MacAuliffe Vikings Trilogy 3 - Lord of the wolves (39 page)

But the young ones were sent to bed by mealtime, and the hall was extremely well organized as the family took their seats. Food was ample, consisting of steaming summer vegetables, dozens of fowl, boar, deer, fish, eels. Plates were brought to the table and passed around. Wine, ale, and mead were served.

The food was rich, but the entertainment that night was kept to a minimum.

A lone musician played a lute while they dined, and Melisande quickly discovered why.

She and Conar had been the last to arrive. The men would ride in the morning, and they would retire early tonight.

Olaf himself was the first to rise, reaching down a hand to his Erin. The years had treated them kindly, touched them hardly at all. They were still a beautiful and glorious couple, he so golden, she so dark.

Erin"s hand fitted into his, her gaze met her husband"s. Melisande found herself looking away, for she was suddenly certain that even after bearing all these children, after the passage of all these years, the two would retire tonight and hold each other passionately and tenderly through the long hours until the sun rose.

“Melisande?”

Conar was reaching down to her. She hesitated just a moment, feeling a fierce ache streak through her. She wanted something she could nearly touch, but not quite.

She wanted what a Viking held.

What the king and queen of Dubhlain shared.

She bit lightly into her lower lip, then curled her fingers into his.

Leaving the hall was not so easy with all those who were within it. There were all his sisters and brothers and their mates with whom to exchange good nights.

As they left the hall, Conar had a final word with his brother Eric. While she waited for them to finish, Melisande noted a familiar figure she had not seen before.

Mergwin.

She cried out gladly, hurrying to him, throwing her arms around his neck. “I didn"t know that you were here!”

“I will not stay long,” he told her. “I am too old to ride to war these days.

Brenna sees with keener eyes than I now the warning signs that God allows us to see. But I had a craving to come home and so sailed here with Eric and Rhiannon. We"ll have time together,” he promised her.

She kissed his cheek. “I"m glad.”

“Your husband summons you,” Mergwin said, and she looked back. Conar did await her, sending a salute to Mergwin, and she realized that Mergwin had surely been closeted with them all day.

“Good night, then. I"ll see you tomorrow,” she said.

He held her just a moment longer. “Conar will return,” he told her.

“So he says.”

“It is true. The runes say so.”

“Are the runes ever wrong?”

“When I cast them? Seldom.”

She smiled. “Thank you.”

“Melisande,” he murmured, just as she turned away.

“Aye, Mergwin?”

“It"s a boy.”

“What?”

“Your child. It"s a boy. Have you told him?”

She paled. “I"m not even certain!” she exclaimed. Then she added softly.

“Do … you intend to tell him?”

“Nay, lady. It is—”

“Aye, my place!” she interjected. Once more she started to turn.

“Melisande,” he murmured again.

“Aye?”

“Wolves tend to mate for life.”

“Pardon?”

“Wolves,” he repeated gravely. “And their cubs. And the cubs of their cubs.

They mate for life.”

She smiled and wondered how he could so easily read her heart, and prayed that others could not do so.

“I ramble now and then,” he said.

“Umm!” she replied. But she smiled and kissed his cheek again and fled. She accepted Conar"s hand again as he escorted her to the room they were to share.

It was large enough. A window opened to a view of the moon, which had diminished in the night sky. She fumbled with a tie at her back, then felt his hands there. She went still, allowing him to loosen her garment.

“I know that you are angry,” he said softly. “But do you fight me tonight?” His mouth touched down, a liquid breath of fire, upon her bare nape.

She held still for a moment, then turned in his arms. Her eyes met his. “No!” she told him softly. “No.”

Tonight, nay. When she would lie alone so many nights to come.

When she planned to defy him.

When he would ride away with Brenna.

