Brlde of the Wolf

by Abigail Barnette

  He caught her as she wobbled on her shaking knees, and laid her on the bed beside him. He wiped his face on his palm and quickly divested himself of his boots and his doublet. His braies and hose did not go so easily, as he struggled with his false leg and bandaging. All the while, she lay beside him, panting. When he was as naked as she, he pulled himself up to lay beside her, to take her into his arms and kiss her. She melted against him, boneless in the aftermath of her climax, and she whimpered when his mouth found the sensitive skin behind her ear. He skimmed his hands over her body, from the lush peaks of her breasts to the slender valley between ribs and hip. He pressed kisses to her gasping throat, took a nipple into his mouth and laved it as he had the bud between her legs.

  She arched in his arms, her hand slipping between them to clumsily grasp his cock, the sweet ache in his bollocks intensified by her innocent touch. “Please,” she murmured, dipping her head to kiss his cheek.

  He needed no further inducement. Pulling her beneath him, he reached for the head of the bed and searched for a handhold there. When he found one, he settled between her legs, spurred on by her impatient writhing beneath him.

  When he slid inside her tight heat, she moaned so loud he was certain the entire castle had heard her. He halted, not trusting himself to move within her without spilling too soon. Everything about her intoxicated him like strong wine; the flush of her skin, the curve of her mouth. The depth of feeling in her eyes as she looked into his.

  That look of utter trust and love wounded him deeper than any weapon could. He’d caused her the pain of these few days, and likely more, beyond that. If she’d come here to be with Roderick, mayhap he would have found her pleasing and treated her well. At the very least, he might have ignored her.

  Was this worth it? He kissed her, grinding deeper into her, and her answering noises convinced him. It was worth it, no matter what might happen. This time together was the only happiness either of them were fated to share, whether it ended tomorrow or years from now.

  He moved slowly at first, trying out his balance, then found an easy rhythm that drew sighs from her lips. Timidly, she raised a leg, and he caught it, hooking it over the arm he braced against the mattress, pushing deeper. Her body rose beneath his, rocking with his slow, steady thrusts. Their breath matched, both coming ragged and loud as they strove together. Aurelia came first, sobbing in the throes of her climax, begging for him to stop even as she clutched him closer and admonished him to never cease. Her swollen channel rippled all around him, and a burst of renewed wetness bathed his cock as he drove into her harder now, wringing every last moment from her release until she trembled beneath him, slack on the bed.

  He brought her over again and again, until he could take no more of the building pressure in his groin. He picked up speed, ignoring the fatigue in his muscles that would surely cause an ache on the morrow. Let him die by Roderick’s sword; he faced a much sweeter death between his lady’s thighs. His own release crashed over him with a roar, and so lost was he to pleasure that he did not realize until after that the roar had come from his own throat. Every muscle locked in rapturous spasm as he bathed her womb in his seed, and he collapsed over her, breathing hard.

  Her leg was still wound about his elbow, and he disentangled himself, slipping from her body with a groan that was not pleasure, but the sting after. She nestled at his side, shivering, snuggling close as though she could wear him like a blanket. He smiled against her hair. “Shall we lie beneath the bedclothes?”

  “I don’t want to move,” she said plaintively. He let her lie with him a few moments more, until the chill was undeniable, then eased aside to pluck the coverlet up between them. Once she scrabbled under, limbs shaking like dead branches in a storm, he joined her and pulled her close again.

  “You should go,” she whispered, as if fearful to even speak of them parting. “If you are found here—”

  “The punishment would be great,” he finished for her. “But not tonight. Roderick has angered father, and he’ll have to step carefully for a while. The fight will take place tomorrow, as planned.”

  She shuddered. “Let’s not speak of such things.”

  Instead, they lay in silence for a time, until she was the first to break her own commandment. “Do not go to your death, Raf. Give me to your brother.”

  She wounded his heart more than his pride, but he would show her neither. It was not her place to reassure him. “I would not betray you so. I would not watch you bear his cruelty, and his sons, wasting away in this place.”

