Dark Warrior (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour)

by Julie Shelton

  After bowing to both Nicholas and Kathryn, he had her stand on a piece of parchment, while he carefully traced around each foot with a stick of charcoal. He made a series of other quick measurements, writing cryptic notations on a small slate hanging from a leather cord attached to his belt. When he was finished, he bowed again and left, all without saying one single word.

  The tailor came next, a thin-faced, self-important little man who strutted around like a preening peacock. He was accompanied by a page. The tailor used a knotted string to take his own series of measurements, calling out numbers to the young boy, who wrote everything down with a quill on a sheet of vellum.

  By the time they were finished, Kathryn was white-faced with exhaustion, a condition not missed by either Rolf or Nicholas. Abruptly, Rolf rose from the table. “Forgive me, min skat,” he murmured, taking her hand between both of his and leaning in to kiss her cheek. “I fear I have over-tired thee. ’Tis time to take my leave.”

  “What does min skat mean?” Kathryn asked curiously, reluctant to see him go.

  His hesitation was so brief she nearly missed it. “It means, ‘my lady,’” he said smoothly, bowing low. “I will see thee anon, min skat.”

  Rolf turned and left the room, feeling her eyes following him every step of the way. Those enormous green eyes that seemed to see into his very soul. By all the gods, she’s real! The woman I’ve been pleasuring in my dreams is real! It took every bit of determination he possessed not to rush back into the solar, gather her in his arms, and lay her out on Nicky’s bed, baring her exquisite body to his gaze as he pleasured her for real. Never had a woman stirred him so deeply, awakening parts of himself he’d thought long dead.

  Much too restless to retire to his own bedchamber, which was located adjacent to Nicholas’s, he strode through the great hall and out into the bailey. Icy wind buffeted his body and in spite of his fur leggings and vest, he shivered. Mayhap a vigorous practice with my broadswords will settle me. Grim-faced, he turned his steps toward the knights’ garrison, knowing in his soul that naught would settle him. Naught but Lady Kathryn Weston beneath him, moaning as both he and Nick drove her to the peak of pleasure with their mouths, their hands, their cocks—’tis naught but a fool’s dream, Torgesson. You might as well wish to fly to the moon. Neither of those things will ever happen.

  As soon as Rolf was gone, Nicholas scooped Kathryn up and carried her back over to the bed. He tucked her in and lay down fully dressed on top of the covers beside her, holding her close as she drifted contentedly off to sleep. “Wake us in an hour, William,” Nicholas ordered as his chamberlain closed the heavy damask drapes around the bed.

  By the time Jamie brought in the supper tray, Kathryn was in the process of trouncing Nicholas for the third game of draughts in a row, crowing at his ignominious defeat.

  “I give up,” he groused good-naturedly, throwing his hands up in a gesture of surrender before removing the game board so Jamie could place the food tray on the table. More delicious smells drifted up, making Kathryn’s mouth water once again. All she could think of was the watery porridge and stale bread that had been her daily fare at the convent, relieved only by mushy, overcooked vegetables during the summer. She sent up a silent prayer of thanks that she would never have to live there again.

  Lifting lids, she looked at the food in the serving dishes. Roasted stuffed pheasant, pigeon pie with apples and nuts, grilled trout…she jerked back. Eels. Roasted whole on a spit. Swimming in a sauce made of their own blood mixed with verjuice, crushed ginger, and other spices. They stared up at her with their bulging eyes and she suddenly felt her stomach heave. Such revolting fare had been served at the convent as a special treat for the priests when they visited. Immediately seizing on Kathryn’s aversion, the nuns had taken great delight in forcing her to eat twice her normal share of the disgusting creatures. Replacing the lid with a clatter, she covered her mouth with her fingertips, trying valiantly to suppress her shudder.

  But Nicholas, watching her carefully, noticed her discomfort. He motioned Jamie over to him. “Take the eels away, lad,” he said in a low voice, “and inform the kitchen that they are not to be served at the high table again.” Without fanfare, Jamie grabbed the offending dish and handed it to one of the other servers, who swiftly whisked it away.

