Master of Craving (14 page)

Stefan silently agreed. ’Twas his intention, but before that, the princess would be his trump card with Rhiwallon. He extracted his hands, not liking the way his body flared at her touch. “I do not seek your gold or that of your betrothed. I have a different price in mind.”

Her eyes widened, and he had to smile. “Nay, princess, I do not seek what Dag would have forced from you, though I would not turn it away if freely given.”

She gasped and stepped back. “You are too bold! Even if I wanted to give you that most precious gift, I cannot. Part of my marriage contract with the Jarl is that I be delivered a virgin to his bed.”

“That was before. The question begged now is will he have you now at all?”

 

Vigorously she nodded. “Why do you say these things? Do you wish to plant doubt where there is none?”

 

“I speak as a man. Pride can cloud what is set clearly before us.”

 

“Magnus will have me! I will tell him the truth, and the bloody sheets will prove I do not lie.”

 

“Not all maids bleed their first time.”

 

Once again she gasped. “I—I—then how would he be sure?”

Stefan shrugged, and wondered why he goaded the maid. Not that what he said was not true. Nobles held the ladies they chose to bear noble sons to a much higher standard than would a common man. He looked hard at her stricken face, and felt a stab of compassion for her. She was as intelligent as she was beautiful, if not naïve. But he would not lie to her to spare her feelings. “There is an old trick of using lamb’s blood to smear the sheets, but the Viking may well insist on witnesses to be sure there is no sleight of hand beneath the sheets.”

He watched her color darken. “You mean our coupling will be witnessed?”

 

“Aye.”

 

She swallowed hard, chewing her bottom lip. “I had heard of this, but hoped it would not apply to me.”

 

“Under the circumstances, I would think it would be most applicable to you, princess.”

She narrowed her eyes and glared at him. “No thanks to you!” Stefan took the moment to pause and watched the furious play of emotions wage war on the lady’s lovely face. And she was most comely. Thick golden hair intermingled with deep amber strands. Her skin, creamy golden as if she spent a part of her day beneath the full sun. Her nose was small and regal, her chin softly firm, but ’twas her full russet-colored lips and those huge silver-colored eyes that when she was angry, like now, carried a hue of lavender, and were framed by the thickest longest blackest lashes he had ever seen, that gave him most cause for pause. She was an extraordinary combination of defined features that when put together created a most beautiful relief. His blood warmed and he had the overwhelming urge to kiss her again. She had been soft and sweet against him then, and he

knew she would be a softer and sweeter ride.

 

He put his hands up as if to defend himself, then moved around the table and doused all of the sconces but one. “Do you regret my intervention?” he asked.

 

“I regret you taking Dag’s life.”

He stood beside her again and looked down at her. Women did not understand the ways of a man. There was no other way to deal with a man such as the Viking. “When you understand there was no other way, mayhap then you can accept it.”

Her shoulders slumped then, and suddenly she looked fatigued. “I am exhausted, and wish to retire for a spell.”

 

She hurried away from him to the small chamber and soundly closed the door.

Stefan smiled and poured himself a goblet of wine from the wineskin he had filled. He sat down on the great chair and slowly enjoyed the brew. ’Twas good. And for the first time since he awoke on the battlefield in Hereford, his face did not throb with pain. The princess had a gentle touch, and he was most grateful for her ministrations. He touched his fingertips to the wound on his thigh. The ache there had lessened as well. He had cleaned and dressed it earlier. He would see to it again before he took to bed, and then decide if they should travel on the morrow or wait another day. He wanted to be on his way sooner than later, before word got out to every village and hamlet that there was a rogue Saxon on the run with a Welsh princess. There would be a price on both their heads, and he was determined not to be captured. If that occurred, his brothers would be lost forever. And that was not an option.

Startled for a moment, not realizing where she was, Arian held her breath. Slowly she exhaled as the deep breaths beside her infiltrated the darkness, reminding her of the past days and her forced captivity. And who she was with. Conflicting sensations intermittently battled along her limbs, her back, her belly, her womb. Heat, cold, warmth. Desire, anger, fear, and the urge to run. Run from what she knew would be her undoing if she remained with the man who meant to sell her to the highest bidder.

