“Haakon is not happy,” she said, pushing the covers back and slipping from the bed. The cold of the floor against her bare feet chilled her and gooseflesh broke out on her skin.
Katla walked over to where her garments lay on the floor and picked them up. She turned, shaking them out, and met his gaze. The intensity of his eyes, the desire there, made her shiver. Her first impulse was to cover herself, but the way he stared at her body made her not wish to do so. No one had ever looked on her with such passion, so she stood unmoving as his eyes roamed over her skin in a way that felt as though he touched her in every place his gaze did. Then the Truthsayer approached, holding out the bundle that Haakon had brought into the room.
“For you,” he said in a husky voice that echoed the arousal his body already demonstrated. Katla forced herself to take the bundle, though her body urged her to toss it aside and take his cock in her hands instead.
Untying the string and peeling back the cloth, she discovered a breathtaking pair of armbands, carved with intricate patterns and inlaid with jewels of varying colors. She held them up and examined them. ’Twas only then that she noticed the matching neck ring still in the cloth. Stunned by the value of the pieces and by their beauty, she gasped and then shook her head.
“I cannot accept such things from you, Truthsayer.” Katla wrapped the cloth around the splendid pieces and held them out to him. “I cannot.”
Such jewelry was given to a woman held in high esteem. Such adornments cost a fortune to commission from the goldsmith and the jeweler. Such gifts turned what had happened between them into something less honorable than a quest to save her brother’s life—it turned her into a whore. She shook her head again and pushed the bundle into his hands.
“I cannot,” she repeated.
He walked to her, naked and rampant again, and took the jewelry from her. But instead of taking it away, he held the pieces up before him.
“These are gifts, nothing more, nothing less,” he said. His voice was pitched low, and the sound of it flowed over her like a warm shower.
Her good sense told her to refuse, but his next words made it impossible to do that.
“It would please me if you wore them.”
She told herself that she must please him if she expected his help determining Kali’s fate, but that was not the reason he had the power to draw her into his web of desire and pleasure. She told herself that she could resist. But in only hours and a handful of encounters, he’d trained her body to his touch and it responded. She allowed him to do it once more.
He did not wait for further excuses or refusals, he simply slid on one of the arm rings, positioning it and caressing her breast with the back of his hand as he did. She trembled. When he did the same with the other one, she tried to fight her response, but her legs shook in anticipation. Even knowing that the slight brush of his hand against the sensitive skin of her breasts was done apurpose did not lessen its effect on her.
Only the neck ring was left in his grasp, and she closed her eyes as he drew nearer still and gathered her hair, lifting it away from her shoulders and neck so he could place the piece there. The heat of his skin nearly burned hers as he brushed against her. He moved to stand behind her, his hands still touching her shoulders and neck, caressing them as he locked the neck ring and then kissing her just above where it lay.
He moved his mouth around her throat, using the jeweled collar as a guide, kissing and nipping the skin until she panted. His erect cock pressed into her hip and her back as he made his way around her body and he rubbed it against her, mimicking the way he’d rocked it deep inside her flesh all those times.
This man had taken her body five or six times throughout the night, so many that she’d lost count of them. Now, in the light of day, he continued his sensual pursuit of pleasure and showed no signs of slowing down or losing interest in her body. Did he mean to take her again?
He encircled her with his arms then, holding her tightly against him, and heat pulsed through her. With one arm over her breasts and the other sloping across her stomach to her legs, he controlled her every movement. Katla leaned her head back against his chest and let him.
She found herself holding her breath as his fingers moved in light, small circles, teasing her skin and making her want to beg him to hurry as he touched his way to the curls between her legs. With his hand splayed wide over the curls, one of his fingers dipped into the already-aching cleft, making her moan and open her legs to him. About to give herself over to the full pursuit of pleasure, Katla heard a sound she could not identify and opened her eyes.
Harald Erlendson stood at the door of the chamber, staring at them. Katla had not heard the door open, but from the way his eyes flashed and his lips thinned, she knew he’d seen too much. Though his hand went to the sword at his side, he stopped and turned away. No words came to her mind that she could say to him. It mattered not because before she could loosen herself from the Truthsayer’s embrace, Harald disappeared.
Chapter Nine
Complete and utter rage boiled over from inside him, and Harald knocked down any number of people in his way when he left Gavin’s chamber. His heart pounded in his chest, and his eyes burned as he made his way out of the earl’s house. Pushing through those working or walking in the yard, he sought the training field, knowing he could batter and battle other warriors to burn out his sudden need to kill.
Gavin the Truthsayer should die.
The smell of spent seed and a night of sexual excess burned his nostrils, and he tried to breathe in the fresh, cold air as he walked. But any attempts to calm himself or to blunt the rage eating him from the inside out failed. If any of the men realized the cause of his fury, they did not speak of it. A good thing, for death would be his reply.
