The King's Warrior (Pict King Series Book 2)

by Donna Fletcher

  “I will speak to the King and only the King,” Lars said again, as if he had not been heard the first time.

  Wrath took a step toward the man and everyone startled when he delivered such a vicious blow to the Northman’s jaw that it knocked him off his feet. He leaned down over him and grabbed the rope around his neck, tightening it. “I will see that you speak with the King, but it is a few days to the stronghold and the snow-covered ground is not easy to travel. I worry that you may suffer several broken bones before we arrive.”

  He released the rope with a jerk, Lars’ head bouncing off the ground. He looked to Tilden. “Tie him tightly to a stake until we are ready to leave.”

  Dalmeny spoke up as Wrath’s men pulled the Northman to his feet. “Who are you and why are you here?”

  The captured Northman looked to Dalmeny. “That is for the King alone to know, but I will warn you. You have a demon among you. If you have looked upon her, she will possess you as she has possessed Wrath and—”

  Wrath delivered another blow to his jaw that sent him to the ground, his body lying lifeless, and he was quickly dragged away with orders to gag him when they tied him to the stake.

  “Does he speak of your wife?” Dalmeny demanded of Wrath.

  “I warned you there was something strange about her,” Minn said. “She has no markings and if she has not earned them yet, then why? Did her tribe cast her out?”

  “Enough!” Wrath shouted. “The captured man is a Northman.”

  “Another one,” Dalmeny said, shaking his head. “This does not bode well, Wrath, and what would a Northman want with your wife?”

  Verity’s past could not be kept secret for long and the Kerse were probably already spreading the news of the Northman they had come across. “Verity was captured by the Northmen when she was young and has served as a slave to them until recently when she and her sister escaped. I would think that he saw her, and he feared that she would recognize him and ruin whatever plans he had for your tribe.”

  “He called her a demon,” Minn reminded.

  “To distract you from the truth,” Wrath said, “and ignite your fears.”

  Minn laid her hand on the hilt of her sword. “I fear no demon.”

  “Then there is nothing for you to worry about either way.”

  “The King should be warned of his words,” Minn said.

  Wrath turned an angry scowl on her. “Do you suggest I will not tell the King all that went on here?”

  Minn went to step forward, an equally angry glare on her face, but Dalmeny gripped her arm stopping her.

  “Minn thinks of the well-being of her tribe and I agree with her. She will accompany you back to the stronghold and hear what you say to the King for herself and learn more of what is going on. If you refuse to let her travel with you, she will make the journey alone.”

  “Minn is more than welcome to join us,” Wrath said, though his annoyed tone spoke differently.

  Verity was not happy that Minn would be joining them. Minn did not like her and Verity did not trust Minn. Or was it because Minn cared for Wrath that Verity did not trust her? She was not sure, but she planned on keeping her distance from the woman.

  “We will take our leave tomorrow at first light,” Wrath said.

  “We will talk when we sup,” Dalmeny said and turned and walked away.

  Minn glared at Verity, as if warning her to beware.

  Verity did the only thing she could think of... she smiled.

  It annoyed Minn all the more and she turned and followed after Dalmeny.

  Verity had no choice but to stay by Wrath’s side. He would not let go of her hand. It did not take her long to realize that she had suffered more at Lars’ hands than she had first thought. She hurt and the pain was spreading. As her husband finished talking with Tilden, she tugged on his arm. She intended to let him know that she needed to return to the dwelling and rest, especially with them leaving tomorrow. She would need her strength for their return journey home.

  Wrath turned to his wife, the bruises on her face had darkened and fatigue showed in her slumped shoulders and the tight lines around her mouth let him know how much she was fighting against the pain. Before she could utter a word to him, he scooped her up in his arms and walked away.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Wrath laid his wife gently on the sleeping pallet, wrapping her cloak snugly around her and covering her with a blanket. He went and stoked the fire that had dwindled and left the dwelling chilled. The flames caught fast to the wood he added to it.

  He returned to Verity, sitting at her side and once again tucked the blanket around her. “I am a warrior. I have been one since I could first hold a weapon in my hand. My father taught me that strength was the mightiest weapon of all, though the most difficult to learn. Strength demanded more than most people could give. It was one reason I became good friends with Talon and Paine, for both had mastered the power of strength.”

  Verity felt a tug to her heart that Wrath was sharing something so private with her and she was eager to hear all he had to say.

  “I place strength before everything else. Strength made sense to me while little else did. Strength made me the mighty warrior I am today. Strength helped me win many battles. Strength made me the commander of the King’s personal guard. To care for someone so deeply that I would give a woman my heart, can rob a man of his strength.” He ran a gentle finger over her lips. “I can care for you only so much.” He stood. “I will send someone to tend you.”

  Verity called out to him when he reached the door and he turned. “It takes more strength to care deeply enough to give your heart than it does to go into battle, and the victory is far greater.”

  Wrath stared at her a moment, then walked out, shutting the door behind him.

