Chapter 14

In the afternoon she found the hall empty and managed to escape the house quickly. She hurried to the stables, where the grooms had become accustomed to her, but when she asked for her mare that day, the boy seemed uncomfortable and said that he must summon someone.

She began to seethe, certain that Conar had gone about commanding she be given no freedom about the place—assuring himself that she wouldn’t disappear by morning. He had mocked her so about sleeping with devils just to be able to come home! When he had to have her with him!

“Perhaps you should summon my husband, then, and quickly,” she told the boy. “For I am going riding. I will manage on my own, and I cannot imagine that you’ve been ordered to drag me off my horse …?”

If this was to be her last day here, she was going to go to the stream and say certain good-byes.

Perhaps to her past way of life, she didn’t know. Something had already been lost. Innocence, maybe. And something had been gained. Knowledge, maybe. She needed to see the stream, to have some time there with the gently bubbling water. In one night she had realized that any dreams she had spun there were childish fantasies.

But even before the lad could turn, Mergwin made a sudden appearance. “Get Melisande the mare she rides, and bring me my gentle old nag, lad. She will be in my care.”

For a moment Melisande thought that the poor stable lad would protest again, but he looked into Mergwin’s eyes and quickly nodded his agreement. He disappeared to bring the horses, and Melisande stared at the old man and smiled slowly. “You knew he was coming and knew that he would take me home, didn’t you?”

“I knew,” Mergwin admitted. “I fear my timing was rather poor, but then, had I had greater warning, I doubt if you would have paid me much heed anyway.”

She smiled, biting lightly into her lower lip. “Maybe not.” She hesitated. “I haven’t seen Gregory—”

“He was very anxious to return to Alfred in Wexham. The climate seems to have grown too warm for him by the coast.”

The boy brought their horses. He offered Melisande a hand, which she accepted, though she was quite able to leap up unaided. “Get over here, my young lad!” Mergwin commanded him. “The lady is as agile as a mountain nymph, and I am as old as the mountain.”

Melisande smiled, watching the disgruntled old man catapult his skinny body atop his equally old gelding with the lad’s help.

He turned in his saddle, staring at her. “Well? Shall we ride?”

She nodded and led the way. She leaned low against her mare’s neck when she reached the field, allowing the horse to canter slowly across the long grass. She saw the ridge and the trees and began to slow her gait, and in a moment she heard Mergwin wheezing as he cantered up behind her.

“I said ride, not race!” he warned her sternly.

She turned around and saw the warm light in his old eyes and apologized quickly.

“I forgot—”

“It’s all right. You think that if you run hard enough, ride fast enough, you can escape.”

“You’re wrong. I don’t want to escape. I’m going home.”

He was silent. Melisande reached out, touching his old gnarled hand where it rested on his saddle. “I am going home!” she repeated, a note of pleading in her voice.

He watched her a minute and then sighed. “Aye, lady, you’re going home. It has all begun.”

“What has begun?”

“Great wheels will be in motion.”

“The Danes,” she murmured disdainfully. “They are always coming. There is no great foresight in that!”

“Your difficulties lie with more of the Danes.”

She spun on him. “My difficulties lie with Conar. If you have missed that, Mergwin, you are one blind seer!”

“I’m not a seer,” he denied indignantly.

They had reached one of the little trails that led to the water. Melisande slipped down from her mare and started walking down the trail, pausing at the cool water, bathing her face with it. Mergwin followed.

“There lies the danger!” he warned her softly.

She sat back on a log by the stream, feeling the sun waft down through the trees to touch her face. She looked at Mergwin, aware that his old eyes were on her.

“The danger?” she asked softly.

He came to her side, and she was startled when he knelt there, holding her hand tightly between his own two. “You must take great care not to be divided.”

She shook her head, hearing how earnestly he spoke, and ever aware that he had acquired a very strong affection for her. She freed her hand and touched his cheek. “I shall miss you!” she assured him. “I shall miss you with all of my heart. Unless—do you sail with us?”

