Master of Craving (36 page)

She arched, her full breasts bobbing against her chest, then in a slow rocking motion she moved against him. Stefan sucked in a harsh breath, keeping himself from letting go. His hands itched to grasp the cradle of her hips and rock her harder into him, but he forced himself to allow her to set the pace. And she did. Slow, deliberate, and achingly sublime. She leaned down, placing her hands on his chest, giving him more of an angle. He could feel her interior muscles clench and unclench around him; her hips swirled, and in a dance as old as time, they made love.

Slick sweat erupted upon his skin. Her lips pressed to his. He kissed her back with wanton desire as his hips rose and fell against her. She slickened around him, her breath harsh and forced, matching his in need. As her momentum increased, she dug her fingers into his hair, her soft moans of pleasure captured in their kiss.

“Stefan,” she gasped, as her body shuddered against his. He gritted his teeth and groaned as her body spasmed around his, pulling him deeper into her hot vortex. He came in a mad feral rush; his hands broke free from his death grip on the headboard, but still he managed not to touch her. In a wild upward surge his seed filled her, marking her as his. And she
was
his. Primal possession overcame him. He cried out as the last drop of him left his body, and she came tumbling down from her journey to the stars.

She collapsed against him, her sultry body twitching as the last vestiges of her release claimed her. His hands twitched at his sides, yet still he controlled his urge to take her into his arms. Her fingers trailed along his forearms, kneading his taut muscles. When finally she brought his arms around her, he let out the long breath he had been holding and clasped her tightly to him. He nuzzled his nose in her hair, inhaling the sweet essence that was uniquely her own.

“Ari …” he breathed, never wanting to let her go, but knowing if he was ever to have any chance of her forgiveness he would have to.

Arian lay quiet in her husband’s arms. Her husband. The one man who would forfeit all for her. And had. Emotions collided in her heart. She knew the moment she asked him to stay that she would regret it. Not for what they had just shared, but because it would cloud her already wavering judgment. Her love for him was not in question. Nor his for her. There was more to it than that. On every turn of her head or in nearly every thought, the image of Magnus bleeding to death in her lap haunted her. And no matter how she tried to justify his death it always came back to her.
She
was responsible. Not Stefan. How could she live with herself?

Stefan’s lips pressed to her temple. He smoothed the damp hair from her brow. “What thoughts plague you, my love?”

She smiled sadly. How could she explain to him she could not live with herself and because of
that
she could not live with him? She looked up into his brilliant eyes. “I know not what to do, Stefan. My love for you is as strong as before, mayhap more, but the guilt eats at me.”

He nodded, thoughtful for a moment. “Arian, I have done things in my life I am not proud of. Things I wish I could take back. But I cannot take back the past. I can only go forward, and learn from past mistakes.”

“But—”

He kissed her. “Shhh, allow me to finish.” When she nodded, he continued. “Forgiveness is a most powerful balm for the heart. Both asking for it and giving it. I have asked your forgiveness, and I hope one day you will find it in your heart to grant it.”

“I have already, Stefan.”

He smiled, and her heart melted a little more for him. “Then, my love, you must give yourself the same quarter.” Her brows knitted in confusion. “Forgive yourself for whatever hand you imagine you had in Magnus’s death. You acted from the heart. Emotions are stronger than any sword, Arian. I have learned this lesson recently. Love makes a lucid person mad. Since I met you, I have experienced emotions I never thought possible. From the highest high to the lowest low and everything in between. You wreak havoc with my heart, but”—he laughed—“I would have it no other way. I cannot control it any more than I can control the rise of the sun each day. I no longer question it, either. It is what it is. I accept it.”

“Stefan, Magnus knew—”

“Aye, the world knew of our love. When you accepted his offer for marriage you did so with a clear heart, Arian; yet he did not. Had he not fallen beneath my sword, do you think he would have considered your feelings if they interrupted his grand scheme? Do you think he did not have a mistress or two tucked away?” She shook her head. ’Twas not the same. “You are denying what lies plainly before your face. Magnus was a traitor. Though he claimed Norse citizenship, Magnus had holdings here in England. He would have been hanged. As overlord here, I would have written the order and carried it out. He knotted his own noose. Not you, nor I.”