  “Henry says there is no hope that you will win.” The tears were apparent in her voice now. “I will not live if you die.”

  “Henry has changed his opinion, now that I am back in practice. I am not the warrior I once was, that is true, but I am a match enough for Roderick that I do not go blindly to the slaughter. He may still destroy me, but the balance is no longer tilted in his favor.” He stroked her sweat-damp hair from her face. “And you will not die. You are strong.”

  She reached beneath the pillow and withdrew a familiar dagger. It was Henry’s; he usually wore it on his belt. “This is my strength,” she whispered, her eyes wide and fearful. “If you die tomorrow, I die on my wedding night.”

  “No!” He took the knife from her and tossed it away, as though it would harm her without her hand. “My brother is cruel, certainly. Your life would not be a happy one. But I believe that you can find some happiness in it, as you found happiness with me in the forest. I would have you die an old woman, not a young wife.”

  “Even if I am made to bear sons for him, and then your father disposes of me as he did Henry’s mother?” Her lower lip quivered. “Even if some jealous woman like Margaret Lackey puts poison in my cup?”

  “Margaret Lackey is unlikely to poison anyone. She would sooner cut your throat.” At the terror in her eyes, he cursed his tongue. “Tomorrow, Roderick fights to win you. If he does, do you believe a man in this castle would oppose him? The future lord of Blackens Gate?”

  “You say these things only to comfort yourself!” she accused angrily, pushing away from him.

  “I say these things because they are true. Or can be.” He struggled to sit up. “You are an adaptable creature; I have seen proof of it. You must live, Aurelia. For the child you may bear now.”

  Her face went white at that, as though she had not realized what the results of their frequent coupling could be. One hand smoothed over the soft rise of her belly, as though a son did grow within. “And what will happen to it?” she demanded angrily. “Will your brother kill it?”

  “Not if you are sweet, and willing.” He could not stand the thought. “There is no reason he should suspect the child is not his, should you birth after the summer.”

  Her temper flared again. “You speak of this as though it is written in stone.”

  “I speak of it because I must know, should I die tomorrow, that you will not do something so rash as killing yourself. How can I go to my death knowing that I might not see you again, because your body is buried in some unconsecrated ground, your soul bound to hell?”

  She did not answer him. A tear fell from her cheek to wet the bedclothes. She sniffled. “I meant to kill Roderick, as well.”

  Despite the grim course of their conversation, he could not help his smile. “And you believed that you are not strong enough to survive without me?”

  She fell back into his arms, weeping softly against his chest. “I don’t want you to die.”

  He tipped her chin up and held her tearful gaze, though the pain in her eyes sliced him truer than any sword. “I don’t want to die, either. I don’t plan to. But if I should, I would go to my death knowing that you will do whatever you can to survive without me. I do not doubt that someone will one day murder my brother, and you can be glad of it and free of him. But you must not be defeated so easily.”

  “I will bear it for as long as I must,” she swore to him. Her voice rang with steel on her next words. “I would s
ee him die by your hand, Raf.”

  “That has become my greatest hope.” It was not a lie, nor a promise he needed to fear breaking.

  He held her through the rest of the night, and she slept fitfully in his arms, her dreams no doubt tormented by the inevitability they were pushed toward by the passage of the stars. Though he did not wish to go to the fight exhausted, he could not resist her if this were to be his last earthly night with her. He woke her after a time and loved her again, setting her astride him so that he could see every wave of pleasure that transformed her expression. When she slept soundly once more, he kissed her and silently dressed.

  It might have been more courteous, more gallant to wake her for a tearful goodbye. He could not bear it, so he left her as she lay, her eyes and nose red from crying in her sleep, her leg twisted out of the bedclothes. This is how he would remember her during the fight, loose-limbed and well-loved, lying in wait of his return.

  If God were indeed merciful, time would pass quickly in his kingdom. For now, all that Raf feared of death was separation from Aurelia.