He shook his head. “Brenna will come home with you.”

“Aye. Brenna,” she said coldly, and looked to the water.

“Melisande, pay me heed—” Mergwin began.

She turned on him, feeling an absurd tug on her heart because he had mentioned Brenna. “I must not be divided from Conar?” she said. “Mergwin, I didn’t want to leave my father’s land. He wrapped me in sheets and had his berserkers drag me out to his ships—”

“He did not trust you to berserkers, ever, lady. Berserkers are those who fight so fiercely that their mouths foam. They bite their shields, fight in bearskins. In their wild furies, they may at times slay their own. Some say they are possessed of the spirits, children of the gods. He gave you to no berserkers, just good Dubhlainers.”

“Mergwin, it was my land!”

“And you were in danger on it.”

“Ah, but now he wants me back on it!”

“Because it has come time for you to claim it together.”

“Yes,” she murmured. “It has come time for him to realize that I am of age, and he cannot claim it without me.”

Mergwin shook his head sadly. “Melisande! You were so young when you were wed! What would you have had of Conar? He but waited until…”

She arched a brow.

Mergwin shrugged. “Last night.”

She flushed. “Do you know everything?” she demanded irritably, and he shrugged again, a small smile curving his lip. “A blind seer might have known that, Melisande!”

She colored, drawing her knees to her, looking to the water again.

“Lady, you are stubborn!” he warned her. “But for both of your souls, for your future, your happiness, I pray you, remember my words!”

He was so earnest that she touched his cheek again, then hugged him, holding tight a minute, slowly letting him go. She looked past his shoulder and started. Conar stood there, Daria, Bryce, and Bryan lined up behind him. She felt his eyes upon her, and she rose quickly, helping Mergwin off his old knees as she did so.

He didn’t say anything. Daria was moving quickly toward her with her beautiful eyes bright and her lips curled into a wry smile. She stepped past Mergwin, hugging Daria fiercely. And then Bryan, and then Bryce, with whom she’d come to feel closest.

“We shall miss you!” Daria told her. “I shall miss you! All the reckless rides, the books, the poems, the bawdy songs.”

“Daria!” Bryce sighed.

Daria grinned and then shook her head. “Rhiannon will miss you, the children love you so.”

Melisande suddenly blinked, aware that tears were brimming just behind her eyelids. The three of them surrounded her, and she felt their warmth and affection. “I’ll miss you all,” she said huskily. “Very much.”

She looked up and discovered Conar was still staring at her. His eyes met hers for a long moment, and then he turned and walked away.

Daria began to speak excitedly again, “You’re not so far away, you know. Conar says that you will be traveling to various cities near you in the near future, but never fear, we are all great sailors, you know, and we’ll be there to visit you soon enough.”

“I’ll be looking forward to that!” Melisande promised her. She sank onto the log again, suddenly having little strength. Daria sat with her, Bryan hunkered down to his haunches, and Bryce came down upon a knee.

“It’s not far back here, either,” Daria said.

“And Dubhlain is not much farther,” Bryce said.

“Thank you,” Melisande murmured. “Thank you all. I hope that you do come. This is beautiful, and Dubhlain is incredible! But the fortress is fascinating, too. I hope desperately that you will come.”

Bryan assured her, “There are occasions that draw us one and all, Melisande. Never fear. We are away, but never apart.”

They talked a while longer, and as they did, Melisande realized that Mergwin had left them. She had not even seen him go. He had followed Conar, she thought, and she wondered if the old man had given her husband the same cryptic warning.

Darkness fell and they were still at the stream. They started back to the house. Melisande paused when she reached her mare, for Mergwin’s old gelding was still tethered beside it. She noticed that there was another horse there, as well.

Mergwin was still in the forest somewhere.

With someone else.

