Lord of Raven's Peak

by Catherine Coulter

  She moved against him and then he felt her breasts.

  She wasn’t a child and he felt like a fool. No, she wasn’t a child and he felt a surge of lust for her. It was unexpected and he didn’t like it. She was Taby’s sister. It was just that it had been a long time since he’d had a woman, too long. But, of course, he remembered the softness of her, the feel of her when she’d hugged herself to him in Kaupang.

  He didn’t intend it, but he kissed her temple, felt her soft hair tickle his cheek, his nose.

  “It’s all right,” he said again, but now his voice was deep and hoarse with his burgeoning need. “I won’t hurt you.”

  Her breath caught in her throat and she hiccuped. His hands came around to close around her chin and he lifted her face. Tears were wet on her cheeks and she was gulping for breath. Her eyes and nose were red, her hair was loose from its braids and straggling over her forehead. She looked as appetizing as a gutted herring, and he thought she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

  And he wanted her.

  In that moment, he forgot Taby, forgot that this was Taby’s sister. He leaned forward and kissed her. The second time. He tasted the salty tears, and something else, something sweet and dark and mysterious, something that had no part of either of them separately, but something that was both magical and an odd enchantment when he touched her mouth, when the two of them came together. It was something he’d never experienced before; it was something he wanted for himself, and he wanted it badly. He was a man with a man’s needs and she was here alone with him. She belonged to him.

  She wasn’t moving. Yet he wanted her even more now. He kissed her again, harder this time, willing her to part her lips, but he realized suddenly that she very probably had no idea what to do. And that stopped him cold. She was innocent in deed, if not in what she had witnessed during the last two years.

  She didn’t know how to kiss him. He started to say something, to pull away from her, but suddenly, she leaned forward, her hand came up to touch his cheek, and she kissed him. Her lips were soft and firmly together and she just pressed them to his mouth, but it was a kiss and it was she who was freely offering it. A virgin’s kiss.

  He opened his mouth slightly and let the tip of his tongue lightly touch her mouth. She jumped. Then, to his surprise and pleasure, she leaned into him, and this time her lips were sightly open as well.

  He felt the surge of lust throughout his body, not just his groin. He was swelled and ready, but that wasn’t all there was to it. He felt that mystery again, felt that something deep and still hidden from him, felt it moving within him, pushing him toward her, and knowing even as he felt those odd feelings that coming together with her would change his life. He fought it even as it swamped him, lured him toward her. Surely she was just a woman, and he’d known many women, but at the same time, she was just herself and like none other. He drew away from that. It struck fear in him, for he believed a man must remain unto himself and not give himself over to anyone else, particularly a woman, particularly this woman who was scarce a woman really, just a girl who was so thin that surely she wouldn’t have the strength to take him as a man, and she was Taby’s sister. He had not saved her to ravish her. He had not saved her to hurt her.

  No, he saved her because she was Taby’s sister, nothing more, nothing less. Suddenly, he saw her as he’d seen her so long ago now, aye, ages ago, it seemed, yet not really, but he saw her very clearly in his mind’s eye—the ragged boy, defeated yet as proud and defiant as he was himself, standing there, helpless, in the slave pit of Khagan-Rus. No, he’d looked at her and looked again and he knew now that what he had felt was different, for she had touched him with the essence of herself. He would never be free of her just as he would never be free of Taby.

  He supposed that right now, at just this moment, he didn’t want to be free of her, didn’t want to rail against it and try to protect himself, for his lust for her was grinding him down. When her tongue lightly touched his, he gave it up.

  There was no rape here. If he hurt her because of her thinness, so be it. He would try not to, but . . .

  He pulled her down and came over her. The feel of her beneath him made him want to shout and groan and come into her, all in the same instant. His hand was wild on the skirt of her gown, and he was jerking it up, his movements frantic. His fingers scraped against her bare leg and she jerked and cried out.

