Rebel Warrior (Medieval Warriors #3)

by Regan Walker

  She returned his kisses, moaning softly.

  Desperate to know the feel of her, he ran his hand over her breasts, her waist and her hip. The soft curves of her flesh he felt beneath her thin undertunic were so enticing he had to remind himself to take his time.

  He slipped his hand beneath the thin linen and ran his fingers over the skin of her slender thigh. When her hands gripped his shoulders, his body responded and his hand crept higher. He was heading toward the juncture of her thighs but there were too many clothes between them. Tugging up her tunic, he began to remove it. Discerning his intent, she helped him pull it over her head and tossed it to the floor.

  Before him lay his beautiful bride revealed in candlelight, her skin like cream and her breasts perfect with nipples the color of wild roses.

  Shyly, she tried to pull the cover over her.

  “Nay, do not cover yourself. I would see the beauty I have only imagined, the woman who is mine.”

  Laying the cover to one side, he peeled off his hosen. Now, as naked as she, he lay alongside her, letting her feel all of him. Slipping one of his legs between hers, he drew her thighs apart, while he cupped her breasts and licked her nipples to hardened buds.

  “Oh,” she sighed, her hands holding his head to her breasts.

  Her breathing came faster and when he looked up, her eyes were dark with passion and her lips open for his kiss. “ ’Tis meant to bring you pleasure and ready you for our joining.”

  He pulled her close and kissed her, then slid his hand to the nest of dark red curls at the juncture of her thighs and felt her delicate folds, already wet. His aroused flesh pressed against her thigh, his body urging haste. He stifled the desire to mount her and gently circled the bud he knew would bring her near her peak, but he had no intention of allowing her to find release before they were joined as one.

  She began to move against his hand and he obliged her with strokes designed to raise her passion. His own was racing and his breathing heavy. Finally, sensing the time was right, he rolled on top of her and let her feel his hardened shaft against her wet flesh.

  She raised her hips in invitation and moved against him while he kissed her.

  He raised his head. “ ’Tis time, my love.”

  “Yea,” she whispered and reached again for his kiss.

  Positioning himself over her welcoming flesh, he slid into her tight sheath, filling her completely.

  A deep moan sounded from her throat as he claimed her. He stilled, relieved he had not hurt her. It might have been all her riding around the vale or falling off logs into streams, but the little blood he knew they would find in the morning would not be that of a maiden roughly used, but one who was prepared and gently loved.

  Her passion did not subside but rose with his and soon they were moving together. “Oh, Steinar,” she gasped as her breath came more rapidly.

  The pressure rose, leaving him unable to speak. His heart pounded in his chest and their sweat mingled, making their bodies slick against each other.

  Sensing her release drawing near, he whispered, “Just let go, my love.”

  She expelled a breath and her muscles clenched around him, giving him a pleasure he had not known before and demanding his own release. A last deep thrust and his seed flooded her womb.

  For a moment, joined together, her arms tight around him, he seemed to float, utterly content. Catrìona was finally his. But why was this so different? “ ’Twas love,” his mind silently whispered. Not just the joining of two bodies, but of two souls.

  He rolled to lie next to her and pulled her into his side, feeling the length of her soft warm body as she laid her head on his shoulder.

  She placed her palm on his chest, still damp with sweat. “Was it all right?” Her voice sounded unsure.

  “Aye, little cat,” he said, covering her hand with his and kissing her temple. “It was much better than that. I cannot even describe how wonderful it was, but ’tis clear our nights will bring us much joy and should God bless us, many children.”

  “I would like children,” she said, entwining her fingers in the hair on his chest. Then as if she thought she had forgotten something important, she said, “I enjoyed our joining.”

  He chuckled. “I could tell that you did.”

  The candles burned low but there was sufficient light for him to see her smiling. “Steinar,” she said.

  “Aye?”

  “You are mine, are you not?”

  “Aye, lass, only yours and forever.” Behind him was England and a past he could not, did not, want to bring back. No longer the exile, he now had a home. He belonged to Catrìona and she to him. And both of them belonged to Scotland. “Sleep, little cat and know I will hold you. I vow you will have only good dreams this night.”