Daria seemed to sense her concern. She mounted her own horse and said softly, “Brenna will sail with you. He is giving her his last good-byes.”

Melisande arched a brow, confused. Surely the elegant blond woman so at her husband’s beck and call could not be…intimately…linked with the old Druid?

Daria waved a hand in the air, smiling. “They discuss the world and the stars and the heavens—and try to foresee all our futures!” she said. “Come, let’s hurry back. Rhiannon will have ordered everything edible in the vicinity for a feast tonight, her way of saying good-bye.”

It was true. When they returned, Rhiannon and Eric were waiting in the great hall.

Eric’s arms were around his beautiful wife. The snapping blaze picked up the fiery red highlights in her hair as she leaned back against her husband’s broad chest.

Melisande found herself looking away, but Rhiannon had seen her enter the hall, and she quickly disentangled herself from her husband to wrap her arms around her sister-in-law in an affectionate hug. “It’s been so good to have you. You are always welcome here, Melisande.”

“Thank you. I know I’ll be back. And I pray that you’ll come to me—to us—too.”

“Of course! We will. We have a way of getting together, so it seems,” she said, smiling. “The children are upstairs, but they have come to love you dearly, if you wouldn’t mind taking a few minutes now to say good-bye,”

“Of course, I will see them immediately!”

She turned and ran up the stairs. Garth, like a little man, was waiting for her at the door.

“Mother said that you would come. She said you would never leave without saying good-bye to me!”

“And I never would.”

Melisande plucked him up from the floor and sat at the edge of the bed with him on her lap, rocking him, even though he was a very big boy.

“I will begin to dine in the hall very soon,” he told her. “I’m nearly old enough. And soon I will ride out with my father and my uncles.”

“You musn’t be in such a hurry,” she warned him, glancing up at the pretty young servant who tended to the children.

“You’re a woman. You don’t understand.”

“I’m a woman, but I’ve ridden into battle. And you shouldn’t be in too busy a hurry to do so!” she insisted.

“Do you have to go?” he asked her.

“Aye, that I do. It’s my home we’re going to now, just as this is your home. You understand that, don’t you, Garth?”

His gaze touched hers. So like his father’s.

Like his uncle’s, too.

She trembled suddenly, and Garth felt the movement. “Are you shivering, are you afraid?”

She shook her head. “No, no I’m not. I’m anxious!” He shimmied from her lap to stand. “I suppose you want to hold my baby sister.”

“I do want to hold her.” Melisande stood and hurried over to the baby’s finely carved cradle. She picked up the cooing infant and held her tenderly. “She’ve very precious, Garth. You must look after her.”

“I do,” he promised. His hand fit into the crook of her elbow. “If you have babies, I shall look after my little cousins, I promise!”

Babies…

She discovered herself shivering again, then looked up, past the young serving girl, to the doorway.

Conar stood there. Blue eyes hard upon her, as always.

Tremors streaked down her spine.

Garth turned and saw Conar, too. With a little cry he ran to his uncle. He was swept up, thrown into the air. Then Conar hugged him hard and set him down upon his sturdy young feet. He gripped the boy’s hand. “We’ll see you soon enough on the coast, eh, my boy?”

“Aye, Uncle!” Garth agreed. “Whenever I am needed!”

Melisande set the baby back into her cradle and stroked her wonderfully soft cheek. She hurried across the room, suddenly wanting to escape. Conar was here with the boy. She had said her good-byes. She just needed to slip by them.

“Melisande!”

She stopped as Garth called to her. She turned slowly back to him.

He ran quickly to her, throwing his arms around her legs. She was nearly unbalanced, but caught herself just in time, slipping her arms around him. She bent down to him, lifted his chin, and kissed his cheek. “Good-bye, Garth,” she said, then stood quickly and slipped out of the room, leaving him alone with his uncle.

She fled down the stairs.