  Chapter Eleven

  The wolf pursued her through the forest that had once held so much death. Her hair whipped her face as she ran, laughing, looking back again and again, catching glimpses of black between the dark shadows of the trees. It would only take a single missed step and he would be upon her. She turned and met him, letting his weight bear her to the ground. The heavy, furred body covered her, and she welcomed him, parting her legs beneath him. Around them, the voices of wolves bayed for her blood, but she did not fear. He took her beneath the high crescent of the moon and a tapestry of stars. She was no longer afraid of the forest.

  Aurelia woke from the dream with a spark of renewed hope that burned out as she realized she was alone in the bed. Raf had gone without waking her. Her stomach turned to stone.

  “My lady?”

  Henry’s voice startled her, and she clasped the bed clothes to her chest as she sat up. “Sir Henry.”

  He looked so grim, for a moment she worried that the fight had already taken place, that Raf had already perished. Her blood pounded in her ears as she silently prayed he had not come to bring her news of Raf’s death.

  “You must dress and present yourself for the fight.” Henry gave her a smile more like a grimace, that was meant to reassure her but only showed her that he felt the finality in the air. “It is time.”

  So, that was all, and all was settled. Raf would die, and she would watch, helpless. “Thank you. Wait for me without, I will not take long.”

  Henry had left a bundle on the cot he’d not slept on the night before. She unrolled it, finding a clean chemise and surcoat, and shoes with high, wooden soles for traversing muddy ground. She did not put them on. Instead, she donned her filthy chemise and ruined kirtle. Let Roderick see what he truly fought for, Raf’s woman, who had survived the forest with him.

  When Henry saw her, he opened his mouth as though to argue. But he thought better of it. There was steel in her soul this morning, cruel and sharp, and if a tenth of it showed on her face, she would be a fearsome creature, indeed.

  There was steel at her thigh, as well. She’d taken the belt from the clean surcoat and tied Henry’s dagger around her thigh. Could Henry see it, the weight of it hitting her skirt as she walked? If he did, he said nothing. How many women armed themselves similarly in these halls? It seemed almost foolish not to. Were she to become Roderick’s lady, she would insist that the women carry weapons. Let the men make free with them then, and get a jab between the ribs for it.

  Men filtered from the hall, but she did not see Raf as she followed Henry through. They passed into the courtyard, and out again, passing beyond the castle walls and into the forest. She had not worn the shoes, would not take any help from this castle until the outcome of this battle was final. She would owe Roderick and his father nothing while Raf was alive. She picked carefully through the bracken, but she did not register her pain when she stepped on a sharp thorn or broken twig. If these wolves valued strength, she would show them her strength. She would be stronger than all of them.

  She caught sight of Margaret Lackey walking ahead of them, her thick fur cloak dragging a swath of trampled snow behind her. Had she once been as Aurelia was now? Had she turned her anger at the unfairness of this world into armor? If that was what had to be, Aurelia would accept it. Raf had told her she was strong enough to survive, and she must believe him. But at what cost did it come? Would she become as hard and cruel as the wolves that surrounded her?

  The trees cleared, and they stepped into a tilting yard, cut from the very heart of the forest. Stands for spectators were already filled, and men stood around the ring. A raised gallery seated fearsome figures in black robes, and in front of them, Lord Canis, beside an empty chair.

  “There is your place,” Henry instructed her, pointing to Lord Canis’s side. She shuddered to think of being so close to the revolting man, but she did as Henry bade her, keeping watch for Raf among the throng.

  When she mounted the steps, she did not look at the hooded figures, though it was difficult to turn her back to them. She’d seen their fearsome forms the night before, and did not wish to gain a closer acquaintance with them.

  As she sat, Lord Canis trained his cruel eyes upon her. She knew how she must appear, and she was glad when he curled his lip in disgust and turned away from her. Let him find her wanting, perhaps he would not permit her to marry Roderick.