  Verity smiled. Wrath might not understand why he chose now to tell her that, but she did. This incident had made him realize that he cared for her more than he wanted to admit and her smile grew as she thought about it.

  ~~~

  Wrath walked to the feasting house so deep in thought, he had not noticed that dusk kissed the land. He did not know what made him say to Verity what he did. It had not been a thought when he carried her to the dwelling. His only thought had been to see that she rested and healed from her ordeal.

  He shook his head. He was not being truthful with himself. His heart had pounded in his chest when he had seen how tired she was and that once again her pain had been his fault. He could not stand seeing her in pain. He could not stand seeing what Lars had done to her. And he could not understand why his first thought had been to drop down beside Verity and see to her care rather than go after Lars. The warrior in him would have done that. Instead, his only thought had been to see to Verity, take her in his arms and keep her there.

  He shook his head again. He cared for Verity, he would not, could not deny that, but care deeply, give her his heart? It would rob his strength. He would not be half the warrior he was. And how she could even suggest that victory of the heart could be far greater than a victorious battle was foolish.

  Wrath entered the feasting house with a scowl on his face, his powerful strides sending several people scurrying out of his path. When he reached the table where Dalmeny sat with his arm around his woman, his scowl deepened. He was once like Dalmeny, having a woman that pleased him without thought of the heart, just a poke when needed.

  “I need your healer to look after Verity,” he demanded.

  The woman beside him rose. “I will see to her and also bring her some food.”

  “Amada is your healer?” Wrath asked.

  “And a good one,” Dalmeny said, swatting Amada’s backside as she walked away. “Sit, drink, and we will talk.”

  Wrath sat beside him on the bench, taking the vessel, a servant had filled, in his hand. “There is nothing left to discuss.”

  “Or that you do not wish to discuss? The tribes need to know everything if we are to protect ourselves.”

&nb
sp; “Did you know everything about every battle we fought to unify the tribes?” Wrath asked, after taking a generous swallow of the potent brew.

  “That was different. We were at war,” Dalmeny argued.

  “War or not, Talon knew what he was doing. He positioned each tribe without the other knowing to march as one against our enemies. Though he may not tell his people everything, he leads them wisely. We trusted him once and he did as he promised, he stopped bloodshed among the tribes, drove foreigners off our land, and unified the Picts. He will not let the Northmen take from us what we have sacrificed to build... a Pict nation.”

  Dalmeny stared at the half-filled vessel in his hand. “All you say is true, but tell me, Wrath, how do you know Verity is who she says she is? What if she is not a Pict? What if she runs from the Northmen for something other than she tells you?”

  “Minn must have filled your head with nonsense.”

  “She has filled it with questions you should be asking yourself. How do you know who you wed?”

  “I know I have wed a good, kind woman, for I have seen her kindness to others. I have seen how worried she is about finding her sister and seeing her kept safe and finally seeing that both of them are home and able to live free. This is not about my wife. It is about Ulric and we should not let anything distract us from that fact.”

  “Tell me why you wed her and perhaps it will settle this for me,” Dalmeny said.

  Wrath spoke the truth. “The King ordered it.”

  Dalmeny threw back his head and laughed. “Now I know all is well and that Wrath is as mighty and fearless as he has always been.”

  They talked, ate, and drank more and when Amada returned and slipped between the two of them to rest comfortably against Dalmeny, Wrath was quick to ask, “My wife?”

  “She rests comfortably. I bathed her sore shoulder with a brew of comfrey leaves and her bruises as well. Her shoulder will have pain for a while, but the bruises on her face will not take long to heal. I cannot say the same for the one just above her waist. It is dark and will take time to fade. She must have fought for breath with how tight he squeezed her.”

  Wrath downed what was left in his vessel and stood. “I will take my leave since we depart at first light. And I will make sure to let King Talon know how generous and helpful you were to us.”

  “And that we stand ready to fight beside him when needed,” Dalmeny added.

  Wrath gave a nod and left the feasting house, his strides quickening as soon as he was out the door. His anger grew once again, learning that there was more to his wife’s injures than he had thought. He wanted to go where Lars was tied to a stake and begin breaking his bones, starting with his arm. But that would wait, Verity came first.

  He stopped abruptly. How many times now had he put Verity before anyone or anything else? How many times had he felt his insides twist with fear when he had thought something had happened to her? How many times had he found himself feeling out of sorts when separated from her? Did he care more for her than he wanted to admit? Could he have lost his heart to her without realizing it? He snorted he was so angry. He was a warrior, a mighty one at that. He had no time for thinking such nonsense.

  He continued walking and when he reached the dwelling, he swung the door open. He was shocked to find her standing there naked by the fire, her head shooting up from where she had been glancing down at her side. And that was when he saw the dark bruise. He shut the door, dropped his cloak to the floor, and walked over to her, pushing her hand aside gently. He ran his fingers over the dark spot, that spread nearly from just above her waist to under her breast, ever so faintly, fearful of causing her pain.

