Royal Bridesmaids

by Stephanie Laurens

  She tilted her head and looked at him. No. It can’t be. Surely he wasn’t a virgin, too.

  “I’m trying to be as considerate as possible, that’s all,” he insisted. “Because let’s put our cards on the table—I know you didn’t want this for your life. You don’t even know me.”

  “I’d like to,” she answered softly after a heartbeat, and to her own surprise, she meant it. She offered him a tentative smile, more intrigued by him than ever. “Maybe you’re not an unfeeling barbarian, after all, my lord.”

  He relaxed at the gentle barb. “And maybe you’re not a lazy, temperamental hedonist,” he whispered with a rueful smile.

  “Sometimes,” she admitted.

  Amusement mingled with a gathering smolder in his eyes as he leaned down to kiss her. His hands grasped her hips.

  She reached up to embrace him, threading her fingers at his nape, but as his kiss deepened, she realized she had been mistaken. He was no innocent. He was just being extra careful with her because she was his bride.

  It was supposed to be Giulietta, her conscience tweaked her. A part of her felt like she had stolen her friend’s man. But it was Giulietta’s choice to run away. Besides, if the princess were here right now in her place, she’d probably be crying. To hell with Giulietta, she thought, pulling the great barbarian closer.

  Tor began undressing her, and she could not hold herself back from touching him, in turn. She ran her fingers down his cheek, caressed his thick, silky hair, then kneaded his magnificent shoulders while he unlaced the ribbons on her gown. She unfastened his coat and felt his hands tremble as he peeled away her bodice.

  Soon they were both naked in the candlelight. Minerva traced the intricate ink designs that adorned the right side of his chest and curled up over his shoulder to spiral around his massive biceps. She had heard that the north men tattooed their bodies with runes and braided Celtic knots, but she had never seen one before. It fascinated her.

  “What does it mean?” she murmured.

  “It’s complicated . . . and I don’t feel like talking.” He lowered his head to kiss her nipples one by one. She quivered with pleasure, sucking in her breath.

  He lifted his head again and looked into her eyes, very much a barbarian, but perhaps a barbarian was exactly what she needed at the moment. She took his mouth violently in an all-consuming kiss. It was useless. Her Saardovan nature took over. She could not get enough of him. His smooth skin blazed to the touch as she caressed him everywhere, his sculpted abdomen, his broad back, his neck. She even dared to graze her fingertips along the tremendous part of him he had warned her about.

  Tor gave her a very wicked smile. In turn, he feasted on her neck and earlobe while his fingers stroked between her legs. Minerva was soon panting, bucking with surrender as he pleasured her. His hands were all over her, but his blue eyes were wild and savage as he pressed her onto her back with an unyielding touch and covered her with his body. Minerva’s heart thundered like the echo of the fireworks as she spread her legs and gave herself to him.

  And when he took her, thrusting in deeply, she cried out just a little, half in pleasure as with pain.

  They both paused. There was no turning back now. He kissed her cheek with unexpected sweetness. A moment later, he was back in motion, taking what was his, claiming the spoils of his victory in battle. His blond hair hung around her face as he rocked her; her long, black tresses were strewn across his pillow. Her tanned, olive skin was darker than his as she splayed her hand against his muscled chest and raked him with her nails. He winced with bliss at her rough affections. Then he gripped her buttocks in his hands and simply ravished her, until both of them were motionless, panting.

  They lay in spent silence afterwards, their chests heaving. They looked at each other in amazement. Tor looked slightly incredulous—and thoroughly sated. At least for now. “You know,” he panted at length, “this might work out even better than I’d hoped.”

  She laughed in spite of her distant dread of what might happen if and when her charade was uncovered. But at least her plan was working. She closed her eyes and hugged him. Might as well enjoy it while it lasts.

  The next day, Captain Diego managed to slip a note to Minerva with the latest information. “We have a lead. A witness saw a girl of her description trying to blend in among the Gypsies.”