Nay, not tonight. Tonight she would love him with all that he had taught her, with all that God had granted her. She clung to him, returning his kisses with hot, open-mouthed fire, disentangling herself from him to nuzzle against his body, brush it with the silk of her hair, tease and caress with her lips, teeth, and tongue. Sink lower and lower against him.

His fingers wound into the ebony tangle of her hair and he let her have her way, his breathing ragged and heavy. She worked her way around him, on her toes to press her lips to his shoulders, sliding against him again with her body and breasts, pressing her kisses lower and lower. Sliding against him still, touching him, tasting him, having him.

Indeed, he let her have her way, until the point when he lifted her up and bore her to the bed, his eyes locked with hers. Yet despite the searing heat and energy within him, he did not take her then but made love to her very slowly.

Tasting her as if he could never taste enough. Stroking her flesh as if he could memorize its feel with his fingertips. And finally, when she tossed upon the bed with a wild frenzy, he came to her, joined with her, and rose with her until the tempest swept them both.

Later they met upon their knees. Their fingers laced together, their lips met endlessly. The fire built slowly, exquisitely.

Then it raged again, and left them curled together, shaken and exhausted.

Melisande could barely move. Yet she was glad of his touch. Glad of the arm that held her close, of the strong leg that lay haphazardly draped over her. She closed her eyes.

When she awoke, Conar was nearly dressed. She could not imagine that she had slept so late when the courtyard was filled with such a din below, so many horses, so many men.

“Hurry,” he urged her, “they are all but ready to ride.” She jumped up quickly, washed with a dab and a promise for later, and dressed.

When she turned, he was completely outfitted for battle, mail upon his chest, sword at his hip, helmet in his hand. Still he drew her against him and drank deeply of her lips once again.

“I will return. Wait for me but briefly, and I will return.” A shivering seized her. She stared into his eyes and nodded. He touched her cheek, as if marveling at her, then demanded, “Melisande, do you heed me?”

“Aye! I must wait for you.”

“Obey me in this.”

“Aye!” she cried.

“Is it passion—or hatred—that burns so fiercely within your eyes?” he demanded.

She lowered her lashes, but he jerked her hard against him. “Melisande!”

“I beg you—”

“I beg you, lady. Heed my warnings.”

“What choice have I?”

“None,” he assured her curtly. And he turned to leave.

She followed him. He paused, turned again, and took her hand. She walked out below with him where he found Swen awaiting him, Thor behind his own horse. Conar took the stallion"s reins, then paused, and drew Melisande into his arms once again. She grew breathless, afraid that she would not be able to stand when he released her.

He steadied her before doing so. She felt tears spring unbidden to her eyes.

“God go with you!” she whispered suddenly. “I pray, God go with you.”

“Aye, lady. And with you.” His palm cupped her face, but briefly. He mounted Thor. She felt a hand upon her shoulder. Rhiannon. They backed away from the horses, and Melisande watched as the family grouped together.

They were splendid and terrifying. They stretched out in a formidable line that seemed to go on forever. There sat Olaf, and at his sides, his golden sons, Eric and Conar, tall and striking in their Viking helmets, their eyes glittering their Nordic blue, even at a distance. There were the others, Conan, Bryan, Bryce, and Leith. Michael and Patrick, sons-in-law, were in the line. And several of Erin"s brothers and cousins, another Eric, pure Viking, brother to Olaf.

For a moment they were enchanting, incredible. Then the earth began to tremble, for they were moving.

In vast, great waves, they disappeared beyond the gates of the walled city.

Melisande remained in Dubhlain as the weeks passed, wondering when news would come.

Messengers rode in daily. But as yet, there was no news. They negotiated with Maelmorden for Niall"s return, demanded it. Erin read each message aloud in the grianon, and then they all waited again.

As the days went by, Melisande still didn"t feel in the least ill, she didn"t suffer any symptoms of anything different.

Yet she had now passed by two full moons, and still there was no sign of her flow.

Despite herself, she began to dream about having a child. And it did not seem so terrible that it might be a boy, and that it might resemble its father.