  Stunned by the graciousness of such a gesture, Kathryn simply stared at the empty space formerly occupied by the plate of eels, then lifted her gaze to find herself looking into Nicholas’s gray eyes. He merely shrugged, a smile curving his full, sensuous lips. “I care not for them overmuch myself, my lady.” Thank you, she mouthed, looking around the room as if searching for something.

  “Is aught amiss?” Nicholas asked.

  “Nay, my lord, I was just…” Blushing, she lowered her gaze to the hands twisting in her lap.

  “Are you waiting for Rolf to join us?”

  “Nay, my lord,” she lied, “I–I just thought—”

  Without turning his head, Nicholas picked up the silver pitcher full of hippocras. “Jamie, run and tell Sir Rolf we await his presence in the solar.” Pouring a goblet full of the spiced red wine, he held it out for Kathryn to take a sip.

  As soon as Rolf joined them, the odd restlessness gripping her began to ease and she was finally able to relax. This time, as the three laughed and exchanged stories, both Nicholas and Rolf fed her choice tidbits from their trenchers, both sharing their wine with her as well.

  Just as they were finishing, Ellen came in, followed by four grooms straining beneath the weight of an enormous wooden trunk trimmed with brass hinges and leather straps. They dropped it with a loud thunk at the foot of the bed. Ellen fitted a large iron key into the heavy lock and opened the lid to reveal a bounty of women’s clothes—cote-hardies, surcotes, mantles, chemises—all made from rich velvets, silks, soft woolens, trimmed or lined with fine furs, embroidered with silver and gold threads, decorated with buttons carved out of wood and ivory.

  “These belonged to Her Grace, Lady Blanche, the late Duchess,” Ellen explained, lifting a cote-hardie made of deep crimson velvet out of the chest and shaking it out. “Stand up, me lady.”

  Ellen dropped the gown over Kathryn’s head and eyed it critically. “Hmmmm.” She pinched it in here and there on either side. “’Twill take at least a couple of days before the tailor can have anything ready fer ye, me lady. But I can have this by tomorrow morning. It won’t be an exact fit, but at least ye’ll have sommat to wear. I’m sorry I didn’t think of this sooner. Just let me fetch me pins, me lady and we’ll have ye fixed up right as rain.”

  Kathryn stood patiently for over an hour, listening to Rolf’s and Nicholas’s banter, while Ellen and Mary tucked and pinned several garments around her body. Until Nicholas called a halt. “Enough for now, Ellen,” he said gently. “As you can see, Lady Kathryn is past tired.”

  Indeed she was. In spite of the nap, she was drooping like a flower too long without water.

  He put his arms around her, pressing his lips to the top of her head. He stood there just holding her as William entered the room and made a show of banking the fire and shooing the pages and grooms to their pallets out in the great hall. Rolf bade them a swift good night and left as Mary carefully lifted the pinned cote-hardie over Kathryn’s head, followed by the chemise. Leaving her standing there naked.

  “Thank you, William,” Nicholas said, as the elderly chamberlain opened the curtains along one side of the bed. Nicholas lifted the linen sheet, following Kathryn as she slid beneath the covers, scooting her over with his big body. Turning to lie on his side, he pulled her hips back against him, tucking her ass into his groin, unable to stifle a groan as his cock hardened. He heard the rustle of fabric as the heavy, damask curtains closed, cocooning the two of them in their own private space. “Kathryn…beloved…I believe we should wed.”

  She rolled away from him and sat up, frowning. “Wed?” she asked incredulously. “You wish us to wed?”

  He smiled in the darkness
. “Are you unfamiliar with the word?”

  “Nay, it’s just—”

  “Do you not want to get married?”

  `”Aye, of course I do.” She spread her hands helplessly. “But, how can it be? My father—I’m promised to—” She could not even bring herself to say Walford’s name. “I’m bought and paid for,” she said bitterly, pushing the fur covers off her legs and turning to leave the bed. “Something I managed to forget this day because you beguiled me so.”

  His reach was long enough to keep her firmly anchored to the bed.

  “And how did I accomplish that?” he asked curiously.