  The Gypsies! Minerva thought. So that’s how she slipped out of town.

  “Apparently they came into the town to make some money playing music and such in the public celebration after the wedding. They left last night. It shouldn’t be long now. They can’t have gone far. What do you want me to do with her when we find her?”

  She wrote back instructing him to take her back to Saardova, maintaining secrecy. “Bring her to my father. He’ll know what to do.”

  She entrusted one of the other ladies with her note and sent it back to him, then went on playing her part.

  Guilt gnawed endlessly at her, but unsure where all of this was leading, she had no choice. What was done was done, and she was certainly not about to let the truth come out when the castle remained full of her husband’s highborn wedding guests.

  It was bad enough that she had deceived him. If he also had to worry about saving face in front of his friends and kinsmen, the consequences for her would only be worse.

  While Diego went off trying to find the band of Gypsies, Minerva proceeded with her charade in the castle.

  She was dimly aware that her feelings for Tor were growing apace with every hour that passed, especially when they made love each night and sometimes even during the day. Every time their bodies joined, it brought their hearts closer. She feared she was falling hopelessly in love with him, this man she had been so determined to hate. But she felt helpless to stop it. There was so much more to him than she had ever expected. He was nothing like the cold, mindless killing machine she had believed him to be before she had actually met him. How could she have known? He was kind; he was loyal; he was incredibly patient, especially with his father, who was none of these things. What would he say if he knew how she was deceiving him? It went beyond a problem of politics now.

  Her love would surely hate her if he knew the truth, that she had made a fool of him. He would banish her from his life—and that would break her heart.

  She tried not to think about it, staying focused on advancing her course, now that she had committed to it. Maybe she could simply become the Giulietta everybody thought she was. He introduced her by that name to his friends, of course. They were all sitting around in the afternoon doing nothing in particular. She gathered from their jests that this was not normal Rydalburg behavior.

  “You Saardovans are having an influence on us,” his officer friends from his regiment teased her.

  “What, teaching you how to relax?” she drawled.

  “Don’t look at me! I’m a shy virgin!” Rolf mimicked a high-pitched feminine voice, drawing his handkerchief across his face like a veil.

  Tor punched him; he went flying off his chair in a gale of laughter. His companions began regaling her with stories about her new husband, like the time Tor had rescued a peasant who had fallen through the ice on a frozen river crossing.

  At length, another rogue named Ivar tricked her into tasting a swallow of some strong traditional Rydalburg whiskey.

  She coughed at the fiery stuff, and in return, dared the hearty northern braggart to try eating a Saardovan hot pepper.

  He actually did it, though his face turned crimson and tears ran from his eyes. Ivar stomped his feet in protest at the pain he had subjected himself to while the others laughed heartily and mocked him.

  “Right. Give me one of those,” Tor commanded the servant who had brought out the peppers.

  “You’re going to regret it,” she warned, but he looked at her with a playful challenge sparkling in his eyes, then he popped the whole thing into his mouth.

  Minerva shook her head as the rest of his men (save Ivar) followed their prince, su
bjecting themselves to the same punishment. She ate one of the pepper slices casually, then another, tossing it into the air and catching it in her mouth, while the great warriors writhed in pain and begged for water.

  The next day, Tor escorted her out to the royal stables, where the revered Lippizan horses lived in splendor.

  They watched the babies skipping around the meadow with their dams. Leaning on the fence, she was intrigued to see that the foals were actually born black and then turned white as they matured. Tor explained the steps they went through in their training to be able to do such tricks on command by the time they were full grown.

  But on that sun-warmed spring afternoon, he gave her a certain look, and the next thing she knew, the newlyweds were in the hayloft.

  Another day passed. She had the opportunity to take a stroll with her new sister-in-law, Princess Katarina. Minerva soon realized that Kat, as her brother called her, was as cautious and circumspect a princess as Giulietta was emotional and dramatic.

  “You’ve certainly brightened things up around here,” she said shyly as the two walked arm in arm in the garden..