As Stefan’s words settled in, some of the guilt she had been dragging around in her heart lessened. “You know I speak the truth. Mayhap part of your anger now is knowing Magnus had other intentions, and you feel a bit scorned?”

Arian winced, admitting that at least on a small scale her pride was involved. “I will admit that when I discovered his treachery and reason for marriage, my pride stung.”

“Arian, you were a pawn in his deadly game. He would have tossed you to the wolves if it meant saving his own skin.” He pushed her back into the pillows, his soft eyes searching her face. “Whereas I”—he kissed her lips—“would lay down my horse, my sword, and my life for you.”

He had her then. And the knowledge that there was no future for her if this man were not by her side crashed with resounding force through her body. “Stefan,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around his neck, drawing him close. “I am afraid. I am afraid of losing you, and I am afraid of these people of Yorkshire. They have blood in their eyes. I do not trust them.”

“Yorkshire will be dealt with.”
TWENTY-FOUR

In the day following Arian’s marriage to Stefan, a dark pall hung over the village and manor. The Saxon nobles including Overly and Lisette with Philip chasing behind left Moorwood in a mass exodus. For their departure she was grateful.

Though her marriage to Magnus had been short-lived, Arian was by Norse law heir to all that was his, including command of the one hundred men who had accompanied him to Moorwood and the hundreds more he sent to Scotland.

Arian, without her husband beside her, so as not to incite more hatred from the Vikings, called the captain of her new Norse guard to her chamber. When he entered, she nodded, acknowledging his short bow to her. “Your name, sir.”

“Bjorr Thorkellson.”

 

“Sir Bjorr, how long have you been in my late husband’s service?”

 

“Six years.”

 

“And in those six years, was he a fair lord?”

 

“Aye, most fair.”

 

“Though he is dead, you are aware that under Norse law all that was his is now mine.”

 

He nodded, but she knew from his guarded face and short answers the news was not welcome.

“I understand your dislike for the Normans, and for myself for that matter, but we must move past that.” She looked up into his eyes, and said, “I require your help, sir. The area is unstable. ’Tis only a matter of time before we are attacked.”

“My loyalty is to Norway.”

 

“Not to me—your lady?”

 

He slowly shook his head. “You are not my lady. Because of you, my lord is dead. My men will not fight for you or your Norman husband.”

 

“Not even for gold?”

 

He shook his head. “Nay, not even for gold.”

Arian stood and nodded. “You leave me no choice then, Sir Bjorr.” His face turned ashen. “I will not force you to fight for me or my husband.” His eyes narrowed. She smiled. “Return to Norway and protect what is mine. Once things are settled here, I will journey to your country and settle my affairs.”

“What trickery are you about?”

 

“None, sir. You are free to return to Norway.”

 

He stood for a long moment, unsure. “You will not set your Normans against us as we leave this place and call us traitors?”

 

“Nay. I do not play games of intrigue and backstabbing.”

 

He bowed then, and was turning to leave the chamber when Stefan strode in. Bjorr continued on his way, and Stefan’s eyes narrowed.

 

“What have you done?”

 

“Released my Norse army.”

 

Her husband was not pleased. “They will join with Magnus’s men to the north and return to slay us all whilst we sleep!”

 

“Nay, Stefan, they will not.”

 

“Arian, I am well versed in the ways of men and war.”

 

“You are well versed in conquering with might, my love. There are other ways.”

 

“You are wrong.”

“Nay, I am not. You will see.” She closed the door to their chamber and set the bolt, not caring that the sun was high in the sky. She looked over her shoulder at him and smiled. “Come, let me show how to soothe the savage beast with just a kiss.”

The next morn Robert departed west for Normandy, and Bjorr with his men set out for their homeland. As Arian and Stefan watched them depart, Arian’s feeling of foreboding deepened. Yet she did not second-guess her decision to allow the Vikings to return. They were useless to her if they would not fight for her, and should she force them as her husband counseled, they would turn on her. Stefan reached down, taking her hand, entwining his fingers in hers. When she looked up into his eyes, emotion swelled in her chest. He was hard, he was savage, but he was fair. He was a man of honor, and though a man, he realized she was a worthy ruler in her own right. He had accepted her counsel, and for that, he would always have her undying gratitude.