Carefully she turned to face the man who had turned her life inside out. In the low glow of the candlelight, she could clearly see that he lay on his back, one arm bent, his hand beneath his head, the other arm straight, his fingers wrapped tightly around the hilt of his sword. Even in slumber, he was a warrior. Her gaze rested upon his face, noticing the wound she had sewn earlier had begun to settle. The swelling was noticeably down and the coloring not so angry. Her gaze traveled down the thick column of his throat to his wide chest and the scar there. She moved closer. He was a most magnificently created man, despite the scars. Where once she had found them objectionable, now she did not mind them so much. They were as much a part of him as his astonishing blue eyes and his surly disposition.

Swallowing hard, Arian allowed her gaze to dip lower to his flat belly, then lower still to the bulge in his braies. He was generously endowed there. Her fingers toyed with the linen sheet, wanting to touch him but daring not to. He would awaken, and know she had reached out to him. Yet she did not pull her gaze from him. Her mind took flight and wondered in vivid imagery of his taking of her, here, now, in this bed. Of the passion that once tapped would unleash into a wild reckless inferno. A passion that once unleashed would be her undoing. Arian groaned and rolled from the bed. She must flee, go before her imagination became a reality.

Taking the candle from the nightstand, Arian carefully trod to the door Stefan had left open. She looked over her shoulder to find him still in sleep, then she did fly. She hastened from the lodge and hurried under the high moon to the stable. She did not try to lift the heavy saddle; instead, she slipped the bridle onto the black’s head and the bit into his mouth. She walked him to a low stump just outside of the stable and mounted, wincing at the pain of her wound. Her heart beat like a battle drum in her chest, and she could not help but repeatedly look to the lodge, praying for divine intervention. Once astride Arian softly kicked the horse, expecting him to take off. He did not move.

“C’mon, boy,” she urged, kicking him harder this time, softly clucking to him. He tossed his head, but did not move otherwise. Her frustration mounted. Why did he not move?

A soft whistle from the lodge stirred the beast. His ears perked up, and with no command from her, he trotted directly to whence she had come. A very angry and very haggardlooking Saxon stood at the doorway, with a long chain and manacles in his hand. “Did I not warn you?”

He reached up to her leg and snapped an iron manacle around her ankle, then yanked her off the horse. She screamed and tried to kick his bad leg, but he was ready for her. He scooped her up and tossed her over his shoulder, then limped back into the chamber where he tossed her onto the bed. He took the other end of the chain and secured the shackle around the leg of the bed. “Your freedom is as far as the chain is long.”

She shrieked at him, throwing the pillows at his back as he limped from the chamber. Several moments later, he returned and lay back down on the bed. “If you disturb me one more time, I will shackle you to the trestle so that I may get some much needed rest.”

Arian rolled away from him, presenting her back, and for the first time since her capture, tears of frustration welled in her eyes. And for the first time in her charmed life she was unsure how to wheedle what she wanted from a man.

Sun streamed through the only window in the room. For a moment Arian did not know where she was, only that sunshine pricked her eyes and her head throbbed. She closed her eyes, shutting out the sun. Her head lay upon something hard and warm. Her hand rested lower, on something also hard and warm. She opened her eyes to two dark-blue ones and opened her mouth to scream. Stefan pressed his lips to hers, stifling her. Immediately, she stopped her struggle, fearful her movements would whet his desire more. His hands trailed down her arms, pressing them into the soft mattress, his body moving over hers as his kiss deepened.

She opened her lips wider to tell him to leave her, but instead she found herself unable to speak. Fierce heat swept through her with such force that it terrified her. ’Twas as if her body had a mind of its own, for all that she could control it. Part of her wanted to luxuriate in the primal sensations he evoked in her, but the other part, the pragmatic part, knew that to do so would be her undoing. She broke free of his lips, gasping for breath. “Nay!” she cried, afraid more of herself than of him.

“Shhhh, princess, you have no cause to fear me,” he said against her ear. He nibbled the spot behind her ear on her neck; her eyes rolled back and she nearly gave in to him. Her entire body thrummed with sensation. She wanted to go further, to feel more, to experience more, because in the deepest darkest reaches of her being, she knew she would never experience the scorching passion with Magnus that she felt at the hands of this mercenary knight. She also knew if she allowed the knight to sweep her away, she would lose more than she could ever regain.