  CHAPTER 18

  Sunlight filtering through the shutters awakened Steinar the next morning. Next to him, curled into his side, lay his sleeping bride, her auburn hair spread across the pillow like strands of dark fire. He gently placed a kiss on her forehead and carefully rose so as not to wake her. He had made love to her again in the night when the candles had burned to near nothing and dawn was not yet with them. She would need her rest.

  He rose and washed, donned his hosen and sat at the table nibbling on chunks of cheese, basking in his good fortune. He had a wife he loved, lands of his own where he would build them a home and a noble king to serve.

  “Steinar?” she murmured from the bed.

  “Aye, love, just here.”

  Rising up on one elbow, tousled from their night of lovemaking, she grinned.

  “Happy are you?” he asked.

  “Aye,” she said, “very.”

  He could feel himself harden at the sight of her auburn hair falling around her pale shoulders, the cover slipping dangerously close to revealing one perfect breast. “Do you wish me to return to our bed or are you hungry for more than me?”

  She laughed. “Conceited rogue. Might you bring the food here so that we can dine on it and each other?”

  “Ho! My bride learns fast.” Picking up the trencher, he reached the edge of the bed in two long strides, his leg bothering him not at all.

  He fed her the cherries one by one, then licked the juice from her lips. That led to other delights, which continued until a knock sounded on their door.

  * * *

  “Mistress?” Catrìona recognized the voice as her handmaiden.

  “ ’Tis Deidre,” she said to Steinar, moving his hand from her breast. “What is it?” she said to the door.

  Through the oak planks, her handmaiden said, “I would not disturb you, milady, but I thought you would want to know that last night the queen had her babe. ’Twas early… a son! The king is ever so pleased. The babe is to be named Edmund and the queen asks you and the other two ladies to stay for the christening.”

  At Steinar’s nod, she said, “Aye, we will.”

  Hearing Deidre’s footsteps retreating down the corridor, Catrìona lay back on the pillows and looked at her new husband, who was smiling at her as he rose up on one elbow, his golden locks loose about his muscled shoulders, his blue thistle eyes gazing at her, a pleased expression on his face. “Should we go congratulate the king and pay tribute to the queen and her new son?”

  “Aye,” he said, “ ’tis best. We have played the slug-a-beds long enough. And we have our nights. The christening will not be for a few days.”

  * * *

  Three days later, Margaret and Malcolm’s babe was christened and Steinar made ready to leave Dunfermline with his new wife and those who would travel with them. Outside the tower door stood the king and queen and a group who had assembled to bid the travelers Godspeed.

  Rhodri, Fia and Cillyn, headed for Wales, would join their party until they reached the River Clyde where Cillyn’s ship awaited him.

  Paul and Erlend had left before the three couples were wed, telling Steinar his ship would arrive in the vale ere long with all the supplies he needed. With the dowry Cat
rìona’s uncle had provided, and the king’s generosity, Steinar was rich with coin.

  “I’ve a new scribe,” said the king to Steinar as he watched their chests being loaded into the cart, “so I will expect regular missives from my lettered mormaer.”

  “As you wish, My Lord,” Steinar said. “And should you call, I will come.”

  Margaret kissed her new babe and handed him to his nurse. A second nurse held her first son, Edward. Coming up to Steinar’s bride, the queen said, “I will miss you, lovely Catrìona. Things will be a bit dull for a time without my lady who flies falcons and sneaks out to run in the woods.”

  “I will miss you greatly, My Lady,” Catrìona said. “You have taught me so much, your life speaking louder than your words.”

  “I am glad,” Margaret replied. “You are still young, but you have grown wise and helped me much. I will let you know of the progress of the ferry and the inn.” Then turning to Catrìona’s cousin, the queen said, “You have your bard, Fia. One day you may wear a queen’s crown. Do not forget to wear a cloak of humility as well.”

  Catrìona’s cousin curtsied before the queen. “I shall not forget, My Lady.”