  Then, she saw Raf. Across the list, wearing loose linen braies, the bandage that wrapped his stump crossing his bare chest to anchor over his left shoulder. His brother wore the same knee-length braies. Their lack of mail confused her, until she remembered what Henry had told her, that an unarmed combatant could transform himself into his wolf form as a last attempt in the fight. It would be easy enough to shed such minimal clothing.

  Lord Canis motioned to a herald in a tabard bearing the colors of Blackens Gate, and the man stepped forward, raising his voice to be heard above the crowd, which subdued by degrees as he spoke.

  “Attend the rules of this fight! Neither combatant shall strike until our good Lord Canis gives his signal. Neither combatant shall strike while the other is in the throes of the change. Both men shall fight unto the death. If either man leaves the lists, the fight shall be forfeit! These are the rules named by the tribunal.”

  Silently, Aurelia wished Raf would have the good sense to leave the lists and end the fight now. Let her go to Roderick, if he should live. But it was too late, and she would not convince him to.

  Her breath came fast now, and she was glad that she had not eaten yet, for her stomach would surely have emptied onto Canis’s boots. He stood, watching as his sons prepared to kill and die, not a flicker of emotion on his features. No emotion, except cruelty. Raf took up his sword. Roderick his. Aurelia wanted to close her eyes, to scream, to faint, to do something that could prevent this horror just a moment longer.

  Lord Canis let his hand fall.

  All the strength sapped from Aurelia’s body as the first ring of steel against steel broke the hush of the grave assembly. She slumped back, her vision swimming with tears. Though his stance was odd, his gait ungraceful, Raf did not fall at once, as Henry had seemed certain he would do. Indeed, it surprised most of the spectators when Raf managed to not only shield himself from his brother’s elegant blows, but to knock them aside and make a sally of his own. A gasp went up as Roderick spun from Raf’s reach.

  In the summer, dust would rise from the feet of combatants in a tournament, making it difficult to see their movements after a time. The snow-muddied ground offered no such succor. Roderick’s blade swung wide, cutting a swath toward Raf’s whole leg. Aurelia did not gasp, though the rest of the assembly seemed to, on one unified breath. Of course Roderick would strike to wound first, a wound that would have cut not only Raf’s leg, but his very soul. But Raf was too fast, turning to take the blow on the iron leg, bouncing Roderick’s sword back with such
force that Roderick grimaced. The pain to his arm must have been great, for he switched hands, coming at Raf with a strike aimed for his neck. Raf caught the blade with his own and slid it aside, stepping out of his brother’s range.

  “Fool. He’ll never have the courage to kill him,” Lord Canis muttered, and Aurelia’s dread increased, for she saw what he meant. Roderick aimed another deadly strike, leaving himself wide for attack, and Raf did not.

  He could not kill his brother. Even to save her, Raf could not kill his own blood.

  And just as that thought passed through her mind, on its heels came the truth, that Roderick could commit such disgusting fratricide, and with that, his sword landed a glancing blow to Raf’s shoulder, and blood exploded from the gaping cut.

  The edges of Aurelia’s vision went black. She grasped the edges of her chair, breath frozen in her chest. Pain such as she never knew seized her, and she thought for a moment that she would die with Raf.

  He limped back, his iron leg clearly taking a toll on him. Sweat dripped from the end of his nose, blood coursed down his arm. Still, he raised his sword. A new determination came over him. Now, he did not only evade. He lunged. His movements became a frenzy of exhaustion and desperation. Roderick matched him, their blades meeting again and again, their feet dancing them out of harm. Roderick stumbled for a moment, and that was all it took. Suddenly, like the wind change, Raf had the upper hand in the fight. He bore down upon his brother with a rain of strikes meant to keep Roderick off balance. But Roderick was not wounded, his reflexes were sharper. He twisted away from his brother’s blade, putting a wide gap between them.

  Roderick feared.

  Aurelia hunched over, hand pressed to her heart. She prayed, her eyes closed, the sounds of the fight tormenting her, every grunt of pain from Raf bringing a fresh wash of tears to her eyes. Let him live, she implored silently. Do not let him rally, only to fall.