Letters also reached her from home, and those were distressing. Ragwald wrote her of strange happenings. Riders appeared on the ridge some mornings and stared down upon the fortress. Again, again, and then again.

“Trouble?” Erin asked her.

Aye! she longed to cry. But she didn"t dare be honest with her mother-in-law, because she was so desperately trying to find a way to await Conar at home, rather than here.

“Nay, nothing,” she said. “Just news of people, births, and deaths, I"m afraid.

We lost a sheepherder, so Ragwald tells me, to a fever. But things go well, they are peaceful!”

One week later Rhiannon informed them that she was going home, that Alfred had sent ships with trade, and she intended to return to Wessex.

It seemed Melisande"s golden opportunity.

“Perhaps I will come with you,” she murmured.

“You would all leave me?” Erin asked. She was watching Melisande.

“Should you sail with Rhiannon?” she asked.

Melisande had the greatest difficulty lying to Erin. Her lashes fell.

“Wait another week,” Erin suggested.

She waited. And Rhiannon waited with her. But more dismal news came from Ragwald, frightening news. Ragwald urged her to beg Conar to come back.

The Danes were amassing near Bruge, as well as other places. Odo had come by, he was eager to see Conar return.

Melisande sat down that night and wrote to Conar, telling him that she understood his obligations, but that they were desperately needed at home. She implored him to come back and take her there.

She waited again. Days passed.

Then his curt message came back to her. He could leave soon, he was certain, but not now.

She was to wait.

That evening she told Rhiannon that she would sail with her. They left the next morning.

She lied to Erin, stating that she wanted to see Rhiannon"s children, that she knew she would be safe, for Rhiannon was under Alfred"s protection, and few men dared cross the king of Wessex.

When she reached Wessex, she knew that she had planned well. She had written to Ragwald again, telling him that Conar"s ships were detained because of the state of warfare in northern Eire.

A sleek ship arrived in Wessex for her.

It was not hard to convince Rhiannon that it was all right for her to go home.

She had never let her sister-in-law know that anything was amiss, and Rhiannon was distressed to see her leave, but understood how eager she was to go home.

A little after a month since she had set sail, she managed to come home. Yet sailing in, seeing the sky, the water, the beach, nothing gave her the feeling of contentment that should have been hers.

Indeed, as she neared the beach, she felt sick at long last. Wretchedly sick to her stomach.

He would be furious when he discovered what she had done. He would turn against her, despise her. Perhaps find solace in the arms of another woman, the ever willing Brenna.

She stepped upon the shore. Half the fortress had turned out to greet her again, Philippe, Gaston, Ragwald, Marie, milkmaids, sheepherders, farmers, men-at-arms. She was welcomed by them all.

Honored by them all.

She had returned to lead them in her husband"s absence.

She greeted everyone, dined with Ragwald, Philippe, and Gaston, and heard more frightening news about the number of Danes arriving on nearby shores.

She settled a dispute that had come up between two villeins over a cow that had sickened and died. She dealt with letters to Odo and other barons. Finally her first night home grew late, and she returned to her room.

Their room. Where they had slept together. She stretched out to sleep.

In a way she had bested him at last. She hadn"t fought a single battle. She had taken leave of Dubhlain and then of Wessex. And she had come home.

Her stomach continued to churn. Tears ran down her cheek.

She suddenly felt as if she were choking on them. She jumped up and found her wash basin just in time. She was miserably, wretchedly sick.

Her first night home. She was the countess. Taking power over her destiny within her own hands.

She had never been in such anguish before.

And she had never felt so alone.

Nor had she ever ached for him so fiercely, knowing just how great his anger would be.

And perhaps his retribution.

Home! She had longed for it so desperately.

She had not slept with a demon to achieve it. She had merely sold her heart and soul instead.

Chapter Nineteen

They had gathered a great army, but for the most part the army sat.