The Chief (24 page)

The sight of her flushed cheeks and half-lidded eyes enraged him, taunting him with what he'd missed.

“What's wrong?” she asked, sensing the change in him.

“Nothing,” he said through clenched teeth. He was a man on a mission. Intent on making her come again. And this time he would watch her.

What was wrong with him? He was out of control, angry and more aroused than he'd ever been in his life. He felt ready to explode, his body straining with the pressure of the passion she'd stoked inside him. But he needed more. Damn it, he needed to look into her eyes.

He positioned himself between her legs, lifting them to wrap around his waist. Gripping her bottom, he thrust hard inside her, groaning with the relief of being back in the grip of that tight, wet heat.

She had to put her hands around his neck to steady herself from the force of his thrusts, and he could feel the erotic stab of her nipples against his chest.

Their faces were only inches apart. In the candlelight he could see everything, every nuanced change of her pupils, every flush, every part of her lips as her breath hitched.

He couldn't look away, mesmerized by the signs of pleasure on her face.

When she looked at him, he couldn't breathe. His chest was too tight, too full, of…something.

This was it. This was what he'd unconsciously sought.

Color rose on her cheeks, and her gaze grew heavy as her lids fought to close.

Blood pounded inside him. He could feel the pressure gather at the base of his spine, coiling, building with each gasp from her sweetly parted lips.

His balls tightened, the pressure hot and powerful with the climax roaring inside him.

But he held it back, reached down between them, and found her sensitive spot with his finger as he held himself deep inside her. As deep as he could go.

His ass clenched.

Her body started to shudder.

“Look at me,” he demanded fiercely. She opened her eyes.

Their eyes locked and the world stopped. For one long heartbeat all he could see was her. Euphoria unlike anything he'd ever known washed over him. He felt suspended, as if he'd come out of himself and been lifted to the highest peak of happiness. Then he flew over the edge, and the world exploded in a burst of sensation and light.

They shattered together, their bodies shuddering in a flush of rolling waves.

He held her close, feeling the frantic race of her heart beating against his, burying his face in the warm silk of her hair, inhaling her soft, feminine scent.

He stayed like that long after it was over, not wanting to break the connection. Not wanting to leave. Not wanting to think.

Only when his breathing had calmed and his legs started to shake did he pull away. The warm places where they'd been joined chilled with the sudden blast of cold night air.

She made a gasp of protest and reached for him. Instinctively. With trust that humbled him. With a fierce swell of protectiveness, he gathered her in his arms, lifted
her onto the bed and snuggled in beside her.
Just for a moment
, he told himself. Giving her the warmth of his body. But instead it was she who warmed him, giving him a sense of contentment he'd never thought possible for a man like him. The responsibilities of his clan and the bleakness of the battlefield seemed very far away.

Smoothing her hair from her face, he caressed her soft cheek with the back of his finger until she fell into a peaceful sleep.

This was different.
She
was different. He'd thought himself not capable of emotion, but she made him
feel
something. She touched a part of him that had been buried for a very long time, and the realization jarred him.

He felt like a man waging a losing war against an invisible enemy and not sure how to defend himself. But he knew one thing. He was getting too close. Closeness wasn't for men like him. Emotion was a weakness he could not afford. Too many people were counting on him.

Get it under control
. This had to stop.

Christina drifted off to a contended sleep, secure in her husband's arms, certain that something significant had just occurred. A breakthrough, at last!

No man could look at a woman while making love like that and not feel something for her.

But it seemed as if she'd only just closed her eyes when she was pulled from her sated slumber by her husband's shifting off the bed. Momentarily disoriented, she rolled over, opening her eyes to candlelight. Not morning.

Tor sat on the edge of the bed with his back to her. A wall of muscle and flesh, but as effective a barrier as stone. He'd already put on his
leine
and appeared to be tying the rawhide strings of his soft leather brogues. He was leaving. Again.

She told herself not to overreact, but disappointment curdled in her chest. “You're leaving,” she said tonelessly.

He turned, giving her a sharp glance over his shoulder. “Go back to sleep, Christina.”

Christina. Not Tina. They were back to polite strangers. A flash of anger bubbled up from the hurt. Apparently, that was how he wanted it except for when they were in bed. But not wanting to appear the demanding bride, she buried the anger and swallowed her pride. “I hoped that you might stay.”

He went completely still for a moment, and then resumed what he was doing without a response. Her heart throbbed in the darkness. Was he that unfeeling, or merely obtuse? Did he not understand that she might wish for more than bedplay?

She wanted to bring a little softness and warmth into his life. It had been so long since he'd had someone to care for him. But he was making it impossible.

When he was done, he stood and turned around to look at her. Nothing in his ice-blue gaze hinted at the closeness they'd just shared. He was all business. Every inch the fearsome, daunting warlord and proud chief.