  “Have I?”

  “You have! Now everyone is cheerful. Even Mama.”

  “Really?” She had been taking care to give Queen Ingmar a wide berth, for she had the uneasy feeling that Tor’s mother completely saw through her.

  Kat nodded. “It was always so gloomy around here before you came and married my brother. Maybe because of the war. I’m just glad it’s over.”

  “I am, too.”

  “Are you very homesick?” Kat asked sweetly.

  “A little,” she admitted.

  “Well, if there’s anything I can do to make you feel more at home here, just say the word.”

  “How dear you are!” Minerva exclaimed, giving her a half-hug, an arm around her shoulders. Such affection seemed surprising to the princess, but she smiled, blushing a little. Minerva quite adored the demure creature.

  “My brother seems quite smitten with you,” Kat remarked as they strolled on.

  “I have to admit the feeling is mutual.”

  “I’m so happy to hear that! He is a wonderful big brother. But I hear you have a brother, too. It must have hurt your feelings that he wouldn’t come to your wedding.”

  It took Minerva an extra split second to realize Kat was talking about Orsino. “Oh, yes, well, defeat was hard enough for him to bear. Watching me marry Tor would have been more than he could swallow. It’s better he stayed home, believe me. He’s a bit of a hothead. He probably would have started causing trouble. He always does.”

  Kat looked askance at her. “Is he really as handsome as everybody says?”

  “He certainly thinks so!” Minerva replied, and both girls laughed. “Come, tell me something about your brother that I don’t know.”

  “Hmm . . . Did you know he has a green thumb?”

  “Really?”

  “Come this way, I’ll show you.”

  Kat hurried her back to the castle and led the way to a conservatory that opened up off one of the wings of the palace that she had not yet visited.

  “Why, it’s just like being back in Saardova!” she breathed as she stepped through the white metal-framed door into the warm, humid air beneath the fanciful glass dome.

  “Tor calls this winter garden,” Kat explained. “He gives Mother and me roses in the dead of January.”

  Minerva was amazed. There were little orange and lemon trees in pots. Surely he had imported them from her homeland. There were mounds of pink flowers hanging from pots, an indoor grape arbor, and a fountain where oversized goldfish swam lazily. Containers sprouted neatly labeled medicinal herbs. She knew them well, considering she had once planned to study to become a doctor.

  Shaking her head, she was so stunned by this discovery that she barely heard Kat prattling away. “Of course, Father makes fun of my brother constantly about his garden, but Tor says when he’s king he’ll never let our people starve. Or our horses. Come and see his experimental food crops.” Kat beckoned her over to a long, rectangular section by the wall where an assortment of vegetables grew. Behind them stood a row of different grasses and grains.

  If there was any doubt left, Minerva took one look at this project and knew she had fallen in love with the man.

  “He’s tried grafting different species of food plants so the corn will be more hardy and the turnips and such can better resist disease. You see, unlike Saardova, much of Rydalburg has rocky and difficult soil. Our climate can be very unforgiving. Tor says a couple of harsh winters in a row is all it would take to push our people to the brink of starvation. Then our warriors would be too weak to fight so we could gain better territory.”

  Minerva turned to her in shock. “Is that the real reason our two countries have so often gone to war? My people dread the thought of running out of fresh water, like you have in all these mountain streams, while yours live in fear of insufficient food?”

  Kat considered this. “I think you may be right. Look at this.” Then his obviously devoted sister turned away, gazing at his handiwork. “It’s a wonder, isn’t it?”

  And so is he, she thought, nodding.

  “I owe you an apology, Giulietta,” Tor said, quite out of the blue, as they sat on the balcony that evening sharing a bottle of wine. The stars were popping out one by one as the light faded from the sky. Night birds began to warble.

  Minerva looked at her husband curiously. “How’s that?”

  “I fear I’ve done you a disservice by even listening to the whispers from your kingdom,” he admitted with a rueful half smile. “You are nothing like my spies said you’d be.”

