Ruthless (14 page)

Sitting cross-legged on her pallet, she
started to mend her torn hunting garments. When she picked up
Grunda's small scissors to cut her thread, she felt his gaze on
her.

"Dinna worry." She waved the scissors at him.
"If I were to kill ye, it wouldn't be with this puny instrument.
I'd use a blade that cuts deep. Besides, do ye think me such an
eejit I would do it within yer own chambers where I couldn't
escape?"

She didn't bother waiting for an answer but
returned to her sewing.

Though Magnus did not look directly at her,
he could see the way she attacked her clothing. No doubt, she
regretted not stabbing the needle into his flesh with the same
vigor she used on the cloth.

"Hmpf!" For sure, now was not the time to
order her to cut his hair. 'Twas strange, the way he felt. Never
before had a woman caused him to act like a fool.

o0o

Muriele's lids snapped open without a twinge
of sleepiness lingering behind. It had been one of those rare
nights when she awoke so rested she barely had to stretch sluggish
muscles to spring out of bed. A wry smile on her lips, she
shrugged. Springing wasn't the right word for someone who now rose
from a pallet on the floor.

She sighed and shook her head, remembering
the comfort of her feather mattress and pillows at Blackbriar. They
had stuffed this pallet only enough to soften the hard floor. The
pillow was near flat. After all, if they were plump, how could one
roll them together and not take up room? The good thing about her
new sleeping arrangements was the absence of ropes squeaking when
she got up.

Heavy, even breathing coming from Magnus'
large bed assured her he was still in a deep sleep. She slipped out
of her robe and let it drop to the floor. Unable to resist a
leisurely stretch, she threw back her head, her hands lifted in the
cold air, her back arched. During the night, the ribbons holding
her braids had come loose, freeing her hair. Wavy locks floated
softly across her naked back. Rising to her toes, its sensual
whispers over her body made her tremor.

Her muscles twitched with energy. For the
first time since the louts had captured her, she was anxious for
the day to begin. She had missed riding in the woods, tracking deer
and snaring rabbits.

She froze in place. What was different?

She didn't feel alone with the dark any more.
As if her limbs could sound an alert by moving too quickly, she
eased her arms down. One covered her breasts. The opposite hand
shielded her sex.

Was he awake? Hardly daring to breathe, she
glanced toward the bed. Had she seen a glint of white? Like his
eyes had been watching her?

She couldn't tell. The sounds of sleep were
the same. Likely, she had imagined it. Feeling like a small rabbit
staring at a crouched fox, she remained frozen. Counted to twenty.
When Magnus didn't move, she inched down to take her folded hunting
clothes from beneath her pillow.

The men who had captured her had near ruined
them beyond repair. It had taken her well into the night to mend
them, but she was well pleased with the results. The same small,
neat stitches she had used on flesh, now made the garments stronger
than ever. Where the men had ripped the cloth by her left breast,
she sewed a seam from under her arms across to her breast. After
looking at the finished seam, she made a matching one on the right
without trying it on.

The other rents and damages had not taken
long. She pulled the smock over her head and wiggled her body,
helping the skirts to fall free.

She stopped. Held her breath. Frowned. Her
imagination was getting the better of her. Magnus had not moved.
She would have seen it, for her eyes had remained on him the whole
time. Shuddering, she pulled her kirtle on and settled it. Always
before, the kirtle had flowed over her breasts with ample room. Now
it hugged her skin like hands cupping her breasts. It and the
sleeping man made her nipples itch and swell.

She nibbled her lip. There was no time to add
a piece of cloth to make her overdress fit looser. She would use
the old shawl Grunda had given her. 'Twould hide her too-obvious
curves.

After rolling her pallet and blanket, she sat
on the floor and prepared to wait for the sun's rise. No sooner had
she settled down than Magnus spoke in a husky voice filled with
passion.

"Muriele? Now ye've awakened me, ye had best
get below by the time I count to five, else I'll put this cockstand
to good use."

Magnus vowed if she didn't hie herself off in
time, she would be beneath him with his cock buried deep in her hot
center.

