Dark Warrior (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour)

by Julie Shelton

  “Her Ladyship is right here,” Kathryn reminded them. “Why don’t you ask her?”

  “Why don’t I kiss Her Ladyship senseless instead?” Nicholas said playfully, turning her around within the circle of both men’s arms and claiming her mouth in a heated kiss.

  As she threw her arms around Nicholas’s neck and returned his kiss, Rolf released her and stepped back. The sudden loss of his body heat sent a chill feathering down her spine, making her shiver. Nicholas lifted his head. “I have ordered our noon meal to be served in here,” he said, looking straight at his best friend. “Will you not join us, Rolf? ’Twould please Her Ladyship greatly.”

  Rolf sketched a mocking bow. “As you wish, Your Grace,” he said, his mood suddenly becoming reckless. “But only if I, too, am permitted to kiss Her Ladyship senseless.” He kept his tone light and teasing, but Kathryn could tell he was dead serious.

  Turning within the safety of Nicholas’s arms, she laughed up at Rolf. “Think you deserve a kiss, sir knight?” she asked.

  “Most certainly not,” was Rolf’s sardonic reply. His eyes glittered strangely. “But I would have one nevertheless.”

  Nicholas’s arms fell from around her and he stepped back, giving his silent consent for whatever happened next.

  Playfully, Kathryn shaded her eyes with her hand and peered upward, as if trying to find the tall Dane. She was desperate to keep things light. “How do I reach you?” she teased. “You’re too far away.”

  He grinned. “Here, min skat.” His long, lean hands encircled her waist. “I’ll make it easy for thee.”

  “Rolf!” she squealed as he lifted her easily off the floor until her face was above his and he had to tilt his head back to look up at her. Placing her hands on his shoulders to steady herself, she hung in the air, feet dangling high above the floor. “Rolf, put me down!” She was laughing, marveling at the ease with which he held her, as if her weight meant naught.

  “Aye, min skat, as soon as thou hast delivered my kiss.”

  Biting her lip, she felt the laughter drain out of her as she looked down at him, transfixed by what she saw in his eyes. Gone was the easy banter. Gone was the teasing laughter. Replaced by something dark and desperate. Something that haunted his eyes, giving her a glimpse into the tortured depths of his soul.

  Blessed Virgin! He is as wounded as we are, she thought. Nicholas and I are healing each other. Who is going to heal Rolf?

  Lifting her hands from his shoulders, she placed them on his cheeks. She was intensely aware of him. Of everything about him. His hard hands holding her so easily, his lean, powerful body, his heat, his scent, his touch. She was just as intensely aware of Nicholas quietly standing there, watching them, his expression unreadable.

  Without further thought, she lowered her head and touched her lips gently against Rolf’s mouth, knowing that if he moved, if he returned the slight pressure, if he responded in any way, she would be lost.

  If he did any of those things, she would be kissing him as if her very soul depended on it.

  But he didn’t move. He didn’t return the kiss. He merely looked at her, his deep blue eyes blazing into hers, and she knew that the unsought, unbridled lust she was feeling was returned.

  “Thank you for teaching me how to dance,” she said softly, and they both knew that all the things she didn’t say were there, too, swirling around them, binding them together somehow.

  His eyes closed and he swallowed hard. And then he was smiling up at her, his teasing mask firmly back in place, as he lowered her gently back to the floor. “Entirely my pleasure, my lady,” he said, lifting her hand to his lips before placing it in Nicholas’s hand.

  “Shall we eat, then?” Nicholas said easily, dropping a kiss on her upturned lips, and the odd little scene was over as if it had never taken place.

  A procession of servers brought in a veritable feast of delectable dishes and the three of them sat and ate. Kathryn could not speak for either of them, but she was suddenly, intensely ravenous.

  Nicholas and Rolf both shared tidbits from their trenchers with her, each vying to outdo the other, until she protested laughingly that she now knew how the Christmas goose felt—stuffed.

  After the meal, both men grabbed their cloaks and left Kathryn with Mary, who assisted her into Lady Blanche’s altered black velvet riding outfit. It was like nothing Kathryn had ever worn before. Instead of putting it on over her head, like any other garment, she had to step into it because the full skirt was split—sewn up the middle into two separate parts, like a man’s trousers, to accommodate riding a horse astride instead of side-saddle. Lady Blanche had insisted on riding astride, and it was the only way Kathryn knew, having been taught by her father’s knights.