  At first he didn’t realize what had happened. Then he knew. He’d hit her burned leg and hurt her. He drew a deep breath, feeling his whole body shudder with the force of the control he was trying to find within himself.

  Her breasts were heaving against him, but now it wasn’t desire or even a girl’s excitement in the unknown, it was the pain he’d just brought her. He gathered her up against him and whispered against her ear, “I’m sorry. Damnation, I hurt you. I have the cream. Hold still and soon the pain will lessen.”

  Laren lay there, breathing hard from the curious mixture of intense pain and feelings that she herself couldn’t begin to describe. She just knew that she’d never felt such things before, in such places, and it was wonderful and she wanted them again. She didn’t want them ever to stop. She didn’t want him to stop, but he had because he’d hurt her. She looked at him now and he was flushed, his hands none too steady.

  She felt his fingers, chill with the cream, lightly touch her leg and she gasped, the pain making all the other feelings recede. She tried not to cry out, but she couldn’t help it.

  He said nothing, just looked up at her and saw that she was crying and her eyes were closed, the tears just seeping from beneath her lashes and trailing down her cheeks.

  He saw the print of his fingers on her still-red flesh. He gently rubbed in the cream. Actually, her leg looked much better. If there would be scarring, it would be slight. He began a gentle rhythmic motion and stuck to it. His desire was nearly gone, and for that he was grateful. He would find a woman this night and drain his desire so this wouldn’t happen again. Then he realized he could not leave her, could not leave this sleeping chamber. He was in here with his concubine and none must doubt it, least of all his brother.

  “How is your back?”

  She got control of herself. No more damnable tears, no more weak moans and groans. The cream was leaching out the pain. She could manage it now. “My back is fine, Merrik. My leg is better too.”

  He should look at her back, but the thought of her naked made his belly seize with cramps. But he’d seen her naked before and it hadn’t particularly moved him. But that had been before he’d kissed her and held her hard against him and touched his tongue to her lips, to her tongue, breathed in the scent of her, felt the wondrous feelings that had passed between them, locking them together in that brief instant of time. It was beyond what he could understand or accept. He hadn’t come inside her; he hadn’t spilled his seed in her and come to his release. No, it was just the simple kissing, the holding of her close to him, and those simple acts had brought him to the edge. He had never lost himself before, certainly not with the simple matter of sex, certainly not in the simple things that came before sex. It wouldn’t happen to him now. It would never happen to him. He wouldn’t allow it. He would look at her back, rub in more of the cream if necessary, and it would be as it had been before.

  But he wouldn’t kiss her again. He wasn’t that great of a fool.

  He said, his voice so stiff and cold it surprised him more than it did her, “I will help you off with your clothes. I will look at your back. You know nothing, for you can’t see yourself. Now, stop arguing with me.”

  Actually, she hadn’t said a word. He helped her sit on the side of the box bed. He untied the knots of the tunic at her shoulders and pulled it over her head. He unlaced the front of her gown and eased it down to her waist. She wore only a plain linen shift beneath, the one he’d bought for her at the market in Kaupang. He didn’t want to notice but he did. It was tight on her, her breasts crushed against the material. He knew
he had to get her onto her stomach quickly.

  Once she was facedown, he pulled her gown and her shift down to her waist. He brought the oil lamp closer. The marks from Thrasco’s whip were still clear, long narrow marks that crisscrossed her back. The ugly redness had given over to pale pink now, there was no puffiness, no red angry or dark lines radiating out from the marks, or any other sign of illness. Still, the cream couldn’t hurt. He scooped up two fingers full of cream and began to massage her back. She was stiff as a board, but he said nothing, just continued to rub her, his touch lightly stroking. Soon, he felt her ease. Soon after that she moaned with the pleasure of it and he had to smile.

  He should rub in the cream every night. Her body was tense too and he rubbed her shoulders. She moaned again.

  He pushed the gown lower on her hips. He didn’t know why he’d done it, for he knew that Thrasco’s whip hadn’t struck that low on her body.