Her startled gasp must have shaken her whole
body.

"One." Her shadow sprang upward and twirled
toward the door.

"Two." Reaching the door, she fumbled with
the latch. Her ragged breathing matched his own, but for another
reason.

"Three." The door slammed shut, but some
piece of cloth caught, for it shoved open enough for her to grab it
and retreat. 'Twas it the shawl, perchance?

Muriele's feet were going to be very cold,
indeed. She was in such haste to escape his rampant cock she'd not
taken the time to grab her shoes. He sighed and wished he'd not
been so generous. Instead of giving her the chance to escape, he
should have blocked her path.

Nay. When she'd stretched up on her toes, he
should have wrapped his arms around her naked body and tossed her
on the bed.

"Shite!"

His sex stretched and swelled so tight it
burned. If it didn't find relief, could the skin on a cockstand
split like over-ripe fruit? He closed his eyes and groaned,
picturing her in the near dark. His hands moved down, seeking the
only comfort left.

He'd sensed the moment Muriele awoke. Already
facing her, he'd no need to move. His thick lashes allowed him to
peer at her. When she'd arched her back, her woman's mound had
thrust out, inviting his hand to cup it in his hand. He shuddered
imagining her hot, wet sex cradled in his palm.

His lids had widened. She must have seen the
glint of his eyes, for she stilled. He thought she'd bolt, but when
he didn't move, she calmed.

Now, a long, agonized groan forced through
clenched teeth as he arched up from the bed, his seed spurting, his
legs straining. After several breaths, he collapsed back,
spent.

"Devil's spawn," he muttered. She was his for
the taking. Why had he spared her?

"Never again."

'Twas a vow.

o0o

"I thought you would look forward to the hunt
this day," Esa said as she slid onto the bench beside Muriele.

"I am." Muriele rubbed her feet together,
keeping them raised off the cold wood of the floor.

"Then why are you twitching and looking ready
to bash someone's head?" She moved a little to the left and peeked
beneath the tabletop to see bare toes flashing at her.

"Is something the matter with your feet? Did
you injure them? Where are your shoes?"

Muriele looked at her friend. Her heart still
pounded, which was no way to start a days hunt. She must be calm
and deliberate in all her moves. Could telling Esa soothe her
mind?

"I didna have time to don them."

Esa looked at the high table where Magnus
sat, a scowl on his face and fire in his eyes as he stared at
Muriele.

"He made you come below without your shoes?"
Her voice rose.

Two men in hunting attire snickered and made
comments about keeping lasses barefoot. 'Twas unlikely they could
run fast enough to evade a randy male.

Muriele huffed and sent them a chilling look
that would have made the surliest of Blackbriar's servants
wilt.

She lowered her voice near to a whisper. "I
awoke afore dawn. Sir Magnus still slept soundly. At least I
thought he did. I should have been faster about dressing. It was so
early I didn't think he would hear me."

"Nay! Did he force you to his bed?"

"He allowed me to the count of five to leave
the room. I near choked when I saw the size of his cockstand
tenting the sheet."

Esa looked at her in disbelief. "Ye
left?"

"'Twas either leave or he threatened to put
it to good use."

Her friend sighed. "Every woman in this room,
even the ones already wed, would have dawdled about and made sure
she was far from the door when he stopped counting."

Muriele glanced around at the women, puzzled.
"Why?"

"You have not been here long enough to know
he's said to be the strongest lover in the Highlands."

"How would they know? Does he boast about his
conquests?"

"Nay. The women do the praising. He never
speaks of it."

"'Tis possible they enhance their tales to
brag?"

"Even so, I still wouldn't refuse him."

"He has never taken ye to his bed?"

"'Tis his code. He ne'er takes a woman who
belongs..."

"My Lady?" Gille's soft voice spoke behind
Muriele.

Esa's face lost all color. She looked
stricken that someone might have heard her.

Muriele turned to see the young boy standing
at her shoulder, her shoes and stockings in his hand. He thrust
them at her as if he thought the mere fact of holding them was akin
to touching her flesh.

"Thank ye, ye are most kind to bring them for
me," she said as she took them from his hand and hid them in her
lap.

