Dark Warrior (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour)

by Julie Shelton

  He did, but immediately turned and paid similar homage to Kathryn, taking her hand and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. As he looked up at her, he noted with satisfaction the nearly total absence of any bruises on her peaches-and-cream skin. By God, she was a right beauty, she was.

  “Your Grace,” he said in that deep hearty voice she knew so well from the forest, where he’d found her nearly a fortnight ago.

  “Thomas,” she said warmly, forestalling Nicholas’s introduction. “I am so glad to finally be meeting you.” She smiled at him, delighted at the tiny pink-beribboned braids in his hair and beard. They spoke volumes of the love this family had for one another.

  “May I say, Your Grace, that you are certainly looking much better than when last I saw you,” he said with a broad smile of his own. “’Tis glad I am to see you faring so well. And may I also say ’tis glad I am to see how happy you have made my lad, here.” He jerked his chin toward Nicholas. “He has not seen an abundance of happiness in his life. Nor, I suspect,” he added gently, “have you. I can see how much you and Nick love each other. It shines from both of you like beacons in the darkness.”

  “Why, Thomas, you have the soul of a poet,” Kathryn said with a laugh of pure happiness.

  Still on his knee, he turned back to Nicholas. “I apologize for taking so long to get back here, Your Grace,” he began before Nicholas interrupted him.

  “Please rise, Thomas.” He leaned down and took his sergeant-at-arms by the elbow, urging him to his feet. Side by side, the two men were nearly equal in height, but the strapping marshal was nearly half again as wide. They embraced, slapping each other heartily on the back. “How fared your mission, Thomas?” Nicholas asked close to his ear so they wouldn’t be overheard.

  “Quite well, lad, quite well. I think you will be highly pleased with what I have accomplished.” Thomas grinned broadly.

  Nicholas looked at the three weary knights standing quietly by their lathered horses. He frowned. “Did I not send you out with an escort of four?”

  “Aye, lad, that you did, that you did.”

  “Yet I see only three…where is Percy Avenel?”

  `”Ah. That. Well, I took it upon myself to send young Percy on a slightly different path, Your Grace,” Thomas said mysteriously, the smile still on his face.

  Nicholas’s frown deepened. “Different path to where?”

  “Later, lad,” Thomas said evasively, patting Nicholas on the shoulder. “We’ll talk later. For now I must—”

  “Different path to where?” Nicholas demanded fiercely.

  “North. To Scotland.”

  Nicholas paled. “God’s teeth, Thomas! Surely you didn’t—”

  “Aye, I did.” Parsons grinned, clapping a beefy hand against Nicholas’s shoulders, a blow that would have felled a lesser man. “’Tis good, Nick. ’Tis all good. They’ll be here on the morrow.” He gave the young duke’s shoulder a shake. “Come, now, enough about this. You’ve just been married, for God’s sake. You have a wedding feast to attend.”

  He turned and beckoned to his wife by holding out his arm. Sorcha stepped into the sheltering circle and he pulled her tight against his side. “We’ll be there just as soon as I’ve had a chance to wash all this dust and mud off of me.” He grinned down at Sorcha. “And a chance to say a proper hello to my wife.”

  Two of Thomas’s girls stepped onto his booted feet, arms circling his oak-tree thighs, and he marched off, sending the children into gales of laughter as he lifted them high into the air with each step.

  Kathryn was not surprised at the open love and affection in Nicholas’s eyes as he watched the laughing family head off toward their private domain beyond the walled gardens, at the far end of the bailey.

  “Come, beloved,” he said, directing the same love and affection down at her. “Our wedding feast awaits.”

  “Who?” she wanted to know. “Who will be here on the morrow?”

  Nicholas just shook his head, wearing the expression of a man who has just had the wind knocked out of him. “Clan McGarrity, Sorcha’s family,” he said, putting his arm around her shoulders and directing her toward the keep. “And wherever they go, chaos usually follows.”

  Together they climbed the stairs up to the great hall, closely followed by Rolf and their loud, laughing guests, a group of people obviously ready to release their cares and worries and make merry.