The soft sounds of a lute filled the hall when she returned to it. Servants carried huge platters of food to the tables, atop which sat whole wild pigs, and pheasant still adorned with colorful feathers, wild berries beautifully decorating the edges.

Rhiannon saw her return and lifted a brow, then offered someone a slow smile. Melisande spun around. Conar was coming right behind her.

She heard a whine and looked down. One of the big wolfhounds bounded into the hall. Dag was his name. He nuzzled his nose beneath her hand, and she stroked him. “I even have to say good-bye to you, eh?” she whispered softly.

The dog whined again and thumped his tail. He, too, seemed to look past her, wagging his tail with greater ardor.

Conar. He had reached her.

“Shall we sit? Rhiannon and Eric are taking their places.”

He set his hands upon her shoulders, guiding her toward the table. She longed to shake off his touch.

She would bide her time.

They were all arrayed there once again, Eric and Rhiannon, Conar and Melisande, Daria, Bryan, Bryce, Mergwin, Brenna, a few of Eric’s men, English and Norse. Again she shared a chalice with Conar. Again when her fingers laced around it, she smiled at him coolly and drained the whole of it.

He allowed her to do so several times. She spoke enthusiastically with Bryce about horses and told him how eager she was to see Warrior, her father’s great bay stallion. “He’s aged, too, I imagine, but Philippe and Gaston see to it that he is ridden and tended, and I believe he will remember me.”

“It’s hard to tell,” Bryce warned her. “You were a young girl when last you saw him. Bear that in mind and take care.”

“You’ll hardly be needing use of such a horse,” Conar said suddenly, and she swung around to stare at him in amazement.

Now he meant to tell her that she could not ride her own father’s horse on her own property?

“Warrior is trained for battle. You’ll not be riding into any more battles.”

“But you have ridden into battle!” Bryce exclaimed. There was admiration in his handsome face. Melisande shrugged. “My father was dead, our people were losing a center of command. I had to go out—”

“How courageous!” Daria cried.

“Wonderfully so,” Conar said dryly, entering into the conversation. “Why, haven’t I ever fully explained? That’s exactly how I acquired my lovely wife, Daria. She was in the arms of the kinsman who had slain her father.”

“But, Conar, sometimes there is no choice,” Rhiannon explained.

There was a sudden silence, and she blushed, feeling a number of eyes upon her.

“My wife is quite remarkable with arrows.” Eric explained lightly. “She managed to send one flying into me once.”

“Could you refrain from giving Melisande any new ideas on the proper behavior of a wife?” Conar demanded.

He spoke lightly. Everyone laughed. But then Bryce said enthusiastically, “Melisande’s weapon is the sword. She is really quite extraordinary with a blade. Have you seen her work with one, Conar?”

“Not as yet, but if you comment that she is talented, brother, I believe you.”

“She practices almost daily,” Bryce continued.

“Does she now?”

Melisande had her fingers curled around their shared chalice, and she kept her gaze upon it. But she felt his look, felt his movement as he came closer to her.

“Are you hoping to ride into battle, my love?”

“I am always hoping for peace,” she said smoothly.

“Then why the determination with the sword?” he asked.

She smiled pleasantly his way. The wine helped her do so. “Perhaps I am hoping to skewer you in your sleep, milord,” she suggested, her voice as pleasant as her smile.

There was easy laughter around the table, but she was keenly aware that her husband’s smile was very cold, and that his eyes held an ice-fire sizzle. She drank more wine.

He clasped the chalice from her, demanding softly, “For fortitude?”

She shook her head, her chin hiked in challenge. “I think not, milord. Not tonight. I have a few demands of my own to make tonight!”

“Do you now?” he said very softly.

“Indeed.”

“And how is that?”

“It has come to my understanding that you are seeking things from me. If you would seek them, milord, then you must be willing to give in return.”

“So far, I am going to be skewered through by your excellent swordsmanship. I must find some wondrous concession to make in turn!”