  “Do not forget me!” piped up Giric, running to the queen. His small wiry dog, Shadow, let out a yelp as if demanding to be recognized along with his master.

  “I will not forget you, little Giric,” said Margaret, reaching down to hug the lad. Then turning to Steinar and Catrìona, she said, “He is the son of a Culdee monk, did you know?”

  “Nay, I did not,” Steinar said.

  “Nor I,” said Catrìona. “He will be like our own son.”

  Margaret said, “I believe he will prove a worthy one.” And to Giric, the queen said, “Did you hear that? You have new parents who love you. Be a good son to them, aye?”

  Giric nodded solemnly.

  The queen went back to stand with Malcolm and their two young sons.

  Angus helped Deidre into the cart where she would ride and came to bow before the king and queen. Taking Giric by the hand, he said to Steinar. “With yer permission, sir, the lad can ride with me.”

  Steinar nodded and as Angus walked away, Catrìona laid her hand on Steinar’s arm. “He is no longer my guard. Now, by his own decision, Angus serves you, the Mormaer of Levenach.”

  Steinar touched her hand. “I am glad to have so faithful a man.”

  Rhodri came to pay his respects to the king, bowing low.

  “You are a king’s son, Rhodri,” said Malcolm. “One day, should God will it, you may be a king. Forget not Scotland where you sojourned. I expect to hear of that alliance we discussed.”

  “I shall speak of it to my father when I arrive in Wales, My Lord.”

  Steinar watched as Catrìona’s uncle came to say his goodbye. He kissed and hugged his daughter, then his niece, and said to Rhodri, “I will hold you to the promise to bring my daughter to see me.” And to Steinar, he said, “I want to see my niece, as well.”

  Steinar nodded, as did Rhodri.

  Colbán and Audra emerged from the tower together with the queen’s two other ladies. Colbán seemed very content with his new bride and she with him. The captain had told Steinar ’twas his intent to stay for a while to see the guard settled with another captain before he and Audra left for Strivelyn to the west. “ ’Tis not far so I can come and go while our fortress is being built.”

  “I am thankful for our time serving together in the king’s guard,” said Steinar. And he meant it. Colbán was a faithful leader of men and he knew the two would remain friends.

  Colbán slapped him on the back. “I have a feeling we will see each other more often than we might think.”

  Finally they were ready to leave and had said all their goodbyes.

  Steinar led the procession away from Dunfermline, waving goodbye to those watching from the front of the tower. Seeing the sadness in Catrìona’s eyes, he said, “ ’Tis hard to leave, I know, but happy are the days that lie ahead, my love.”

  She smiled then, her green eyes flashing. “Aye, and I go home with a full heart and a husband besides.”

  “One who loves you very much, little cat.”

  EPILOGUE

  The Vale of Leven, Strathclyde, Scotland 1087

  Catrìona stood at the top of the rise, shielding her eyes against the summer sun, anxiously waiting for Steinar’s golden head to appear. He had sent word of King Malcolm’s victory over the Moray rebels in the north, but she would not be at peace until he was safe in her arms.

  In the fifteen summers that had passed since they had returned to the vale, much had happened to make her content. But not when her husband rode to battle, as he had seven years after the Treaty of Abernethy when, to no one’s surprise, Malcolm again raided Northumbria. She worried then and she worried now. There were always men who did not return. And so she had come to understand the pain she had seen in Margaret’s eyes all those years before when Malcolm rode off with his warriors, wearing mail and helm.

  The hillfort that stood behind her was the one Steinar had built that first fall. It was larger than her father’s and not in the same place. Wisely, Steinar had decided they would live higher above the vale, where she had flown Kessog that day so long ago, the day that changed her life forever.

  From here, they could see the deep blue waters of Loch Lomond in one direction and the River Clyde in the other. On the shore of the River Clyde, where her father’s hillfort had once stood, there was now a chapel next to the many graves. She could not see it from here, yet she knew it well. Steinar, Niall and Angus had built the chapel and invited Caerell, the Culdee monk she had met at St. Andrews to live in the vale. To her delight, he had accepted the invitation.