  The great hall had been transformed. Sunlight streamed in through the high arched windows, augmented by eight enormous wrought iron wheel-shaped chandeliers that hung about twelve feet above the floor, tethered to the walls with chains. They were ablaze with hundreds of flickering candles. A double row of trestle tables had been set up along the walls perpendicular to the high table, which had been lengthened to accommodate the additional noble guests. They were covered with white linen cloths and set with pewter trenchers for the over one hundred guests.

  Suspended above the Lord’s and Lady’s chairs at the high table was a canopy of green silk, complete with gold fringe and hanging tassels. The front of the table was hung with festive swags of green silk bunting.

  New rushes, mixed with dried lavender, rose petals and crushed aromatic spices, covered the floor, sending delicious aromas wafting upwards with the touch of every foot. A fire roared in the central fire pit, making the cavernous room quite warm, in spite of the ever-present drafts.

  A veritable army of servers, carvers, and pages, all dressed in the Berwick livery, scurried to and fro, setting the tables with loaves of barley bread, flagons of ale, and spoons. Guests were responsible for providing their own knives. The high table had been laid with golden trenchers and goblets, snow-white linen napkins and baskets of soft white rolls.

  Up in the minstrel’s gallery, above the screens passage, an orchestra was playing lively music. Jugglers dressed in bright motley and jingling bells pranced about juggling balls, clubs, knives, and flaming torches, while acrobats tumbled, cartwheeled, walked on their hands, and formed human pyramids, to the delight of everyone. Others walked on stilts so high they had to dodge the chandeliers.

  As soon as the bridal couple was seated, a trumpet fanfare announced the first course, a swan, roasted, then re-covered with its own feathers, swimming on a “pond” of smashed green peas. It was brought in and paraded around the hall on a plinth, carried on the shoulders of four page boys, one of whom was Jamie Fordyce, fiercely proud to have been chosen for such an honor. As he passed by his beaming father, the Earl of Lyndsley, he managed a tiny wave. The pages carried the swan around the room so all of the guests could admire it, then they carefully placed it on a sideboard. Rolf had the honor of carving the first course, which he served to the newlyweds with a deep bow. The carvers took over from there, serving everyone else at the high table. Other swans were served to the other guests.

  Following the swans was a dizzying array of courses, all preceded by a trumpet fanfare and a procession around the massive hall. The dishes included roast goose, raw oysters, smoked salmon with cream sauce, roasted chestnuts, apricot tarts, apple and raisin pasties, and so many other dishes Kathryn lost track. Everything was washed down with copious amounts of beer, ale, and, for the high table, hippocras.

  Kathryn was entranced by all the unaccustomed sights, sounds, smells, and activities going on around her. At one point Thomas and Sorcha joined the group at the high table, and Thomas and Rolf began regaling everyone with stories about Nicholas’s adventures—and misadventures—keeping the guests by turns scandalized and delighted.

  But most of her attention was riveted on Nicholas, the handsome man she had married. Even when she wasn’t actually looking at him or interacting with him, she was intensely aware of him. Aware of the dark heat of his gaze every time he looked at her. Aware of that primitive, pagan aura surrounding him, that was so at odds with his smoothly civilized exterior.

  Aware of him because he had taken her right hand and, under cover of the snow-white table cloth, had diabolically placed it on his
left thigh, right at the juncture of his legs. Right over his erection. Then, he had covered her hand with his, just to make sure she couldn’t move it away. And as if that weren’t distracting enough, Rolf had done the same thing with her left hand, being careful of her broken finger.

  She could feel the heat of their skin through their woolen chausses. Could feel the hard ridge of their blood-engorged cocks. Could feel them pulsing and throbbing as she tentatively scraped her fingernails across them, curved her fingers around them, then stroked them as they lengthened, hardened, straining against their restrictive clothing.

  Her mouth was parched at the memory of those selfsame cocks—at the feel of them thrusting inside her, making her scream in ecstasy as she came and came and came. Her lascivious thoughts kept her in a constant state of arousal. She was so wet between her legs, she was afraid she would have a huge wet spot on the back of her gown when she stood up.

  So distracted was she, it was a good thing she didn’t have to worry about feeding herself.