She tried to take the chalice. His grip on it was firm. “If you plan on bargaining, love, you had best keep your wits about you and slow down.”

“Ah, so now you are interested in bargaining!”

“We shall see!” he told her softly. “Tell me about the demands you think you will make of me.”

“Alas, not here, not now! We’re in the midst of a banquet set before us by your gentle sister-in-law. The one who is so excellent with arrows.”

“Aye, and who has since become such a tender wife!”

“Perhaps he has learned his lesson and become a far kinder husband.”

“Perhaps…” Conar mused, his eyes narrowing upon her. “But then again…perhaps not!”

He suddenly pushed back his chair and stood, reaching for her arm. She stared up at him in astonishment as he pulled her away from the table.

“Conar—” she began, but he was already speaking with his sister-in-law at his other side. “Rhiannon, as always, you express the greatest warmth through the most spectacular meals. We thank you deeply for this wonderful banquet you have spread before us, yet forgive us—as we hope to sail very early, we need to retire early, as well.”

Rhiannon leapt to her feet, Eric at her side. “Of course,” Rhiannon said quickly. “You will want to retire early!”

“Indeed,” Eric agreed, looking at them both somberly, but with a grin pulling upon his lip. Rhiannon leaned against his side, which caused him to grunt. His hands fell upon her shoulders, his fingers curling tightly upon them. “I was thinking of retiring early myself.”

“We’ll be up in the morning with you, of course,” Rhiannon assured Melisande. “We’ll wish you Godspeed.”

“Thank you,” Melisande murmured to her, so surprised by his sudden determination to leave the great hall that she could not think swiftly enough of a reason to stay.

Conar propelled her about the room. He called a quick good night, his fingers firmly set upon her arm, and led her from the hall to the stairway. He had to practically run her to the top of it before she managed to speak.

“What is the matter with you! I had barely eaten! Rhiannon prepared all that in your honor!”

“I’m very sorry, my love!” he said, his tone anything but. “Yet you are the one who brought about our premature departure.”

“You tempted me, goaded me. And I but took the bait.”

“I don’t know what—”

“But you do.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about! I do know that you’re being incredibly rude and as crude and ill-mannered as any—” she broke off.

“Viking?” he finished. They had reached the door to her room. Her room! The one she had slept in before he had followed her here.

She started into it ahead of him, throwing the door closed behind her with all her might.

But it didn’t close.

He caught it, shoved it open, and closed it deliberately behind him, and Melisande jumped as she heard the energy with which the bolt was slid.

“Let’s have it, Melisande. What is it you think you have as bargaining power against me?” he demanded. His tone was cold. His arms were crossed over his chest. He leaned against the closed door, watching her.

She told herself that she had to be determined where this man was concerned, as determined as he was. She stood very still, lacing her fingers before her and speaking very softly. “You would never have come for me, Conar, unless you needed me.”

He frowned at her. “What are you talking about?”

“You were given a bride you never wanted.”

He waved a hand impatiently in the air. “I cannot win! I was a wretched Viking for taking you, and now I am a wretched Viking for leaving you alone.”

She ignored that. “You need me now. You saw Count Odo, and he warned you that you needed the barons to see the strength of your marriage in order to solidify your position among them. So you have come for me—because you need me to repeat my vows in public.”

“Ah…” he murmured. “And you think that this is your bargaining point?”

“I’m not a child any longer, Conar. You cannot force my words now, and neither can Ragwald. It would hardly stand you well if we were to enter the church and I were to denounce you!”

“Is that what you’re planning on doing?”

“It is my bargaining point,” she said flatly.

He entered the room, pacing before the fireplace. The night was damp and cool, and a low blaze burned. He watched the flames for a moment, then his pacing brought him behind her. He lifted the fall of hair from her shoulder, allowing the length of it to sweep over his arm. He studied it. She started to twist. The warmth of his breath touched her shoulder and throat and earlobe. His lips didn’t quite touch her flesh. She felt a spiraling of liquid heat seep slowly into her.