  He just wanted to see her, see how much flesh she’d added during the weeks she’d been with him. He could still see her ribs, but there was a woman’s softness there now as well and her white hips were full enough, and he thought he’d spill his seed.

  From laughter to such lust he thought he’d yell with it. Quickly he pulled her gown back to her waist and rose. He put the cream on the floor beside the bed.

  He would sleep in the same bed with her, next to her, he had to, else he had no doubt that his brother would be there in an instant. He would not allow Erik to rape Taby’s sister. It was that simple. Nor would he allow himself to seduce Taby’s sister.

  He said very quietly, “I am going to pull your gown off you and your shift. I will lay one of my clean tunics over your back. All right, Laren?”

  She said nothing, merely nodded. Her hair had fallen over her cheek so at least she knew he couldn’t see her face, nor she his. She’d felt exposed and she’d felt excited. She didn’t understand why she hadn’t yelled or hurled curses at him when he’d pulled her gown to her hips, but she hadn’t said a word, hadn’t made a single sound. And now she felt like a fool, a blind, quite stupid fool. Her back and leg were beyond ugly, and she’d forgotten that. She was still too thin. Aye, about as appetizing as a goose carcass. He’d wanted her only as long as he’d forgotten what she really looked like.

  She felt tears sting her eyes again, but these weren’t tears that had built and built inside her for two years. These were tears that showed how miserable she felt right at this moment, with this man who didn’t want her, in this hopeless situation.

  She let him strip off her clothes. She felt the soft tunic spread across her back. Then, very quickly, she felt him smooth a wool blanket over her.

  When he eased down beside her, he said, “I won’t do that to you again.”

  And she knew what he meant. She said, her voice devoid of all feeling, “It is because I am so very thin and ugly.”

  “No,” he said. “It is because of Taby.”

  And again, she knew what he meant.

  He knew he hadn’t spoken the truth. No, it was not just because of Taby. He had no intention of shaming her and that is what would happen if he took her. Ah, but let Erik believe she was his concubine, let him listen, hoping to hear moans from her to prove that she was. Erik had to believe it. He didn’t want to have to face the situation that would result from any doubt.

  The following day passed quickly. At every opportunity, Merrik was giving her food, standing over her until she’d eaten every morsel he’d dished out.

  Taby was playing with the other children now. Kenna, the eight-year-old son of Erik’s concubine, Caylis, was a particular hero. He followed Kenna everywhere. Kenna, a handsome lad who didn’t seem to have his father’s meanness or arrogance, treated Taby with good-natured tolerance. The other children followed his lead.

  Cleve was the one in an odd position. He was a slave, yet he didn’t sleep in the slave hut, nor did he perform menial tasks. Merrik kept him with him and his men when they hunted that afternoon.

  Laren counted her silver coins. She now had eighteen. Soon now, she would ask Merrik. She’d forgotten to speak to him the previous night. Too much had happened, far too much, and she knew she and Taby and Cleve had to leave soon. In weak moments, like right now, she didn’t want to leave Merrik any more than Taby did, but she had to get them away from here. Neither of them belonged here.

  She cooked that evening, making a stew from boar meat that brought satisfied nods from Merrik’s men and grunts of surprise from the Malverne people. After the meal, Erik looked at Laren, and there was lust and meanness in his eyes. He said, “We won’t have the girl continue her foolish tale tonight. I have other matters I wish to see to.”

  So Laren would gain no more silver pieces that night. She assumed that Erik believed he was punishing her. She didn’t care. Sarla touched her sleeve. “The stew was the best I have ever eaten. You must teach me, Laren, you must.”

  Sarla had spoken sharply, urgently, and Laren turned to her, frowning. “It is simple, truly. Your cooking is just as good, mine is simply different.”

  “Nay, you must show me.”

  Laren looked at her closely, very closely, and for the first time she saw the faint bruise that was beneath Sarla’s right eye. Fury curdled her belly. “By all the gods, he struck you!”