  Nicholas, as usual, fed her, tipping the golden goblet so she could drink, choosing the tastiest morsels from his own trencher, taking care to brush his arm against the side of her breast every time he moved. Her nipples puckered and hardened beneath the layers of her clothing, throbbing and aching for his direct touch. For the heat of his mouth closing over them. For the wicked lash of his tongue.

  She bit back a moan, closing her eyes as her womb convulsed with anticipation. When she opened them again, it was to find her new husband watching her with hooded eyes. The predatory flame of his gaze threatened to consume her, to incinerate her on the spot. A quick glance at Rolf told her that he was watching her equally closely. She could feel the heat from both their gazes licking at her skin, burning her thoughts to ash.

  She wanted these men with a desperation that should have frightened her. But she knew that everything in her life had been leading her here, to this place, this moment, and these men. In the eyes of the world, Nicholas was her husband. He had stolen into her heart, filling the aching void of her loneliness, healing her withered soul. Yet the words she had spoken this morning, the words binding her to him, had bound her to Rolf as well.

  Several hours later, after the meal was finished, servants quickly dismantled the tables and swept the rushes from the floor, clearing the room for dancing. Nicholas stood and held out his hand for Kathryn to take. He led her out onto the floor, where they stood at the head of the line gathering behind them. With a nod of his head, the music began, a lively bransle, and they moved off in time to the beat.

  By the end of the dance, she was breathless, laughing, her face flushed with pleasure. When she and Nicholas returned to the table, Rolf was standing behind his chair, waiting for them. He looked so different in his black velvet tunic. Without his arsenal of weapons, she couldn’t stop staring at him.

  He sketched an elegant little bow and whispered in her ear as he took her hand from Nicholas. “Well done, Your Grace.” His voice vibrated across her nerve endings like the deep throaty purr of a contented tiger. “May I have the honor of this next dance, min skat?”

  She looked into his penetrating blue eyes. Those hypnotic eyes that were the color of the deepest ocean. Eyes that always seemed to be searching for something…seeking answers to questions yet unasked.

  He was smiling, that lazy, slightly naughty smile that lit up his face and had her heart turning over in her breast. She allowed her gaze to roam over his exotic, mesmerizing features. His bald head, the gold earring glinting in his ear, the pale, silver-blond goatee and drooping mustache, contrasting so sharply with the deep tan of his skin. And those eyes—those piercing, spellbinding eyes that saw so deeply beneath the surface. That saw into her very soul.

  Returning his smile, she said softly, “Aye, Rolf. I would love to dance with you.”

  As she followed him out onto the floor, she turned to wave over her shoulder at Nicholas—just a waggle of her fingers. But he wasn’t looking at her. He was watching his best friend leading her around the floor in another simple line dance—one of the first ones Rolf had taught her.

  As they stepped and slid and hopped side by side around the room, her body clenched in a frisson of pure joy. This was her wedding day! A day she never thought she’d live to see. And she had never been so happy in her life! She danced with everyone at the high table, including little Emily Parsons. As the hour grew late and their guests began leaving, wishing the Duke and his new Duchess a long, happy life together, Thomas and Sorcha’s girls came to join the small group still on the dais. They stood quietly, Emily asleep on her father’s shoulder. As Nicholas was talking quietly with Thomas, Kathryn threw her arms around Sorcha and hugged her tight.

  “Thank you, Sorcha,” she said, her voice hoarse, her eyes once again glistening with the unshed tears she seemed to be having trouble keeping at bay tonight. “No one has ever had a more magnificent wedding day than this.”

  They drew apart and looked at each other. “’Twas as much your doing as mine, Your Grace.” Sorcha smiled, lifting her thumb to wipe an errant tear from Kathryn’s flushed cheek. “You were with me the entire time, helping with all the details.”

  “And I thank you for that, too,” Kathryn said sincerely. “Without you I would not be ready to take over so many of my duties as chatelaine of this household. Would you mind if I ask for your help if I have any questions?”