  Verity stilled, closing her eyes as his fingers explored the bruise with tenderness. She had felt a chill when he had opened the door and the cold air rushed in, but his touch was growing her warm. She wished he would explore more than only her wound. Though her body ached from her ordeal, it ached more for his touch. It had startled her at first, but finally came as no surprise that she cared deeply for her husband. She had come to know and care for him long before she had met him. And it was time for him to see how much they cared for each other.

  She reached out and took his hand and slowly moved it to rest over her breast and gave his hand a gentle squeeze while a slight moan spilled unexpectedly from her lips.

  “You have—”

  “Waited too long,” she said and squeezed his hand again.

  “I care—”

  “Enough,” she said and moved his hand to her other breast, a soft moan once again escaping her lips.

  “I will not stop once I—”

  “Promise?”

  “Promise,” he whispered before capturing her lips in a hungry kiss as his hand squeezed her breast and his fingers teased her nipple hard.

  She gasped, upset when his lips suddenly left hers, but sighed with pleasure when his mouth settled over her nipple and took hold of it to suckle. Her moan grew louder and once again she gasped when his mouth left hers. She was ready to protest until she saw him hastily shed his garments and she saw how thick and hard he had grown. She hurried to press herself against him, wanting to feel his warmth, his hardness, and to have his arms close around her, and they did.

  Wrath was so hard and ready for her that he feared he would not last long once inside her. His ache for her was like no other. Never had he felt as he did at this moment. It was not just an overwhelming need to slip inside her and satisfy his ache, it was a need to give all he could to her, share all he could with her, feel all they could—together as one.

  He ran his hands down along her backside to squeeze her soft bottom and ease her closer so that his manhood could rub against the enticing thatch of blonde hair between her legs. He had been right when he had told her they would mate often, since he already knew one time with her would never be enough.

  He lifted her into his arms and laid her on the sleeping pallet, climbing in beside her. He did not cover them, he wanted to look upon her body. Though the bruising disturbed him, her body was lovely, the sight of her nakedness alone arousing him even more. She was not as thin as when he had first found her. She had plumped up some, not a lot, but enough to notice and his hand reached out to explore every part of her.

  “Your beauty steals my breath,” he whispered as his fingers roamed over her with a faint caressing touch. “You are so soft, so touchable. I do not think I will ever stop touching you.”

  “I do not want you to. Your touch pleases me as do your kisses.”

  He smiled as he brought his mouth to hers and whispered before kissing her, “Then I will kiss you often.” His hand continued to explore her body while his kiss sent tiny tremors through her. He stopped suddenly and glared at her. “You will tell me if you feel any pain.”

  “I will tell you,” she said and pressed her hand to his chest, letting it glide across his hard muscles and the swirls and curves of his body drawings, savoring the feel of him. She did not stop there, she let her hand drift down, growing familiar with every curve and muscle and when her fingers swept through the thatch of hair surrounding his manhood, his hand shot out, stopping her from going any further.

  “No, I want to be inside you,” he said.

  She slipped out of his arms and sat up.

  He took gentle hold of her arm, stopping her. “What are you doing?”

  “I am getting on my hands and knees for you to enter me from behind.”

  “It is your face I will see when I slip inside you.” He eased her down on the blanket, climbed over her and placed her legs over his shoulders as he knelt between them. His hands grabbed hold of her backside and he lifted it just enough so that he could slip his manhood slowly and easily inside her. She was wet and snug and his need so great that he finally could not wait any longer. He pushed into her and she cried out and locked her legs around him as if she intended never to let him go.

  He grabbed her backside, squeezing it lightly and began slowly to move in and out of her, bu
t that did not last long. Her own need had her bucking hard against him, and he soon matched her eager rhythm.

  Wrath dropped his head back and a growl rumbled deep and low in his chest as he felt himself drawing closer and closer to the edge of releasing inside her.

  “Wrath,” Verity moaned as her hands gripped the blanket beneath her and she tossed her head from side to side.

  His name, a plea on her lips, had him nearly exploding and when she cried out his name again and again, he drove into her harder and harder until she screamed it out as she burst with pleasure, and still he did not stop. His thrusts were strong and quick until finally he came so hard that he exploded in a blinding light, shiver after shiver running through him, sparking every part of him to life with the most intense pleasure he had ever felt.

  Still caught in the explosiveness of her climax, she could not believe the sensations that continued running through her. She kept a tight grip on the blanket as she felt the potent ripples wash over her, again and again down to her very core until it faded into tingling shivers, one after the other. Finally, the last of them drifted away, leaving her feeling more satisfied than she thought was possible.

  It was when he dropped down on her with a shudder that she realized he was still snug inside her. She smiled and wrapped her arms around him, realizing he had spilled his seed in her. She could not be happier and the thought had her feeling guilty that she could be so happy when she had yet to find Hemera.

  Darkness began to creep around her. “No! No!” she cried out. Not now, please do not let a vision rob me of this precious moment.

  Wrath pushed up on his arms, alarmed at her frantic cries, worried that he had somehow hurt her. Her hands suddenly grabbed at his arms and when he saw her soft blue eyes turn dark, his insides twisted.

  Not now, he thought. Not now.

  “Verity!” he cried out, but it was too late. Her hands fell off him and her eyes fluttered closed.

  She was already in the throes of another vision.