“Indeed. Just what is it that you would bargain?”

She turned, unable to bear him so close to her back, that near touch that sent hot tremors racing within her. She faced him, yet he held the rich length of her hair in his hands, and he remained uncomfortably close.

“Freedom,” she said softly.

He arched a brow. “Restating your marriage vows before a sizable crowd is no way to find freedom—since I’m assuming the freedom is from me.”

She spoke quickly, nervously, despite all her resolve, moistening her lips and starting over again. “Freedom in that I wish to be let alone. I’ll sail back with you tomorrow. My eagerness to return home is certainly evident enough.”

“As it’s evident enough that you have found friends here!” he reminded her.

“I have longed to go home forever,” she said softly, “and everyone knows it.”

“Go on.”

Her mouth was dry again. He remained too close, almost on top of her, one thigh brushing hers as he continued to run his fingers through the long fall of her hair.

She tried to draw the ebony length back. His fingers wound more tightly around it. “Go on,” he urged her, and the tone of his voice was harsh.

She moistened her lips quickly again to speak, then felt the rise of her temper when she least needed it. “Are you daft!” she cried. “I’ll go back with you, I’ll state any vows you wish, but I want to be left alone. Sleep alone. I take my father’s room. You keep out of it!”

He was dead silent for the longest time. Eons. She held her breath through all that time. Her heart began to pound too fiercely, but she did not draw breath, for she felt the searing ice-fire of his eyes pinning and impaling her.

He lifted the length of her hair between them, his fingers entwined within it. His voice was husky, nearly silken, not at all the explosion she had expected.

“I have told you—I will never let you go.”

“I didn’t ask that you do so!” Once again she tried to tear her hair from his grasp, tugging upon it. His fingers closed into a fist. “You’re hurting me!” she charged him.

He shook his head slowly. “Nay, lady, you are hurting yourself. Stand still, and your hair will not pull.”

She ceased for a moment, standing very still, staring into his eyes and realizing this had nothing to do with her hair.

They were discussing her life.

Obey him, and she would not be hurt.

Try to break his rein upon her, and the tendrils would be pulled back, one by one…

“Obviously I cannot best you in this room!” she cried. “I cannot tear out your hair, throw you about! But I can create great havoc for you in Rouen, and I swear that it will be so unless—”

“Ah, threatening me now!”

“You are forever threatening me.”

“But I thought you were bargaining with me.”

She let out an oath of frustration. “Call it what you will, in any language! I can be the most charming of heiresses, the most giving. I can—”

“There’s nothing for you to give me, Melisande. I earned my title to that land, not by marrying you, but by coming when your father summoned me, slaying his murderer, and besting his enemies.”

“Be that as it may!” she cried. “You are here now because Odo warned you that you need me.”

He suddenly released her hair and strode back to the fire, stretching his hands with their long fingers before it. She watched him, praying that she had found some small victory.

He turned back to her, a rueful smile curved into the corners of his lip, his eyes sizzling. “Let me repeat this one more time, to be sure that I have it right.”

“You know exactly what I’ve said—”

“Daft Vikings sometimes need to hear things twice,” he said.

He began to walk toward her again, his hands clasped behind his back, his stride easy, lazy. “You promise to vow eternal love and obedience and all manner of wonderful things in Rouen as long as I leave you be. Quit this chamber now, I assume, sail to the coast, remove my things from the master’s chamber, and let you live there alone in chasteness and purity.”

She didn’t reply. She didn’t like the tone of his voice.

“Is that it, Melisande?”

Again her temper flared, perhaps because he had made her so very uneasy. “Aye, that is it. Are you so daft a Viking that it must be repeated one more time?”

As soon as the words had left her lips, she was heartily sorry.