  Other graves had been added over the years to those that stood witness to the Northmen’s attack, including that of a babe she and Steinar had lost that first year, a girl child. That was before God gave them five strong sons.

  She had wanted a love like her parents had and, with Steinar, she had found it. In the years that had passed, her love for him had grown, mellowing like a fine wine aged with time. They did not always agree. Sometimes, she thought Steinar actually started arguments for he seemed to love the debate that followed. Always they came together in the end.

  She thought of Deidre, her faithful handmaiden. How she missed her. Two years after they returned to the vale, she had finally consented to marry Angus, who was, like Malcolm, nearly twice the age of his bride at their wedding. Each consoled the other for what they had lost that day of the Northmen’s raid. The next summer Deidre gave birth, but did not survive childbed, dying in Angus’ arms. Their daughter, who Angus had named Deidre, was the joy of her father’s life.

  Catrìona had promised Angus she would be a mother to the child and she had kept her word. The winsome, dark-haired girl had filled the hole in her heart left by the death of her own child.

  A year after Rhodri and Fia had gone to Gwynedd, his father, the king, had died. Rhodri, or Iorwerth, as he was known to his people, now shared control of Powys and Gwynedd with his brothers, as Cillyn had said he would. Though Rhodri was never able to persuade his brothers to make a formal alliance with Scotland, he maintained good relations with Malcolm. Several times, he and Fia had come through the vale on their way to visit Fia’s father in Atholl. Fia had given Rhodri three daughters and then two sons. Their oldest son, Matad, fostered with his grandfather. The two were inseparable.

  Sometimes, Niall traveled with Rhodri and Fia back to Wales. One year, Niall returned home with a Welsh bride, Aneira, a lovely girl, who now lived with them in the hillfort.

  Catrìona smiled to herself thinking of Giric. He would be returning with Steinar and Niall this day and there were many lasses in the vale who would be happy to hear it. The orphan had become a true son to her and Steinar, the only one of their six boys old enough to go to war with his father. At one and twenty summers, Giric had become the warrior he had vowed to be, tall and proud of bearing and skilled with a sw
ord.

  Giric’s dog, Shadow, had died three summers ago and the king, inquiring about Giric’s sad face on their trip to Dunfermline that year, gave him a whelp from one of the royal hounds. Giric had named the gangly dog Sealgair, or Hunter. The hound followed him everywhere. Not to be outdone, Steinar had asked the king for a pup and now a female hound stood guard at the hillfort.

  Last year, Davina had lost her beloved Maerleswein to a winter sickness after he’d come home soaked to the skin, caught in a deluge with some of his men. He had lived into his sixth decade and fathered two sons in Scotland who would live after him. ’Twas a full life by any man’s standard, yet Catrìona’s heart went out to Davina, for whom she prayed every day. But at least in Lothian, Davina had her people around her.

  Catrìona supposed Audra was as happy as any of them for she had both her husband and father to fuss over. Colbán protested much but it was apparent to all he loved his doting wife. On their way to Dunfermline, Catrìona and Steinar often stopped to visit them in the large fortress built on a hill at Strivelyn overlooking the lowest crossing point on the River Forth.

  In his fifth decade, Audra’s father, Duff, still fought at the king’s side. According to Steinar’s message, Duff, his two sons and Colbán had led the battle against the rebels in Moray.

  Margaret had given Malcolm five sons, then two daughters and, finally four summers ago, little David. They still resided at the royal seat in Dunfermline but there was talk of building a fortress at Dun Edin on the other side of the Forth.

  Catrìona knew Margaret missed her brother, Edgar, who had eventually made peace with William and left Scotland to seek his fortune in Italy. At more than thirty summers, he had yet to wed. Whenever Catrìona thought of him she would experience a deep sorrow, remembering the handsome young man who had charmed her that first night in Dunfermline. He deserved so much more.

  As for Duncan, the king’s eldest son was still in England, trained as a Norman knight and, to Malcolm’s dismay, serving in William’s campaigns. Nearly thirty, Duncan had yet to be released from his obligation as hostage.