  The bodice buttoned snugly down the front with carved wooden buttons. A fur-lined, hooded mantle and kid-leather gloves with fur lining and cuffs completed the outfit.

  Once dressed, she joined Nicholas and Rolf in the great hall and they made their way out into the cobblestoned bailey.

  The weather had warmed considerably overnight, enough to melt yesterday’s snowfall, except in the deepest, darkest corners of the shops, sheds, lean-tos, and other assorted outbuildings. People bustled hither and yon, talking, laughing, shouting, all of them busy going about the daily business of a large, prosperous holding such as Berwick. Amidst much squawking and frantic flapping of wings, ducks, chickens, and geese scurried about, trying to avoid being trampled by so many feet. Barking and whining, half a dozen dogs ran up to Nicholas and Rolf, jumping up on them, tongues and tails wagging. Both men tossed a few bones they’d grabbed from the almoner’s dish, laughing as the dogs took off after the tidbits, claws clicking on the rounded cobblestones as they scrabbled frantically for purchase. Adding to the cacophony was the steady pounding of hammers and rasping of saws.

  Just outside the entrance to the keep, standing quietly at the ready were three saddled horses being held by three grooms. There was a gray jennet, dwarfed on both sides by a large chestnut destrier and a magnificent black Friesian. Three other horses were tied to the hitching posts.

  Knowing instantly which horse was hers, Kathryn walked up to the gray mare and stroked her soft nose. The groom holding her bridle handed Kathryn a carrot, which she immediately palmed and held under the horse’s mouth.

  “Her name is Bella,” Nicholas said as the horse lipped at the carrot, taking it into her mouth and chewing with loud, cracking noises. “She is yours.”

  “Hello, Bella,” Kathryn breathed, lifting her arm to pat Bella’s neck as she pressed the side of her face against the mare’s. “I am pleased to meet you. You are aptly named, you know. You have the most beautiful brown eyes.”

  The horse jerked her head up and down as if acknowledging Kathryn’s greeting, and Kathryn laughed. “Aye, girl, I’m ready to get started, too. But first I would meet these two handsome devils accompanying you.” She held out her hand for the black to sniff. He was magnificent, with a thick flowing mane and tail, and heavy feathering down his lower legs and over his hooves.

  “‘Devil’ is most appropriate,” Nicholas murmured in her ear, watching his high-spirited stallion stand calm and still while Kathryn stroked his nose and forehead. “His name is Lucifer, and it would seem you have enchanted him as easily as you’ve enchanted the rest of us. He does not usually stand so still for a stranger’s touch.”

  She moved to the chestnut with the white face, leg stockings and long, thick, leg feathers. “This is Mester af Odin,” Rolf said, patting the enormous animal’s neck as Kathryn crooned to him. “His name means Odin’s Champion.”

  Nicholas assisted Kathryn up onto the wooden mounting block. She threw her leg over the saddle and as soon as she was comfortably seated, her booted feet secure in the stirrups, her mantle flowing out over Bella’s back and flanks, the three of them clattered over the cobblestones and through the inner gate. The grooms had mounted the other three horses and were following at a discreet distance.

 
; Cantering down the curving road between the inner and outer gates, they passed through the off-set outer gate, through the barbican, and out onto the flat hilltop above its steep, forested slopes. Kathryn leaned forward across her horse’s neck and whispered in her ear, “Come on, Bella, let’s see what you can do.” She heeled Bella in the side and the mare leaped forward. She plunged over the hill and down the road through the forest, her stride lengthening, hooves pounding as Kathryn gave her her head.

  Startled, Nicholas and Rolf spurred their own horses and soon the three of them were racing hell-for-leather down the long road through the forest, Kathryn’s joyful whoops of laughter trailing up the hill behind her.

  As they emerged from the gloom of the trees, Kathryn pulled back on Bella’s reins and the horse came to a reluctant stop, prancing and snorting and jerking at the reins as if wanting to go on and on. Kathryn was panting for breath, tingling all over with excitement and pure, unadulterated exhilaration at the joy of being astride a horse once again, racing with the wind.