Once again he stood dead still. Until he reached out, caught her arm, and drew her to him. Hard against the length of his chest. Her head fell back, her eyes met his.

“No,” he grated out harshly.

“I can make your life hell in Rouen!” she cried, straining against his hold.

“You do whatever you damned well please in Rouen, Melisande.”

“Damn you! Damn you!” she cried, trying to kick him. “You just sit there and let me go on and on—”

“You were determined to do so,” he interrupted, swearing as her foot managed to connect with his knee. He swept her off her feet suddenly, and she was startled to find herself clinging to his neck, lest she fall.

“Set me down!” she cried desperately.

He did so, dropping her down upon the expanse of the bed. She was ready to leap away from him, but he turned away himself, striding back to the fire, stretching out his long fingers again, as if he could not get his hands warm. He turned at last with a weary sigh, striding back to her. She started to rise, but he sat by her side, and she remained there, leaning upon her elbows, her gaze upon his.

“You cannot bargain away what is, Melisande,” he said at last. “Rouen is intended as a pretty show, but you are my wife now, lady, and have been, and I will not turn back again.”

“But you want—”

His finger fell upon her lips, hushing her along with the force of his eyes. “I have told you before, Melisande, I want you.”

His finger fell from her lips.

“How dare you take such a chance!” she whispered.

“Recklessness, perhaps,” he suggested.

“Ruthlessness!” she returned.

He smiled, his finger stroking her cheek. Her lashes fell, she looked away, and his touch ceased. Her gaze fell upon the door. More than anything in the world, she wanted to run to it, escape. She had been so certain of her victory!

“Ah, the door! Freedom!” he murmured.

Her gaze met his. Clashed with it.

“And if I were to run?” she demanded.

“Ah, well, if you were to run, I’d have to come after you, of course. Drag you back by the hair, throw you down, and ravish you.” His voice was light. The words were mocking.

Nay, he’d not pull her hair out.

But she would never leave the room.

“And if I were not to run?” she asked him, alarmed that she should be so breathless.

“Ah, well, then…” His fingers were suddenly upon the lacing of the soft linen tunic she wore. She clutched at his hand, but the binding gave. The shift she wore beneath it was as thin as gauze, and her breasts were all but bared. He stared upon them, then met her eyes again. “I would beg you to lie still. I would strive my hardest to seduce you,” he informed her.

“That is far worse!” she protested.

“Nay, lady, nay. Far better!” he assured her.

His lips found hers, his weight pressing her back to the pillows. His tongue found entry, delving deep, stroking, bringing its touch of liquid fire.

His lips broke from hers. His gaze touched upon her mouth, then rose to her own.

“Lie still,” he urged.

“It’s better to run.”

“Better to stay.”

He lowered his head. His mouth closed over her breast, tongue stroking it through the thin veil of her shift. He circled her nipple, laving until the crest hardened into a pebbled peak, then sucked upon it until she began to writhe beneath him, the fires wild and rampant within her, her protest at the alarm that rose so swiftly in her heart.

“No!”

Her fingers tugged upon his hair. His lips rose from her breast at last, but his answer was firm and unyielding.

“Lie still…”

His hand had slipped beneath her tunic and shift, drawing each up against the length of her limbs. Fingers stroked her upper thigh gently above her hose. Circular motions brought them higher and higher. The fabric bunched to her waist. His eyes were upon hers.

The palm of his hand caressed the ebony curls between her thighs.

She closed her eyes, swallowing hard. “No…”

Again, “Lie still” was his only response.

She started to speak, the inhaled sharply, for his touch was suddenly searingly intimate, parting tender, intimate places, delving within them, discovering the most sensitive and erotic feminine spots of her sex, playing upon them.

She stiffened wildly, straining against him, a gasp escaping her.

He silenced that gasp with his kiss, stroking her with his touch and with his tongue. Harder, deeper, more and more demandingly. He knew how to stroke, how to tease, caress, arouse.