Harald tore off his tunic and drew his sword, calling out insults and a challenge to all present. Within seconds it seemed, nearly a dozen men answered and he was attacked from all sides. He held his ground while offering a punishing assault to anyone who got too close. When he lost his sword some time later, he pummeled with his fists and feet. But even when he was beaten to the ground and too exhausted and too hurt to rise, the rage yet swirled in his gut.
The image of Katla being pleasured by another man still burned bright in his memory. Worse, he had called Gavin “friend.”
He could hear the sounds of her excited breathing. He saw the flush of passion on her skin. He remembered the sight of Gavin’s hand between her legs, claiming something that should be Harald’s alone. He screamed out his rage to the sky, not caring in that moment who witnessed his fury.
The others left him where he lay, not speaking a word and never admitting that everyone within the earl’s household knew where and how his woman had spent the night. But to a one, they also understood that no one, not even Harald, had the power to stop it. So valuable to the earl was the Truthsayer that anyone denying a request from him risked dire punishment. When his breathing had slowed, Harald struggled to his feet. He thought several ribs might be broken. He bled from several gashes on his face. He spit out a mouthful of blood and used his tongue to feel for loosened teeth. Pushing his muddied hair from his face, he walked out of the yard toward the water’s edge. A boy caught up with him and, without a word, handed him his tunic and his sword.
When he reached the shoreline, he stopped only to remove his boots. Dropping his sword and tunic on the sand next to them, he walked into the bay. Once the cold had soaked through his trews, he tugged them off. He dunked his head under the surface a few times to loosen all the caked-in mud.
Harald splashed his face and used his hands to get rid of the blood there. He’d hope that the cold water would cool the rage that seethed inside him, but it did nothing. No matter how hard he pushed away the memories, they returned anew.
He’d been present for the Truthsayer’s rituals and had served as his bodyguard a dozen or more times since Gavin had joined the earl’s household. Harald knew his ways. He only kept a woman for a fe
w hours, never longer, because he exhausted them with his lust. He never called married women or those belonging to other men to his bed. If they came to him anyway, he sent them away untouched.
He’d broken all those rules when he’d summoned Katla to him last night. Now, when he closed his eyes, Harald did not see Katla during one of the dozens of times he’d bedded her. Nay, now the only thing he could see was the way she’d looked in the Truthsayer’s arms. Her mouth had dropped open as he stroked her, and she writhed against his naked body. Worse, she wore naught but expensive gold and bejeweled armbands and neck rings that he could never afford to give to her.
And neither one even noticed him standing before them.
He pounded his fists on the surface of the water, sending out waves in all directions and splashing himself with an icy shower. Dunking his head once more, he realized that the worst part of this was that Katla had never made a sound during their coupling.
At first, after taking her as his second wife in the old tradition, he’d gone to her bed and tried to be as quick and easy as he could. Harald understood that she only offered herself to him to save her brother, but it did not mean that he did not have feelings for her. Oh, aye, lust was one of them, for she was a beautiful young woman and he had the appetite of a man. So, he took her maidenhead with care and swived her quickly when he sought her bed.
Regardless of her apparent lack of feelings for him, he found himself there many nights each week, bedding her almost to the exclusion of his wife and other mistress. He wanted to make her want him, he wanted her to be happy with him, and he wanted to take the ever-present sadness from her eyes. When she did not show enthusiasm or desire in their bed, he accepted it and did not dally there, expecting bedplay she did not want or a passion she did not feel.
From the sounds that escaped Gavin’s chambers and echoed throughout the earl’s house in the silence of the night, Katla was definitely capable of feeling passion, but not for him. He pounded the water again at the realization that the Truthsayer had the woman he wanted and had somehow unleashed the desire within her that Harald wanted for himself.
He walked out of the water and sluiced off what he could. Tugging his tunic over his head, he made his way back to his chamber to change his clothing and see to his duties. And it was then that Harald realized the true problem at the heart of his rage and jealousy.
He had fallen in love with Katla Svensdottir.
The thought stopped him. Pushing his sodden hair away from his face and wringing out as much water as he could, he fought the truth. He wanted her, surely, for he had watched her grow from a young girl to a beautiful woman, full of life and intelligence. He desired the woman she’d become.
But in the months since her father had tried to draw him into the plot to rid Orkney of the earl and into the plot that extended to the Scots kingdom in order to gain importance in the eyes of the king, she’d become something more important to him.
He’d seen the way she organized and controlled her father’s household with a quick wit and an efficient hand. Witnessed her strong and honorable behavior when her father was arrested and as she challenged him in order to save her brother. Seen the way she fulfilled her part of their bargain, never acting as though it was anything but her idea to be in his bed.
All those things had made him fall in love with her. And even knowing that she did not love him in return and never would if she learned the extent of his involvement in her father’s demise did not lessen his growing need for her. He laughed harshly then—the irony of the situation was not lost on him at all.
Both he and Gavin pursued her for their own reasons: his was love, Gavin’s was lust. He suspected that in the end, neither would end up with Katla or deserve her if they did.
Harald walked down the corridor to his chambers, not meeting the gaze of anyone he passed. His feelings were too close to the surface, and he feared his temper was not yet under control. Let the others veer from his path and give him some time to accept the situation. He needed to be rid of this rage before Katla returned to him tonight.