“I won't be back for a few days.”

The bottom fell out of her stomach. The coldness of his tone bit into her.
Don't
, she told herself, but hot, choking tears sprang to her eyes. Why did he have to act like this? Would it be too hard to give her one little tender look? One nice word to hold on to? Why must he always hold himself apart? The great chief, the great warrior, but what of the man? “Where are you going?”

His jaw clamped down and his mouth tightened. “I do not like being questioned, Christina. As I've told you before, I'm attending to clan business. It's nothing to concern you.”

That was it? That was all the explanation he intended to give her? She knew he didn't like to be pushed, but she was tired of his secretiveness. She sat up, dragging the sheet up to cover her nakedness. His eyes dipped anyway, lingering
for a moment on the round rise of flesh visible above the sheet. But right now the flare of lust only angered her. She wanted more. Her fists balled in the sheets. “You won't even tell me where you are going? Does a wife not have a right to know where her husband goes when he leaves her for days on end without explanation?”

“Nay, she does not,” he said harshly.

Her eyes widened in shock, getting her first personal glimpse of the cold ruthlessness that made him a vaunted chief and feared warrior.

“You are making something out of nothing,” he assuaged, as if he were speaking to a child. “There is nothing to tell.”

The condescension in his tone stung. She was a plaything, not worthy of his confidences. Apparently, deciding he was done with her, he turned to leave, his back hard and unyielding. Hurt, angry, and confused, she couldn't stop herself from blurting shrilly, “Is Lady Janet going?”

He stopped in his tracks and then turned toward her slowly, his eyes pinning her. “Why would you ask that?”

Cheeks burning, feeling like muck under his heel, she fought to hold his stare and not to crumple into a ball. “I know who she is,” she said boldly, lifting her chin and daring him to deny it. “I couldn't help but notice how she is often gone as well.”

His eyes narrowed. Not muck, she thought, a bug under a rock. A silly, foolish, inconsequential bug. “What are you accusing me of, Christina?” His voice was low and even, but she was not fooled. He was furious. This was not a subject a wife should bring up. She was supposed to ignore such arrangements. Pretend they didn't exist. Pretend she didn't care. But she did, and the thought of him being with another woman ripped her in two.

“It's not an accusation,” she said, her voice quivering with the tight ball of emotion in her throat. “Merely an observation.”

“Rest assured,” he said, with a long drag of his gaze
down her body. The heat in his eyes incinerated the thin linen sheet that covered her nakedness. Her traitorous skin flushed with awareness, her nipples hardening to a taut peak. “Seeking another woman's bed has not yet crossed my mind.”
Yet
. Her heart tumbled, skewered by a fiery arrow of pain. “Thus far, I've been well satisfied in that arena.”

“Is that supposed to reassure me?”

His mouth tightened. “Reassuring you is not required.”

Christina sucked in her breath. He'd put her firmly in her place. She should have known better. She could not force the declaration from him that she wanted. A wife had no claim on her husband's fidelity. If he wanted to have a leman, he would, and there was nothing that she could do about it. She could not force him to do anything. His will was implacable. The more she pushed, the colder and harder he resisted. But if she didn't push, how else was she going to break through?

“But—”

“Janet is none of your concern. None of this is any of your concern.” The cold steel in his voice cut her off as decisively as the blade of the sword he wielded with such brute force. “Stay out of it, Christina. I mean it.” His gaze softened just a little. “I have no wish to hurt you, but I will not tolerate interference. Attend to your duties, leave me to mine, and all will be well. Interfere and you will only bring trouble down on both our heads.”

And with that ominous warning ringing in her ears, he turned on his heel and left.

Three days later the tears had dried, but Christina was still smarting from her husband's blunt set-down. The injustice outraged her. How could he speak to her so harshly? Everything she'd done since arriving here had been to try to please him—even using wanton attempts to please him in bed. One minute they were sharing the most sensual experience of her life, doing erotic, wicked things that she could never have imagined. In those moments, she'd never felt closer to anyone. The next he was firmly putting her in her place. Distancing himself. Shutting her out. Making her feel like a shameless harlot for attempting to win him with her body.

Was passion all he was going to ever give her?

It certainly seemed that way.

She'd dreamed of so much more. If he would just open up a little, she knew it could be wonderful. He was so alone; he needed a little warmth in his life. But it was like trying to chip stone with a needle of bone—exhausting, and doomed to failure.

To Hades with him
. The flash of anger surprised her. But if this was how it was going to be—if passion was all he would give her—she was going to take it and find a way to eke out a little happiness for herself.

And that didn't include sharing him with Lady Janet.

Despite his warning, Christina could not let it go. He'd thought her a jealous, silly girl, which was appropriate, because that's exactly how she felt. And her jealousy continued to fester with each day he was gone.