  “By showing me happiness,” she wailed accusingly, pushing feebly against his chest. “By showing me how it looks and sounds and feels—even how it tastes and smells! ’Tis something I’ve never had and you made me want it—desperately!”

  “And that is a bad thing?” he asked.

  “Aye! Because it can never be! I have no right to any of it! I am promised to another!” She was sobbing now, trying to twist out of his encircling arms, wincing and hissing at the sudden, sharp pain in her ribs. “Blessed Mary, how could I have forgotten that? Prithee, Your Grace, let me go! I beg of you by all that is holy!” His arms tightened. “Let me go!” She shrieked, giving one last desperate push before collapsing against his chest, her body shaking with sobs.

  “Nay, Kathryn. You are not going anywhere. You belong to me—have belonged to me ever since we began having the exact same dreams—dreams in which you beguiled me. Sweet Jesu, beloved, you were so beautiful, so ethereal, your body wrapped in moonlight, your hair shimmering as if lit by the stars.” His hard fingers beneath her chin forced her to look at him. “How could you possibly think for one moment that I would ever let you go?”

  “Because you must!” she wailed.

  “Nay, I cannot, Kathryn. I love you, damn it!”

  “You cannot possibly love me,” she denied, even though everything within her was desperate to believe. “You know naught about me—”

  “I know everything that’s important,” he said fiercely. “I know that you are strong and clever and braver than any knight I’ve ever known. You have the heart of a warrior, my lady, and I love you with all my heart, body, and soul.” Then, at her look of utter misery, he softened. “Kathryn…beloved. You are under no obligation to honor your father’s unholy pact with the Duke of Pemberton. Marry me and be free of him—of both of them.”

  He smiled at her, a devastatingly masculine smile that tugged at her heart and sent liquid heat spilling from her womb. His arms tightened around her as he tucked her head beneath his chin. Then, he simply held her until her sobbing ceased. “Do you trust me, Kathryn?” he asked quietly.

  She nodded. “Aye, my lord.” She sniffled.

  “Then trust that I would never allow anyone to harm you. All you need know is that events are being set into motion that will take down Robert Walford. You have my solemn oath on that.”

  Kathryn just lay there, absorbing his words. He seemed so confident, so sure of himself, she willingly gave up the struggle and pushed all the rest of her questions to the back of her mind. Snuggling up against his hard body, cocooned in the safe harbor of his powerfully muscled arms, she let out a blissful sigh. “Are we really to wed?” she whispered, the movements of her lips against his neck tickling his skin, sending goose bumps rolling down his spine.

  “Aye, beloved. In four days’ time.”

  “Four days!” She shot upright, nearly cracking her head against his chin. “But I know naught how to plan a wedding!”

  “Nor have you need of such knowledge,” he assured her. “I’ve asked Sorcha Parsons to make all the necessary arrangements.”

  “But I have no gown to wear! How can I possibly be wed in four days?”

  He chuckled. “The tailor has promised me a proper gown for you to be wed in. Trust me. You will be ready. Tomorrow I am going to show you around Berwick and introduce you to all the people who live here. They’ve all been on tenterhooks waiting to meet their new Duchess.”

  “How do they even know about me?”

  “They saw me upon my return from the hunt as I carried you through the great hall, delirious with pain and fever. They ask about you every day. They’re quite concerned about you.”

  She just lay there, still and silent, pondering Nicholas’s words. People care about me? How can that be? No one has ever cared about me before—not even my own mother. How can people care for someone they’ve never even met? Someone completely unknown to them? The very concept was beyond her comprehension.

  With a sigh, she let her mind go blank, snuggling her hips backward into Nicholas’s groin. The hard ridge of his cock was between them, pressed between their bellies. He groaned as she wiggled against him, making him jerk and throb.

  “Kathryn—” It was a warning.

  He held her without moving, trying to keep his breathing steady. Trying to rein in the towering hunger he had for her and her alone. Trying to—Bloody Christ!

  “Kathryn, beloved, lie still,” he said through gritted teeth, “or I won’t be responsible for what happens next.” He held his breath. He was never going to survive this. It was the very height of folly to think he could continue to lie with her for the next four nights without fucking her until she was screaming with pleasure.