  “I know, girl, I know. That was wonderful,” she crooned, leaning forward and patting the side of Bella’s sweat-sheened neck. “And now that I know you’re mine, we will go riding every day, I promise.”

  “Not without one of us, you won’t,” Nicholas said as he guided Lucifer to a stop beside her. Rolf came up on her other side. “You are to go nowhere without Rolf or me,” he said sternly, leaning sideways in his saddle and swooping his dark head to claim her mouth in a hungry kiss.

  When he drew back, he smiled down at her. Suddenly she was breathing as heavily as Bella. “You ride more than just ‘passably well,’ beloved,” he said in a mildly accusing tone. “You did not learn this in a convent, methinks. Who taught you?”

  “My father’s knights,” she said with a grin. “I’ve been riding since I was four years old.”

  “They taught thee well,” Rolf said admiringly. “What else did they teach thee?”

  “Some swordplay, a little knife throwing. And I’m a fair hand with a bow. I sometimes went out with the hunting parties. I even brought down a deer once—a three-point buck.”

  “By thyself?” Rolf asked, impressed.

  “Aye.”

  “A notoriously difficult feat, beloved,” Nicholas murmured. The leather of his saddle creaked as he leaned his forearm on his muscular thigh and bent sideways to kiss her again. As his lips touched hers, Lucifer did a prancing side-step, nearly unseating Nicholas and sending him toppling to the ground. Righting himself awkwardly, he scowled at Rolf’s bark of laughter and the mirth dancing in Kathryn’s eyes. “’Tis time to move on,” he announced firmly, guiding Lucifer forward with a tap of his heels.

  They walked the animals slowly, giving their heated bodies time to cool down. Kathryn turned to see that the three grooms had caught up with them and were once again riding a respectful distance behind them. For the first time she noticed that they all had large, cloth-covered baskets resting on their saddles in front of them

  “What are the baskets for?” she asked, but Nicholas just shook his head and smiled mysteriously. “You will see,” he said.

  They were crossing a broad marsh at the base of the hill, not visible from the castle walls because of the height of the forest’s trees. They passed by some small cottages, a couple of barns and some crumbling outbuildings at the edge of the marsh, then made their way past some neatly walled fields before crossing a stone bridge over a stream bubbling away beneath its covering of ice. The entrance to Berwick Village was marked by a large Celtic cross, carved out of stone, standing in the center of the road. Beside it was the village well. Beyond them, the road widened into the high street, lined on both sides with well-kept wattle-and-daub buildings—houses, cottages, and shops. Off to the right, a long, oak-lined allee led to the stately stone manor house that was the residence of Sir John and Lady Margaret Lowden. It was surrounded by formal gardens and a large park.

  Kathryn looked around, amazed at the complete contrast with Carrolton village, where her father’s villeins lived. Here the streets were neatly swept, not littered with foul-smelling garbage, nor pot-holed and reeking of waste, either animal or human. Here the houses were in good repair, not sagging or leaking or needing to be torn down completely.

  Entire families came out to greet them as they dismounted and made their leisurely way down the high street. And the purpose of the baskets carried by the grooms soon became apparent. For every goodwife brought out a special gift for the Duke and his lovely new Duchess-to-be. Something homemade from their own gardens—jams, fruit tarts, pots of honey, assorted cheeses. The treats were endless and the loving efforts were appreciated by both Nicholas and Kathryn.

  Several families invited them in, shooing dogs and chickens out of the way, setting out the “best” chair for their lord to sit in, regaling him with family news, presenting the newest family members for him to exclaim over and hold or dandle on his knee.

  Rolf and Kathryn came in for their own fair share of holding and dandling while they all discussed crops, harvests, sheep and wool, deaths, weddings and births as if she and Rolf and Nicholas were old friends who just happened to stop by for a visit.

  Kathryn looked around, unable to keep the smile from her lips. Five families were crowded into the main room of this particular cottage, belonging to Ian the thatcher and his wife Moll. Nicholas was sitting in the “good” chair. Kathryn was seated comfortably beside him on a low cushioned stool near the fire. Rolf sat cross-legged in front of the hearth, on the well-worn wooden planks of the floor. Seventeen people in all—men, women, and children—occupied assorted benches and stools or stood against the walls.