Above all, he needed to banish the image of the two of them, naked, entwined in passion. Taking a deep breath, he turned the corner and watched as one of the servants left his room. Good. He wanted no one rushing around his chambers now. He wanted to see and speak to no one for a while. Lifting the latch on his door, he pushed it open and walked inside.
Katla sat in the chair in the corner, watching him with a different emotion from the sadness that usually shone within. Now it was fear he saw, and it turned his stomach.
He looked terrible.
One side of his jaw was swollen and he bled from two cuts on his cheek and forehead. He limped into the room, favoring his left leg. Harald wore only his tunic and carried his boots, trews, belt and sword.
And it was her fault.
Standing, she went to him and took his clothing and sword, placing them on the table. Pointing at the chair, she nodded to him.
“Sit, Harald. Let me see to your injuries.”
Katla poured some water from the pitcher into the washbasin and dipped a cloth in it. Dabbing it on the cuts she found on his face and scalp, moving his hair aside to check for more, she finally stopped most of the bleeding. None of the gashes she saw would require stitching.
She was used to treating injuries and illnesses in her father’s household and used to treating those of headstrong, belligerent men, so she did not ask his permission to do what she did—she simply went ahead and cleaned and bandaged him. She heard his indrawn breath a few times, once as she wrapped some lengths of cloth around his chest to support his bruised ribs, and once when she leaned over and her breasts rubbed against his back.
He was too proud to mention the reason for his injuries, but Haakon had come and reported back to the Truthsayer when he’d sent his servant to follow Harald. Katla had dressed and left the Truthsayer’s chambers, but could not catch up with Harald. She watched from a hidden corner as he walked onto the training field and taunted those there into fighting him. Her stomach clenched and tears burned her throat and eyes as he was pummeled into the ground.
Because of her.
Katla returned to his chambers to wait for him, knowing the worst was yet to come. For unlike the dozens or hundreds of other women before her, the Truthsayer had not tired of her. He’d told her that there was something different about her and that he needed her to come back to Durness with him until the next full moon. And he’d promised to hear her brother’s truth at the next ritual.
Harald would never understand or forgive her now. Chances were that once the Truthsayer tired of her, Harald would not take her back.
She would never forget the expression in his eyes when their gazes met. Shock and hurt showed clearly there, as well as anger and jealousy. But the worst was the disappointment she read in his eyes. When her father gave her the same look, it was a more effective punishment than any beatings or deprivations, for she’d always wanted to prove herself to him and never had.
After Katla finished seeing to Harald’s injuries, she handed him a cup of beer and waited for him to drink it down. The healer had sent over some herbs that would help the pain he was surely feeling. She cleaned up the basin and waited, trying to think of a way to tell him Gavin’s new request.
“My thanks for your care,” Harald said in his gruff voice. He stood, but he wobbled on his feet. “With the earl gone, I have not trained in a long time.” His excuse went unchallenged, for she knew him to be a proud man.
“Harald,” she said as she sat on a stool near him, “there is more you must know.”
The Truthsayer had said that no one would know until she’d told Harald, and he had offered to tell him for her but she needed to do this. She clasped her hands in her lap and met Harald’s gaze. He’d emptied it of any indication of what he felt, so she could not tell what his reaction would be.
“He has asked me to go to Durness with him until the next full moon in exchange for help
ing Kali. I agreed.”
His response was…nothing. Other than a quick inhalation, Harald did nothing and said nothing for a full minute. Then he stood, walked to the trunk that held his clothing, and finished dressing before facing her.
“And this is your decision? Not his will imposed on you?” he asked, staring at her.
“Aye. I am not under his power now, Harald. For Kali, I must—” He interrupted before she could finish.
“Play his whore for a month, Katla? How does this honor your father or your brother when their reputation must be bought by your dishonor?” He crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head. “Your father would have had you whipped to within an inch of your life and thrown you out. Your brother, if he is proven innocent of your father’s machinations, will be humiliated at the price.”
A man speaking of the way men looked at honor. She let out a breath. “But he will be alive, will he not? And he can learn to accept the price I paid.”
“You stand to lose much more doing this than you have lost already. Do you understand that?” he asked.
She stood, walked to him, and laid her hand on his chest.
“I cannot let my brother die if there is something I can do to stop it,” she said softly.
“And letting the Truthsayer use your body is no hardship for you, is it?”
Her first reaction was anger at his insult; then guilt slapped her at his accusation. A good woman would not sink to whoring as she had done. A good woman would accept that men would handle matters of honor. A good woman would beg for Harald’s forgiveness and refuse the Truthsayer’s scandalous demand. And though she did not consider herself a good woman any longer, she would not give false reasons, not even in her own mind.
“Nay, Harald. ’Tis no hardship.”
He looked away from her and then stepped back, as though her touch was something to be avoided. It would have been easier to pretend she was facing something too horrible to bear, but Harald deserved more than that.
A Storm of Pleasure Page 8