  “What does happen next?” she asked, but she had at least stilled her movements.

  “Naught, God willing.” He released his breath slowly, carefully. “Go to sleep, love.”

  He was about to drift off when her tiny voice floated up out of the darkness. “Am I not desirable? Do you not wish to make love to me?”

  “God’s teeth, Kathryn!” His arms tightened around her convulsively, his voice thick with arousal. “If I wanted you any more, I would be inside you right now. It is taking every ounce of control I have not to turn you over and slide my cock into your sweet, tight cunt.” He was sweating, breathing heavily at the very thought. “I need you so badly I can’t keep my hands off of you. And every time I touch you, all I can think of is fucking you.”

  “Then, why don’t you?”

  “Because the physician wants us to wait for at least four more days—to make certain you are completely healed both inside and out—before we make love.” He pressed his lips against the side of her neck. “And I am going to make love to you, my precious, never doubt that for a minute. But I want to put as much time and distance between you and Walford’s attack as I can, so that when I do finally claim you, you will be thinking only of me—and no one else. You will be seeing only me—and no one else. You will be feeling only me—and no one else.”

  There was a long pause before she finally spoke. “Fear not, my love,” she said, her voice muffled by the fur coverlet he’d pulled up around them. “I could never confuse you with anyone else. And when you do finally claim me four days hence, I will be giving myself to you. Only you—and no one else.”

  * * * *

  Carefully removing his arm from beneath Kathryn’s head, Nicholas swung his legs over the edge of the bed and sat up. Beyond the heavy drapes enclosing the bed, he could hear William moving around the solar, attending to his duties.

  When he poked his head out to look around, he saw his elderly chamberlain hanging Nicholas’s own sable-lined woolen mantle on one of two long wooden pegs extending from the stone wall next to the bed. “Good morrow, Your Grace,” the servant said with a deep bow, keeping his voice low so as not to disturb Kathryn’s sleep. He placed Nicholas’s high, cuffed leather boots on the floor beside the bed. “’Tis bitter cold outside, Your Grace. You and m’lady will need to dress warmly for her tour of her new domain.”

  Nicholas stared at his elderly chamberlain, then laughed softly. “And that, William, is why you are so indispensable to me—your ability to read my mind and divine my thoughts, thus anticipating my every need before even I know what those needs will be.”

  “Oh, aye, Your Grace,” William agreed blandly. “Th
at. And I happened to overhear you telling Her Ladyship last night that that were your plan.” Unabashed, he looked Nicholas straight in the eye. “May I be the first to wish you and Her Ladyship a long and happy life together?”

  Nicholas laughed again. “Aye, William, you may.” He slid down off the bed, only to start hopping about, swearing vociferously. “God’s Blood! This floor is freezing!” He minced over to the carpet to stand naked and shivering before the fire.

  “You did not give me a chance to put down your foot sheet, my lord,” William chided gently, his arms still full of the young Duke’s clothing.

  Nicholas splashed cold water on his face, then sat to let William groom his hair. But no amount of combing could tame those thick, shaggy black locks. “Enough,” he finally said, standing quietly as William dressed him in a linen undershirt and a black, wool, thigh-length jupon with long sleeves that buttoned from elbow to wrist with silver buttons. His wide-cuffed, knee-high boots, also black, went over black chausses that buttoned front and back to his gathered linen braes. A silver amulet around his neck completed the look of a powerful English Duke. But no clothing, no matter how fashionable, could tame the dark, barbaric appeal lurking beneath the civilizing exterior of his garments.

  Dressed and coifed, Nicholas walked over to the bed and opened the curtains. Placing one knee on the mattress, he loomed over the still-sleeping Kathryn and lightly touched his lips to hers.

  Smiling against his mouth, eyes still closed, she raised her arms over her head and stretched gracefully, arching her body into his like a sleek, contented cat.

  Mouth dry, he could feel himself grow hard at the unconsciously sensual motion. “Good morrow, my lady,” he said in a low, intense voice that throbbed with the hunger he could never hide from her. Just looking at her, touching her lips, inhaling her scent was enough to make him rigid, ready, a fierce, all-consuming need for her spearing through him.