  As Kathryn held out a finger for the wide-eyed baby girl she was holding to latch onto, she stole a glance at Nicholas from under her lashes. He, too, was holding a babe, a newborn, not yet a week old, in the crook of his arm, cooing and making faces at him. He was as natural with the squirming infant, as if he were just as accustomed to handling babies as he was his charger or his broadsword.

  Rolf was holding another child, around a year old, up over his head, lowering her to his face, which he nuzzled against her bare belly, blowing noisily on her skin, sending her into gales of laughter.

  Everyone was laughing along with the child, highly entertained by her obvious enjoyment. Finally, Rolf lowered her into his embrace, enfolding her in his arms, closing his eyes and drawing in her sweet baby scent before reluctantly releasing her squirming body to toddle unsteadily across the floor into her mother’s waiting arms. He was smiling, but Kathryn could see the look of longing in his eyes before his lids came down, shuttering his expression.

  She suddenly found herself blinking back tears as she realized that no matter what happened in her life, no matter how long or short it would be, she would always cherish this moment. This day. She would remember how it looked and smelled and sounded and felt. And how she felt being a part of it. She would store it in her heart like a precious jewel that she could take out and look at and touch and treasure.

  Her father’s villeins had been a constant, irritating burden to him—loud and demanding, just another annoyance in his daily existence. Just another drain on his ever-dwindling coffers.

  But these people were no burden to Nicholas. And they were much more than just a responsibility to him. They were his family. He truly cared about them, and they for him. And they were genuinely delighted that he was to be so happily wed.

  When they were finally ready to take their leave, Nicholas took her hand, curling his long fingers around it. “What is it, beloved? You look…”

  “Happy,” she supplied, smiling up at him. She let him pull her into the haven of his embrace. He bent his head and took her mouth in a swift kiss that had Moll heaving a sigh, thrilling her to the bottom of her romantic soul. Then, amid a flurry of good-byes, they emerged from the cottage onto the high street.

  Since Moll and Ian’s cottage was the last one, Kathryn assumed they would be remounting their hors
es and returning to the castle. Instead, they walked past the horses and started down a narrow, muddy path that led through a copse, scattering a flock of bleating sheep in front of them. Melting snow crunched beneath their feet.

  Lifting her heavy skirts to keep them out of the mud, Kathryn struggled to keep up with Nicholas’s long strides. “Where are we going?” she asked, panting, out of breath, slipping in the treacherous mud. She let out a little shriek as Rolf suddenly scooped her up into his arms, holding her high against his chest. Her arms automatically went around his neck, a gesture that put her face right up against his, her mouth scant inches from his own.

  His gaze fell to her mouth and a knot twisted tight in his breast. He wanted her so badly, it took all of his discipline not to take her lips in a blistering kiss. He was practically shaking with the effort it was taking to fight the need raging through him, through his cock, which was granite-hard and throbbing with arousal. “’Tis all right, min skat,” he murmured in that deep, rumbling voice that resonated so profoundly in her heart. “I’ve got you.”

  Aye, you do, she thought bleakly. More than you will ever know. She swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat. “Whither are we going?” she repeated, marveling at the ease with which he was carrying her, as if she weighed no more than the baby he’d been holding.

  They emerged from a small copse of trees onto a narrow lane in front of a long, low stone building with lots of large windows. The expanse of the massive slate roof was broken up at regular intervals by sloping skylights. Nestled among tall oak trees at either end of the long building were several small cottages.

  “Weaver’s Lane,” Rolf said, setting her on her feet. “Nick’s little experiment.”

  “’Tis more than just an experiment,” Nicholas said testily, taking Kathryn’s hand and leading her toward a door at one end of the massive building. “I keep telling you, ’tis the future of this estate.”

  They entered into a small chamber, lit only by the crackling fire in a massive stone fireplace and high arched windows along the top of the back wall. The room smelled strongly of lanolin, most likely from the hundreds of fleeces stacked along the wall beneath the windows. Women seated on stools were combing tufts of wool with wooden paddles embedded with sharp metal spikes.