Several hours later, just as they sat for the noon meal, the lookout shouted that riders bearing the king’s standard approached.

“The Saxons demand the heads of Lady Arian and Lord Stefan!” Robert cried out as he galloped back into the bailey, followed by a handful of the men who had departed with him that morn.

Arian gasped and turned to Stefan, who stood beside her on the stone steps to the manor house. His arm tightened around her waist. He was calm, while fear turned her to stone. “Fear not, my love. We will see the day won.”

He pulled her into the hall and set her upon the lord’s chair. “Listen to me carefully, Arian, for our lives depend on it. Gather the servants and set them to the task of filling the interior stores. Douse the kitchen fires, prepare for tending wounded, then secure the manor and arm yourself.” He pulled her to him and kissed her hard; when he pulled away, his eyes burned hot with passion. “Trust no one but your own people and the Blood Swords.”

“Where do you go?”

 

“To secure the grounds.”

 

As Stefan rushed from the hall, Arian called for the servants, but to her dismay and growing fear, only a handful assembled before her.

 

“Where are the others?” she demanded of the cook.

 

The woman’s eyes dropped to the floor. “They have gone.”

 

“Gone? Why?”

 

The woman raised her eyes to Arian, and she saw guarded contempt in them, and understood. “Go then, all of you, if you cannot stand to serve here. I will not hold you.”

And to her dismay they all turned tail and fled, leaving her alone in the hall save for the ancient Jane and the few Norman and Welsh servants. Arian took immediate action. “Jane, see that the stores here are filled. Douse the kitchen fires and the fires throughout the manor.” She turned then and ran to her chamber to change into the heartier garb that she wore for the hunt. She grabbed her bow and quiver of arrows from the stand in the corner, and fitted her dagger in her girdle, then rushed to close and bolt the high shutters in each chamber. She lugged in great buckets of water and food. She ran to the armory and grabbed two handfuls of bows, then returned with quivers full of arrows. As she raced about to secure her home Arian did not think twice about using deadly force to save her life or Stefan’s.

The bailey was a mad rush of activity, but off in the distance she saw dark black billowing smoke from the village beyond the great meadow. She ran back into the hall and up to the guard tower to find Stefan conferring with his men. She gazed out across the crowded bailey and to the road farther beyond. Her blood iced. Off in the distance, hundreds of Saxons gathered.
They were vastly outnumbered. “What will we do?” she asked, afraid of the answer.

Stefan’s face was drawn and hard. “We have already begun,
chérie.
Ralph’s men have been dispatched and will come around at their flanks. Upon their charge, we fill them with our arrows, and once they are sufficiently weakened we will finish the deed with our swords. More men travel along the western road; they were several days behind Robert. They too will serve my purpose.”

As he spoke, the Saxons converged on the fringes of the meadow, sending up a wild raucous battle cry. Arian’s eyes widened in horror. “ ’Tis Ralph!” In stunned silence, they watched as Ralph’s men joined the fray, not as enemies but as allies of the Saxons.

“Jesu!”
Stefan cursed.

 

Arian grabbed Stefan’s sleeve. “Magnus’s men, Stefan, they are but half a day away, let me go to them!”

 

“Nay! ’Tis too dangerous. And they will not aid you.”

 

Stefan stood silent for a long moment, and she saw savage fury line his face. “Ralph is a fool!”

 

“William warned us there were traitors amongst our own kind,” Rorick seethed.

“Stefan,” Arian said softly, “there is much that I must attend to.” She stood up on her toes, wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him. “Do not worry about the manor. I will see to it.”

“Aye, Arian, I have faith you will.”

She hurried from him then, to find Jane in the hall tearing linens. Arian grabbed up her bow and two quivers of arrows. “Jane,” she said, sure there were no other ears to hear. “I go to Bjorr, and beg for his help.”

“My lady! You cannot, the fields are infested with Saxons!”

 

“There is a back way to the wood.” She hugged her nurse close then moved past her through the pantry and then to the courtyard.

As if she had every right, Arian hurried to the stable, saddled her mare, then hurried to the back gate and demanded that the guard open it. When he resisted, she drew her bow and leveled an arrow at his chest. “Open it now or die.”