Of course it didn't help that Lady Janet was absent as well. Curse him, what was she supposed to think?

If it weren't for Brother John, she would have gone mad. He seemed to welcome her company as much as she did his, and they'd taken to walking together around the
barmkin
in the morning when the weather allowed; and often, such as today, when Rhuairi was busy elsewhere, she would join him in the solar as he transcribed the seemingly endless correspondence and accounts. No matter how hard she tried, her husband's seneschal had not warmed to her, and something about him made her uncomfortable. He'd made it quite clear that he did not think she belonged in her husband's solar.

If he knew that she could read, he'd be even more horrified. From the surreptitious reading that she'd managed, she realized she'd had no idea about the immense amount of work that went into being chief of a large clan. From the mundane, such as fixing leaking roofs in a villager's cottage and collecting the rents for his vast holdings, to the lawdays spent presiding over disputes between clansmen or passing judgment for far more serious crimes, her husband had a hand in it all. No wonder he was so busy. Though she couldn't help feeling proud, it was too much for any one man to handle and made her even more determined to help. There was more to life than war and duty, if only he could see it.

She'd hoped her husband would confide in her on his own, but since he wouldn't, she was happy to learn about him any way she could.

She was tempted to confess her ability to read and write to Brother John—he could certainly use her help—but
many of the documents were confidential and she worried that he would bar her from joining him if he knew.

Besides, she wanted to tell her husband first. She'd almost done so that night when he'd caught her eating figs and reading her book, but for some reason she hesitated. It wasn't that she thought he would react like her father, but he was a proud man, and she didn't know whether it would matter to him if he had a wife who was more educated than he was. Still, she'd begun to wonder whether her unusual skills might be the way to help him. Maybe it would help him see her in a different way—as more than just a bedmate.

The clerk finished his story and Christina laughed at his absurd description. “I'm sure it couldn't have been as bad as all that,” she said kindly, handing him the new quill she's just finished sharpening.

“I assure you it was worse,” he said, taking it with a grateful nod. “I was so scared I went running out of the dormitory wearing nothing at all. When the tutor finally opened the door the next morning, let us say he was not amused.”

“Did the other boys get in trouble?”

He looked affronted. “Or course not. I swore I'd walked in my sleep and somehow the door had locked behind me. The tutor told me to sleep in my robe from then on, lest I do so again.”

“That was very magnanimous of you. Those boys were terrible to scare you in your sleep so.”

His gaze dropped back down to the piece of vellum he was working on. “Not magnanimous,” he said uncomfortably. “I was a coward. I feared what they would do to me the rest of the time if I told.” His mouth curled. “Not that my silence mattered much.”

Christina's heart went out to him. She, too, understood the shame of being a coward. Of being forced to confront
your own helplessness against a much stronger foe. She and Brother John had much in common.

She placed her hand on his and gave it a comforting squeeze. “Sometimes surviving is the bravest thing of all.” A cold shadow crossed behind her, sending a shiver down her neck. She turned, but there was no one there.

He looked at her hand for a long moment. She was just starting to feel self-conscious about the unthinking gesture when he gave her a wry smile. “Do you know, I didn't want to go into the church?”

“Really?” She removed her hand.

He shook his head. “I had three older brothers.”

She nodded her head in comprehension. There hadn't been much left over for a fourth son. “What did you want to do?”

He gave her an uncertain look. “To be a great knight.” Color stained his cheeks. “Like Lancelot.”

Her eyes widened. “Do you know Chrétien?”

“They are my favorite stories.”

A broad smile spread across her face. “Mine, too.”

They laughed again and spent the next hour regaling each other with the exploits of Arthur's greatest knight, stopping only when she realized it was well past time to break their fast.

Christina returned to her room for a moment to freshen up and approached the Hall alone. Later, she was grateful no one was there to witness her shock. Brother John, she knew, already felt sorry for her being ignored by her husband, and she wouldn't have been able to hide the tumult of emotions.

At the opposite end of the Hall, near the main entrance, she caught sight of Lady Janet surrounded by a large retinue of men. Christina's relief that the other woman had returned alone was short-lived. The group of men shifted, revealing the formidable figure of her husband. Her heart jumped the
way it always did when she saw him. Unconsciously, she took a step forward. Had he just returned?

She came to a jolting stop. If so, he appeared to be leaving, freshly bathed and dressed in a clean
leine
that she'd mended only yesterday.

Her heart sank like a rock, realizing he'd come back the night before and not even told her.

And he meant to leave again without saying good-bye.

Her eyes blurred, not just with hurt, but also with outrage. Past caring, she was going to march over there and demand an explanation when the gorgeous blond Amazon put a hand on his arm.