She trembled massively and was so filled with the burning sensation of need he had aroused within her that she was startled when he rose. She realized two things then.

That each time he touched her now, she was more attuned to his touch, her body more eager for it, her flesh more traitorously willing to be kissed, caressed, and aroused.

And that her husband could strip more quickly than she thought humanly possible.

Strip and return to her, impatiently pulling upon the clothing that was all knotted around her now.

“You want to help!” he whispered.

She shook her head, violet eyes dazed as they touched him.

“I am not expected to help in a ravishment,” she informed him.

“In a seduction,” he corrected.

“You commanded me to lie still.”

“So I did,” he agreed. He no longer attempted to maneuver her clothing from her body, but tore upon it with his powerful hands. The fabric ripped and shredded to his will, and the vital, muscled heat of his naked body lay flush with hers, the hard pulsing thrust of his sex against her as intimate and arousing as all else had been. His weight thrust her thighs apart. Within seconds he was sinking deeply into her, and her fingers were curling into his shoulders.

And her lips were parting to accept his kiss.

Once again she was filled with that searing liquid heat as the steel of him thrust into her body. He stroked her tongue and lips as he began to move. He rose from her, his breath having grown ragged. A groan escaped his lips even as they closed around her breast, suckling hard, moving still, harder, faster, with an ever more erotic rhythm, more and more demanding, more and more a tempest. The wind swept her, lightning filled her.

Hours later she lay exhausted, frustrated, and dismayed that she could have given in to him so completely.

How could she be so weak?

And yet as she lay there, she became aware of the way he lay beside her, body curled to her back in a protective shell, leg draped over hers, an arm about her. His great golden head was above hers, chin resting upon it. His hand moved suddenly, fingers moving tenderly, curling around hers, and he shifted behind her. His scent was rich, his breathing deep, the masculine feel of him still warm and pleasant. Perhaps in all of her life she had never felt quite so well…used. Yet neither had she ever felt so strangely protected or secure or…comfortable.

Perhaps surrender had not been so awful a thing after all.

Not in the darkness, perhaps.

But daylight would come again. Daylight, with Brenna and his other mistresses and his autocratic tone of command.

He didn’t sleep, either, she realized, for his lips were suddenly upon her back. Fingers brushed away her hair, damp seduction stroked along the length of her spine from her nape to her buttocks. His hand traveled at that same slow, sensual, mesmerizing speed, sliding under her arm, cupping the curve of her breast, caressing the rise of her hip. She caught her breath as she was turned in his arms, as her flesh knew his caress again, her lips the ardent, hungry fever of his kiss, so intimate, liquid fire against her, determined, no matter what protest left her lips.

No matter what soft moan, what sensual cry, no matter how she writhed, arched.

Exploded, like the burst of a log within a fire, beneath his expert manipulations.

Again he rose over her, demand written in the hard lines of his features, in the blue blaze of his eyes.

Daylight could wait.

Yet daylight came quickly, and with it, the change Melisande had expected.

She had just begun to sleep deeply, comfortably, in her warm cocoon when she was startled by the stinging strike that fell upon her posterior flesh and the sharp command that issued firmly from his lips, right against her ear.

“Up, milady, now! We sail within the hour!”

What was the matter with him? She was exhausted. And all because of his doing. He might, at the least, let her have some sleep when he had had everything his way.

She groaned, rolling away from him. “Leave me be!”

But he dragged her back, and she cried out in a wild and earnest protest.

“If you strike me again, I swear I shall see the day that you are drawn and quartered!”

“Swear it, milady, but get up! It is time that we are about! We are sailing for the coast of France, and I will not lose the tide!”

He was gone quickly, already up and moving. She heard the sound of wash water sluicing over him.

She bounded up, suddenly very awake herself. His words didn’t matter, nothing mattered.

She was going home.

At long last, home.

She was so eager, even if it did mean she had sold herself to a devil to return to France.