish?” He caught his sister-in-law"s shoulders and kissed her cheek, careful not to drip upon her beautiful blue gown. “It is perfect,” he assured her.