"Sir Magnus bid me to." He looked up at the
ceiling the way he had done at Grunda's hut and repeated what
Magnus had said. "My master bid me to tell you a woman should
always keep her shoes on if she intends to outrun a man."

The lad blushed so red he rivaled the
brightest holly in wintertime. He did his own rapid retreat.

Muriele put her head down and peered from the
corner of her eyes to see Magnus still watched her, his face taut,
his eyes accusing as if she had deliberately seduced him then
fled.

"Lean forward and block his view, please,
Esa," she whispered.

Muriele turned sideways on the bench and
struggled with her stocking and shoes until she got them on. It
wasn't until she heard a choking sound of someone snorting porridge
through his nose when she looked up. The men at the table's end had
their heads beneath the table watching her every move.

Quietly so as not to alert them, she picked
up the big spoon used to serve the hot gruel and filled it. Holding
the handle with her right hand, she tipped it back with her left
then when taut enough, let loose. Her aim was accurate. It
splattered over the men's backs. The sharp cracks of their heads on
the hard wood pleased her.

"Ow!" One man near fell off his bench trying
to straighten up. "That be a dafty thing to do!"

"We was but lookin' for a spoon he dropped,"
said the other as he rubbed his head. His eye slithered away from
the two wooden spoons sitting in plain view.

"Be glad I have no blade, else I would slit
yer ears." Her appetite gone, Muriele rose from the table. "Come. I
must find Grunda. She promised to prepare a sack for healing to
take with me. By the looks of yonder hunters, they'll have need of
patching afore the day darkens."

Walking with deliberate dignity and grace,
her head held high, she left the great hall. In these last days,
she had not failed to note some of the fine garments now worn by
the Kinbrace women had once belonged to the women of
Blackbriar.

Gille met her at the foot of the stairs
leading down to the bailey. He held tight to the reins of a
reddish-brown gelding...if one could still call it such. Other than
its height, the poor thing was barely fit for teaching youths to
ride. She walked around the hapless animal, stroking and talking to
it.

"Puir thing. I will be most careful not to
lead ye into danger. For truth, ye could not outrun an ancient hare
much less an angry boar."

As she talked, the beast responded to her
soothing tone by standing tall and snuffling as he butted his head
against her shoulder.

"Dinna thank me. Ye will be most tired
carrying my weight through the woods. But a hunt?" She shook her
head in sympathy.

"Ye think the beast isna worthy enough for ye
to ride?" Magnus' mocking tone caused her mouth to tighten.

Muriele would not let him bait her. She
raised a haughty eyebrow and scanned him from head to toe. He wore
naught but his dark green and blue kilt, wrapped around and bunched
at his waist, the end draped over his left shoulder. A massive
sword belt held it all in place.

Magnus seized her shoulders and held her at
arms length. He deliberately mimicked her study, but instead of
cold indifference, hot passion blazed beneath heavy lids. Her flesh
responded to his intent gaze slowly traveling over her. 'Twas as if
he stripped her of her clothing and his fingers explored every inch
of her flesh. She used all her will to appear indifferent.

He lowered his cheek to rub it softly against
hers; his lips touched her left ear.

His voice near purred. His eyes sparked with
promise.

"If Bolt betwixt yer legs is not to yer
liking, we will return to my bed where ye can ride a lively cock
instead."

Shivers crept down her back on feeling the
softness of the short beard framing his jaw. She fought even harder
to keep her composure, for his hot breath teased her ear.

"Be that what ye'd prefer? Hmm?"

"Huh!" Muriele snorted and wrenched from his
grasp, ignoring his remark. "Am I to hunt with weapons, or do ye
intend I throttle a deer with my bare hands?"

He beckoned and Sweyn came to hand her the
bow and quiver of arrows she'd used to keep Magnus at bay in the
old hut.

"Thank ye, Sweyn." She slipped her arm
through the straps of the quiver. Using her own bow, she had no
need to test it, other than to make sure the string was taut.
Rolling her shoulders, she settled the bow and arrows until they
felt comfortable.