Tor covered it with his. It wasn't the touch but the look he gave her that ripped through Christina's heart like a jagged knife. Tender. Kind. The meager sign of affection she'd sought for weeks dispensed so effortlessly to another.

God, it hurt! Her chest burned so badly it was difficult to breathe.

She watched him leave, standing there like a witless, stunned fool. Thus she didn't miss the look of longing in Lady Janet's gaze as she watched him go. Longing that matched her own. The twinge of empathy was hardly welcome under the circumstances. If there had been any doubt, there was no longer: The relationship was not over—at least not for one of them.

No longer hungry, Christina stepped back, intending to return to her room. Running away.
Nay
. She stopped, taking a moment to compose herself. She would not tuck her tail between her legs and run. Not this time. Not to let another woman have
her
husband. She knew the passion they felt for each other, and even if that was all he intended to give her, she wouldn't relinquish him without a fight.

What does she have that I don't?

Squaring her shoulders for battle, Christina marched into the Hall and took her seat at the head of the table.
Plastering a charming smile on her face, she played the gracious lady of the castle, never giving any hint that inside, her heart had been ripped to pieces.

She was aware of the other woman the entire meal, but Lady Janet seemed to not even know she existed. When Christina noticed her rising to leave, she made her move. The flash of jealousy in the other woman's eye as she approached did much to restore Christina's flagging confidence. They understood each other.

“Lady Janet.” The other woman gave the obligatory curtsy. “May I have a moment?”

“Of course, my lady.” Her deferential tone didn't hide the fact that she would clearly rather not.

Christina took a deep breath and met her gaze full force. “With the Yule celebration approaching in a few weeks, I was thinking about hanging the boughs this afternoon. I know you've been here for many years and hoped that you might be able to help with the placement. My husband values your
friendship
, and I should like for us to know each other better.”

Christina had decided to slay her foe with kindness. It would be much harder for Lady Janet to continue a relationship with her husband if they were friends, wouldn't it?

It worked. Lady Janet appeared taken aback; the friendly offer had obviously confused her. Her beautiful blue eyes shifted away uncomfortably. “I'm sorry, my lady. I can't. Not today. There is a matter I must attend to.”

Christina clasped her hands together until her knuckles turned white. Her pride was taking a vicious beating, but she forced herself to stay calm. “Does this matter involve my husband?”

If such a question had been put to Christina, her cheeks would have flooded with color. Lady Janet's perfectly pale and serene expression, however, betrayed absolutely nothing. She stared at Christina for a long moment, until an embarrassing flush rose to her own cheeks.

“You're very young,” Lady Janet said, as if just realizing it herself.

Humiliated, Christina felt every year of age difference between them in the other woman's quiet confidence. What did Lady Janet have that she didn't? Experience and maturity with which Christina could never hope to compete.

Christina didn't think she could feel any worse. But she was wrong.

Lady Janet's expression changed. It was clear that she understood the hurt that lay behind Christina's question. “Tor”—she stopped herself—“The
ri tuath
has many responsibilities that demand his attention.”

And Lady Janet knew what they were. Misery rose inside Christina. Tor had confided in his leman but not in his wife.

Lady Janet seemed to weigh her words carefully. “We all help when we can. There is nothing for you to worry about.”

Could this get any more humiliating? Now her husband's erstwhile mistress was feeling sorry for her.

Mustering what pride she could, Christina forced a carefree smile to her face. If it shook, the other woman was kind enough to pretend not to notice. “Perhaps another time.”

Lady Janet nodded and turned away. Christina watched her go, doing her best not to burst into tears.

Tor lifted his sword above his head and brought it crashing down on his opponent's thick skull.

MacSorley—Devil take him!—merely grinned. “Careful, captain,” he tisked, “or I might think you really mean to take my head off with that thing.”

Not his head, but that damned knowing smirk. Tor clenched his jaw and swung again. It was a brutal, all-out attack, one that not many men could repel. The hulking
Norseman might not know when to shut his mouth, but he did know how to handle a sword. All the men were superior swordsmen; at this level only the slightest variations in skill made the difference between victory and defeat.

MacSorley blocked the blow, though he needed both hands to do so. The clash of steel reverberated through the dull, wintry air. Tor pressed down on his sword until only inches separated their faces. “Had enough?”

MacSorley was still grinning through the grimace. He shook his head. “Not just yet.” His voice was tight, every muscle straining from the effort to keep Tor's blade from slicing him in two. He pushed back, then in a deft balance relaxed just enough to roll free of Tor's sword. “This is too much fun.”

Tor cursed, knowing he should have anticipated the move. But he was too mad to think straight. In a battle, not concentrating could get him killed. Worse, MacSorley knew it and was using it to his advantage, taunting him to make him lose focus. Normally, he was immune to such tactics, but he was pulled as tight as MacGregor's bowstring and the men knew it.