  “Hush! Be quiet, Laren, please just be quiet. It’s nothing of anything, truly. It doesn’t hurt, and you can’t see it unless you look very closely. Be quiet.”

  “Why did he strike you?”

  Sarla said nothing. She merely shrugged.

  “Why?”

  “Erik doesn’t need reasons for his actions. I displeased him and he hit me.”

  “Has he hit you before?”

  Sarla looked at her then, and there was pity in her fine gray eyes. “I seem to displease him more and more as the days and weeks go by.”

  Laren knew that men hit women—their wives, their concubines, their slaves, it didn’t seem to matter. But Sarla was so quiet and kind. How could she possibly displease anyone? And then she knew why Erik had struck his gentle wife. It was because he’d been thwarted; he’d wanted her, Laren, and Merrik had forestalled him.

  “Your look is violent, Laren. I beg you, please say nothing. Please just forget this. Besides, I saw him speaking earlier to Caylis and then to Megot—she is the beautiful girl over there near the loom speaking to Ileria, the one with the pale brown hair. It is likely he will leave me alone now.”

  Laren held her peace, but it was difficult.

  “You are angry.”

  Laren was making bread the following morning, for the men had eaten every single loaf she’d made the previous day. She plunged her hands in the trough full of dough, up to her elbows. She looked up at Cleve and forced a smile. “Nay, not really angry. It’s just that Sarla is very kind and gentle. Her husband isn’t.”

  “He is a man who enjoys being the master. He dislikes any to disagree with him. I have heard that since his father died, he has become more reckless in his actions. It makes him feel important and powerful to know he can hurt or kill any man or woman at any time, at his whim.”

  “At least Sarla was spared his attention last night.”

  “Aye, she was. She slept in the outer chamber. Near me.”

  Laren sighed and dug deeper into the dough, kneading it furiously. The flour hadn’t been ground as well as it could have been and she felt the grit between her fingers. She would have to see about that. She remembered her owner in Staraya Ladoga, that foul-tempered old woman who had, at least, taught her how to cook and grind flour properly and make beer and ale. She’d learned quickly, just as she’d told Merrik, for the woman had struck her hard for each failure. Actually, she’d also occasionally hit her if she prepared a dish perfectly, saying she didn’t want her to become conceited. Laren said now, “You and I have seen so much, Cleve, lived through so much. I don’t know why a bruise on Sarla’s face would make me so angry, but it does. It makes me nearly as angry as that horrible scar on
your face. If I could I would kill both men who caused each of you the pain.” She paused a moment, then said, “I am afraid of Erik.”

  “I know. It is a pity that your body isn’t as strong as your spirit. Would you truly kill the man who scarred me, Laren?”

  “Aye, I would enjoy causing him great pain.”

  “It was a woman.”

  She could only stare at him, then she shook her head. “I don’t know why I am so surprised. I have seen equal cruelty from both men and women. Why did she do it?”

  “I wouldn’t bed her.”

  She just shook her head at him. “Did it matter so much to you?”

  “Aye,” he said shortly, “it mattered greatly to me.”

  She saw that he would say no more and held her peace. Of all people, she knew what it was like to keep the darkness of the past close and quiet. “Do you hunt with Merrik today?”

  He shook his head. “Nay, I am here only to eat some of your porridge, then I will work in the fields. Harvest is not long in coming now and there is need for every hand. Even Merrik will be in the barley fields soon.”

  “And Erik?”

  Cleve shrugged as he spooned porridge into a wooden bowl from the iron pot hanging from its chain over the fire pit.

  “I last saw him taking a woman into the bathing hut with him. I doubt washing himself is all that is on his mind. I believe her name is Megot. She is short and too fat for my tastes, but her hair is as rich a gold as the barley in the field.”

  “She’s very beautiful. I have eighteen silver pieces.”

  He poured a bit of honey over the porridge. “That is a lot, Laren. I would give you silver if I but had any.”