MacAuliffe Vikings Trilogy 3 - Lord of the wolves

by Graham, Heather

  It had become a good life for her. Rich. Still such a tempest at times, and still richer for that tempest, for their feelings always ran deep, their tempers, their opinions and their love.

  She thought she heard a slight sound and looked up.

  He was there, returned.

  The Conar she knew so well, seated so expertly and casually upon his ebony Thor, shoulders so broad, chest clad in mail, a fiery red mantle cast over his shoulder. His helmet sat atop his head, for these could still be treacherous times for travel, and his eyes were shimmering, brilliant sky blue, searing out at her from the slits within the visor of his helmet. He seemed so indomitable there, a warrior.

  A Viking. Golden, towering, striking, compelling. And as always now, a sight to create a stream of joy within her.

  “Conar!” she cried softly, and tried to struggle up to reach him.

  “Wait, lady!” he commanded, and slipped swiftly from Thor, tossing his helmet carelessly to the ground as he came to her. He helped her as she flailed, for she was sadly out of balance now, nearly nine months gone with their second child.

  “I can rise—” she began.

  “Stubborn,” he chastised. “As always. I"m here to help you. Be still.” Despite her cumbersome weight, he quickly had her plucked up in his arms, and he sat against the trunk of the tree, cradling her in his lap.

  “Will this suffice?”

  “Oh, Conar!” she clasped his cheeks within the delicate embrace of her hands and kissed his lips. She did so in a long and leisurely fashion, trembling just to feel his warmth, his vibrant touch once again. She lifted her lips, and he groaned softly, eyes sparkling as he ran his hand over the huge cup of her stomach.

  “Ah, my love! Have mercy on a husband gone too long—yet too soon to be a father again!”

  She wrinkled her nose at him. “Fine. Scold me for being so very delighted to see you!”

  “Never,” he promised. Then he asked gravely, “How are you, well, I pray?” She smiled, stretching back contentedly in his arms. “Very well, thank you.

  And Robbie—”

  “I saw him with my father. They are both quite well. I saw that myself.” Melisande smiled, then grew grave. “And what of our world, Conar? What is going on?”

  Conar sighed. “They intend to depose Louis. The barons are set upon it, and how can one defend such a weak king for whom we have fought so hard, only to be undermined by him so continually?”

  She stroked his cheek, knowing that he was still bitter over what had been done in Paris. “What will happen then?”

  “Charlemagne"s old empire will be broken up, my love.” He studied her eyes. “Odo will become king of the West Franks, and we will continue to give our fealty to him.”

  “That should please you.”

  “Aye, it does.” He fell silent for a moment. “Geoffrey"s lands have fallen to us, and we have been granted still further land to the east. Does that please you?”

  She shuddered. “Aye, and nay. Nothing to do with Geoffrey pleases me greatly.”

  Conar shrugged. “Aye, that is one way to see it. There is also another.”

  “Aye!” she asked curiously. And he smiled, tracing his finger over her lip.

  “Were it not for Gerald"s treacherous determination to have you for himself or his son, I"d not have acquired my beautiful child bride to begin with. And then again, if it hadn"t been for Geoffrey"s abducting you that night, I"d have never believed that my hostile, disobedient—yet exquisite—wife, turned to a woman then, might love me.”

  “You knew before I said the words,” she told him.

  “But you did say the words, right before Geoffrey, don"t you remember? He wanted to have me drawn and quartered, fed to vultures. And you threw yourself in front of me and told him that he could never slay love.”

  “Umm! And you threw me right behind you again!”

  “Ah, but the words burned fiercely in my heart!” he assured her. She stared into his eyes and couldn"t help smiling once again, couldn"t help kissing him, hungry for his lips, for any touch at all.

  Ah, it was so sweet. Every time she kissed him, she felt such wondrous things. A tempest, a turmoil. Fever in her blood, knots in her stomach.

  She broke away from him, ruefully realizing the sudden knots in her stomach were not from his kiss.

  “Conar?”

  “Aye?”

  “Nothing. Nothing. Never mind.” She kissed him again.

  The knot tightened, harder and harder. Her breath caught. She drew her lips away.

  “My beloved wife,” he whispered, “what sweet effect you have upon me as well …”

  “Conar?”

  “Aye?”

  “ "Tis not your kiss.”

  “Nay?”

  She wet her lips and smiled. “Still your effect, milord, I do assure you.”

  “Then—”

  “The babe!” she whispered softly.

  He was up, swiftly, carrying her with him. Long strides quickly brought them to Thor.

  “Milord, it may take a long, long time.”

  “And this is a second child, and he may come quickly as well.”

  “It is not a he, Conar. Mergwin has told me that we are to have a daughter.”

  “Then she may come quickly!” he said with exasperation, and leapt up behind her.

  In minutes they were back at the fortress. And she was incredulous—and just a bit annoyed—to discover that he was right. Their daughter was born within a matter of hours, and she didn"t call him half so many names as she did the first time.

  This baby was beautiful, too. Her hair was neither blond nor dark, but a fiery red, and there was a startling wealth of it. Her eyes were as blue as a summer"s sky, even deeper perhaps.

  “Violet,” Conar determined, inspecting the babe. He sat at the head of the bed, inspecting the baby as Melisande lay with her in the cradle of her arms.

  Melisande was sweetly exhausted, and her eyes started to close. Erin was swiftly there to scoop the newborn from her arms. Half asleep, Melisande felt Conar shift, and her fingers wound around his hand again.

  “Nay, milord, don"t leave me!” she whispered.

  He sat at the top of the bed, shifting her weight so that she rested curved into his shoulder against the carved headboard.

  And she heard his soft, tender whisper. “Nay, my love. I shall never let you go.”

  She smiled, and her eyes closed, and she lay there exhausted, but so content.

  For she knew that it was true.

  Viking, Irishman, tormentor, demon, friend, warrior, protector.

  Husband.

  Lover.

  He would never let her go.

  And she would love him forever, her Lord of the Wolves. For life, for all eternity.

  Time was theirs now, life was theirs now, and the sweetest of all, love was theirs, always. The years stretched out before her with wonder. It was incredible now to remember how she had fought him, how she had hated him, tried to hate him.

  Loved him, and feared that love.

  Ah, but they had come far! They had paid with times of anguish for the joy they shared now. They had so very much. One another, Robbie … this little lass!

  She wondered what Mergwin would have to say of their new daughter, of their future.

  Held securely within her lord"s arms, Melisande smiled and, at long last, slept.

  And began to dream anew, sweet, sweet dreams.