  “Not at all, Your Grace,” Sorcha reassured her. “But I am certain you will do just fine.” She kissed Kathryn on both of her cheeks. “Thomas and I are so happy for you and Nicky. Frankly, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him—to all of us. Berwick is going to be a much happier place, thanks to you.”

  Kathryn laughed. “Actually, I’m the one who’s happy. I treasure all of you. Your friendship means more to me than I”—blinking back her sudden tears, she tried again—”I’ve never had”—again she broke off clumsily, unable to finish.

  “Good night, poppet—ehm, Your Grace,” Thomas’s booming voice broke in on her rambling, incoherent attempts to express her feelings. He reached out to take her hand, but she surprised them all by throwing her arms around his waist and hugging him tight, pressing her cheek hard against his abdomen. Tears ran freely down her face. It was like hugging an oak tree.

  He returned her embrace with the arm not holding the sleeping Emily, patting her back and murmuring soothingly. “Tears of joy, I trust?” he asked softly.

  She drew back and managed a shaky laugh. “Aye, Thomas.”

  He bent down and kissed her forehead. “Nick is not the only one around here who loves you, you know.”

  She drew a shuddering breath. “I know. Thank you, Thomas.”

  He hefted Emily higher on his shoulder. “Say good night, girls,” he directed. The five older girls curtseyed as they obeyed their father. Then, with his free arm around Sorcha’s shoulders, the Parsons family left.

  Long, slender fingers closed over Kathryn’s shoulders from behind and she found herself being pulled back against Rolf’s hard, lanky body. “Min skat,” he murmured above her ear. She felt his lips press against the top of her head. Searching for some sort of clue as to what she should do, she looked up at her husband. He was watching the two of them through half-lidded eyes, an indulgent smile on his lips.

  Then, suddenly, he and Rolf were doing that strange, silent communication thing again, and, all of a sudden, she found herself being turned and enfolded in Rolf’s powerful arms. He held her close against him, his cheek resting on the top of her head. Her arms went around his torso. She could feel the hard ridge of his aroused cock against her belly.

  Nicholas took her hand and turned to leave the hall, Rolf coming up alongside her. Both men gave her what could only be termed a mysterious smile. “Come, beloved, we have a surprise for you,” Nicholas murmured. He led Kathryn down the drafty hallway, straight past the entrance to their solar.

  “Stay.” She tugged at his hand. “Nicholas, where are we—?
”

  “Shhhh” He smiled, a sorcerer’s smile, hot and dark and full of magic. Her blood heated, practically boiling in her veins. “You will see.” He drew her to the end of the hall and up a circular stairway in the Keep’s square northwest tower.

  One flight up, the stairway ended on a small landing. Before them was a heavy oak door, ornately carved. It was closed. Nicholas unlocked it and pushed it open, leading Kathryn forward onto a spacious solar.

  Kathryn gasped. It was the most exquisitely appointed chamber she had ever seen. Silk carpets from Persia spread out over most of a floor made up of deep-blue Portuguese tiles. The vaulted stone ceiling soared above them like a cathedral. Six large bronze lanterns hung from the ceiling, suspended on chains and flickering with rush lights. French tapestries depicting knights wooing ladies in walled flower gardens hung on the two interior walls. Moonlight streamed through row after row of high, arched, stained glass windows in the outer walls.

  The enormous bed was large enough to sleep three, possibly four people. It featured a richly carved walnut headboard and canopy, from which hung gold velvet curtains. The mattress was covered with dozens of fur throws—sable, rabbit, beaver, and others, lined with silk, wool, and velvet. Pillows were scattered casually about the surface. Larger ones formed an inviting pile on the floor near the fireplace.

  As in the downstairs solar, there was a table and four chairs placed before the fireplace. Two tall, ornately carved teak cupboards, full of drawers and doors, flanked the entrance. Two more stood along the opposite wall. The wooden trunk full of Kathryn’s new and altered gowns and chemises sat at the foot of the bed.

  In one corner was an octagonal alcove where a large copper bathing tub sat on a raised dais. Silk curtains, hanging from iron rods suspended by chains affixed to the ceiling, afforded the bather a measure of privacy.

  Candles cast their flickering glow from tall, free-standing candle holders and from every available surface.