  “Really?” she asked in a guarded tone. I can imagine. “What did they say?”

  He studied the mountain view for a moment, debating on whether or not to tell her. Then he shrugged. “I hate to pass along idle gossip, but in this case, I’ll make an exception. Because somehow, a lot of people back in Saardova seem to have the wrong impression about you.”

  “Do tell.”

  “I’m afraid they call you selfish and spoiled. Temperamental. Prone to tantrums.”

  “Me?” she forced out, laughing.

  He nodded. “I admit, I was a little worried. I heard the only person who can keep you in check is Messina’s daughter, your lady-in-waiting.”

  “Oh, that’s an exaggeration.” She scoffed, but was having trouble looking him in the eyes.

  “Of course,” he conceded. “Idle talk, as I said. Still, I’d like to meet this friend of yours sometime.”

  Minerva went even more on guard. “Why?”

  “I believe she and I have a mutual acquaintance—besides your lovely self,” he added, toasting her with his glass.

  “Who?” she asked, fairly holding her breath to hear his answer.

  “The old scholar, Montevecchio. I hear he’s now the dean of the University of Saardova. He must be what, ninety by now? I imagine he’s the one behind your friend being accepted as the first female student. He has peculiar views.”

  He was right, but she was astonished. “How on earth do you know Montevecchio or his peculiar views?” she exclaimed.

  “Everyone knows Montevecchio,” he teased.

  “Tor!” She stretched out her leg to poke him with her toe. “Tell me, you ruffian!”

  “He was once my tutor.”

  Minerva stared at him in shock. “You had a Saardovan tutor?”

  She had heard that the old sage had gone traveling all around Europe ages ago.

  “He showed up here when I was just a lad. Said he had come to study our ways.”

  “I can’t believe he came here! Your father—”

  “Thought he was a spy, yes.” Tor shook his head. “He had the world-famous scholar thrown into the dungeon and tortured every day . . . until Father realized his mistake. Hakon’s treatment of the great philosopher was a huge embarrassment to Rydalburg. So Father sought to make it up to him, gave him a plum post here for a
while.”

  “I knew nothing of this!”

  “He probably avoided talking about it back in Saardova for fear of fanning the flames of war. Thankfully, the old man found it in his heart to forgive my father for his brutality. My mother made sure our author friend was treated from that point on as an honored guest. Montevecchio was given his own quarters in the keep for his private study. I loved going to visit him up in the tower room . . . see all his books, hear his ruminations. He had a perspective on things unlike anyone else I knew.”

  Minerva gazed at him, marveling.

  “He stayed with us two years. And just between you and me, my darling, I’ve always suspected that I was the real reason Montevecchio came to Rydalburg. He knew exactly what he was doing.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “As I said, I was just a child, but he knew one day I would be king. He wanted to teach me about your people. To show me that you were . . . good.” He paused, lost in his thoughts. “I don’t think I ever would’ve entertained the notion of a treaty uniting our lands if it were not for old Montevecchio.”

  “Then I owe him greatly,” she whispered, leaning closer to kiss him.

  Tor pulled her onto his lap. “We both do.” He caressed her hair as he pressed his lips to hers. “Would you mind if I ask you an awkward question, Princess?”

  She leaned back to peer dubiously into his eyes. “No. What’s the question?”

  He furrowed his brow, casting about for the words. “Was there—someone else who had your heart before you came here and were forced to marry me?”

  “Why, no! No one! Why would you ask such a thing?”

  He looked relieved but still uncertain as he slid his arms around her waist. “Because of the distance you put between us.”

  “I do?”

  He nodded. “I can certainly feel it. Not to brag, but distance is not the usual reaction I get from females. Come, you can tell me. I won’t be angry. Is there . . . something about me you don’t like?”

  “Nothing at all!” she exclaimed. “Tor, you’re the most wonderful man in the world! Please don’t feel that way. I don’t understand why you would say that.”