She stiffened and pulled away from him, angry at herself, angry at him, angry at the events leading to her capture.

“You killed Dag! You cut me, then kidnapped me! You tie me up with a bridle and now you shackle me to this bed! You seduce me at every turn, and you tell me I have nothing to fear from you?”

He chuckled and traced a finger across her bottom lip. “You are not guiltless of seduction, my little princess. You are shameless, flaunting your rosy breasts under my nose, waking me in the middle of the night pressing your warm body to mine. I am a man who finds you most difficult to ignore. Do not blame me for wanting you to the point where I take action.”

“You lie! I never seduced you!”

He shrugged. “Believe what you will.” He sat up and stretched his long limbs. “The day is half over and we have lain like lazy churls abed the entire time. We must make ready and leave this place.”

He rolled from the bed and stood. She saw him wince as he tested his bad leg. He strode from the room, and Arian sat up in a huff. “Unshackle me!” she shouted. His answer was the heavy thud of the front door.

Long moments passed, and her anger mounted. She needed to use the chamber pot, and wash. She needed to flee! She hiked her leg up and examined the manacle, and her anger subsided somewhat. There was no lock to it! All she had to do was turn a screw. She did, and her leg was free of the steel band. As she came from the chamber to the great room she collided with the knight. He carried a bucket of water and a smaller empty one. He handed them both to her. “Your chamber pot and your bath, milady.”

Arian grabbed them from him, wincing in pain from her wound, and behind a closed door took care of the necessities of her body. Once she had washed her face and rinsed her mouth, she went outside to strip a small branch from a sapling and shredded the end, then scrubbed her teeth. She rinsed her mouth with water again and felt somewhat clean. She watched Stefan check the snares he had set along the forest line and come up empty.

“I have reset them. Whilst we await our meal I must tend to Apollo; he has thrown a shoe and his hoof is tender.”

 

“Do we not leave today?” Disappointment filled her. Wherever it was he was taking her, it would be better than this hovel.

 

“I will see how he responds to the poultice and new shoe.”

 

“You can forge a shoe here?”

 

“Nay, I have one in the saddlebag, prefitted.”

 

His preparedness did not surprise her. She guessed Stefan was a man who would be prepared for anything. Except to ease her hunger.

 

“There are berries and nuts in the cookhouse,” he called to her as she walked away.

 

Berries and nuts would not suffice. Her belly growled and she decided she would see to their next meal. But she could not hunt in the large garment.

She combed through the many chests in the great room and discovered an odd assortment of clothing. None of it was meant for a woman, but two tunics were not too large and would offer her more mobility than the huge chemise she wore. There were wool chauses, and several pairs of leather boots that were three times as large as her feet. She found a very short tunic that fell just at mid-thigh and she knew it to be a child’s. She tore the fabric just below the arm slits so that she had more room. Donning the garment and feeling rather saucy in it, she debated whether to go outside with it on, but decided her hunger was more important than her modesty. Knowing Stefan was busy in the stable, she grabbed his bow and quiver of arrows and set out for the wood. She didn’t ask his permission, knowing he would not give it.

The wood was dark and ominous, the earth soft and loamy beneath her bare feet. Birds twittered overhead and sunlight filtered through the heavy copse. As she kept low and notched an arrow, ready thoughts swirled in her head. She could not help but wonder if she should flee now. She could keep to the wood and follow the sun west each day until she reached the Welsh border. She looked down at her scant clothing. A wolf howled off in the distance, and her thoughts went to the band of Norman knights that roamed the countryside. She swallowed hard. She was not a fool. She was safer, for now, with the Saxon.

She had not gone too deep into the wood when a rustling up ahead caught her attention. The soft grunt of a pig, followed by several squeals, alerted her. Though she tried to hasten up the nearest tree, her wound slowed her. Using her good arm, she managed to pull herself up and perch upon a sturdy limb where she watched, and waited. Her patience paid off; a sow with a litter of fat piglets worked their way toward her as they foraged in the soft earth, upturning roots and grubs. Carefully Arian took aim at the largest piglet and waited for it to get closer. She released the string; the high squeal of the pig as the arrow tore into it sent the birds flying from the trees. In a furious fit, the sow turned up earth with her hooves and tusks. She rushed toward Arian, but the wind was in the girl’s favor, carrying her scent away from the pack.