The Iron Princess

by Sandra Lake

  She did not know what she was to him, but she was not his. She was a burden to him and nothing more. She relaxed her hands, breathed, and peered up into his eyes.

  The muscles in his jaw flexed and popped under the skin. His red lips thinned out into a hard line. He released her and stepped back.

  Standing before him as a newborn colt on shaking legs, she could think of only one thing to say, that she loved him, which would be the worst thing to say because after she spoke those words, he would reject her, and then how would she ever look him in the face again.

  Without a word, he turned and marched out of the stables, leaving her dumbfounded and dazed. She had been so warm, on the verge of catching flame, and now she was cold. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes. She dashed them away, cursing her female weakness.

  ***

  They departed the following day for Lubeck. Lothair decided he did not want to spend the entire journey watching Katia for signs of fatigue or pain, so he kept his distance from her, refusing to look back over his shoulder. Tosha’s overwhelming concern for her friend lessened his worry. She stayed at Katia’s side, frequently asking for breaks. Though the temperatures were brisk and continued to decline, they were favored with five straight days of dry, sunny roads. Each night they found comfortable inns, so he was satisfied that she would not be sleeping in a tent on the frostbitten ground.

  Day after day, the stubborn iron princess continued to be his personal trial. Each night he waged an inner war, refusing to let himself check on her comfort or condition. He often selected the chamber farthest from hers—Lars and Tosha would be sleeping in a room near her and the reasonable side of his brain told him that was good enough. He reminded himself hourly that she was safe, dry, and did not need him.

  On the sixth morning, a band of heavy gray clouds blanketed the sky. The frost had been thicker this morning. Their horses’ hooves broke through thin layers of ice that had formed across puddles, and the air held an ominous feeling he could not account for.

  To many, the Black Forest of Germany was hostile territory, but Lothair had spent several summers as a boy in these parts, so to him it felt like coming home.

  They crested a high peak and surveyed the rolling hills and miles of well-traveled road that lay ahead. There was a sparse patchwork of thinly treed forests and cropless fields to the west. To the east, the wheat and barley fields lay dormant. The trees that fringed the denser evergreen forest in the distance had shed their colorful foliage, and the ground was littered with crisp dry leaves that danced high into the air on the slightest gust of wind.

  Lothair signaled for their party to halt.

  In the distance, he saw a collection of black specks descending down the main road, heading in their direction. The group of riders approached at charging speed. Lothair couldn’t yet discern the banners and flags that they carried. For days, they had been traveling the southern realm of Bavaria, which paid homage to his father. He estimated that they were less than a half-day’s ride to his grandmother’s castle.

  Regardless of the familiar territory, Lothair grew ill at ease.

  He would not slip and let his guard down so close to home. He had been gone for months—well over a year, he suddenly realized. When he departed Lubeck, his father’s lands were easily held and he had doubled his wealth and manpower with his new wife’s dowry. Still, the friendliness of the fast-moving convoy couldn’t be taken for granted. They must secure the women and prepare for every possibility.

  “Lars, take the women back to the tree line.” Lars moved quickly toward his wife.

  “Wait for my signal.” Lothair drew out his sword and was about to charge ahead when he caught Katia’s gaze. She stared at him, wide-eyed, holding her sword in her good arm, which was not her favored sword arm.

  He approached her side and spoke quietly. “Go with Lars—they are most likely patrols from my grandmother’s castle. But if they are not, you are not to leave Lars’s side.” Her eyes were wide, and beautiful, and distracting him once again. “Understood?”

  “Be careful,” she whispered. “I will be right behind you if you need me.” She winked, jerked lightly at her horse’s bridle, and galloped in the direction of the trees, her long gold hair trailing on the wind.

  Lothair charged out ahead, reminding himself to wipe off the smile that was etched on his face. That shameless wink of hers could get a man killed.

  As the lead rider approached, Lothair could see that he carried his father’s shield of the lion and wore the family colors of red and gold. Relief swept over him.

  “Who goes there?” The lead rider appeared the same age as Lothair, with similar hair and eye color—could be a distant relation.

  “Lothair Blienskastel, Baron of Hanseatz.” His words carried on the stiff autumn wind. “For which house do you ride?”

  “Welf, my lord,” the patrolman announced proudly.

  “I come with vital news for our duke, sir.” Lothair signaled to Lars to come with the others. “How much farther to Magdeburg?”

  “You are but a few hours, my lord.”

  “This is Viscount Lars of Northum, and his viscountess. With them is Katia Magnusdotter of Tronscar.” Lothair finished the introductions and noticed that the patrolman was ogling Katia boldly “And your ranks and names, sirs?” Lothair demanded.

  “Warwick sir, lieutenant commander at arms for Hardsbeck Castle.”

  “Aye, yes, Hardsbeck. Is the baron in residence?” Lothair asked.

  “No, my lord. A war council is being held by the duke in Lubeck,” Warwick answered promptly.

  “War council,” Katia gasped. “Lothair, do you—”

  “Yes, Katia.” He glared at her, warning her not to say another word. Lothair had been taught never to give information to persons unknown, regardless of colors worn.

  “We would be honored to escort your party to Hardsbeck, Lord Blienshushtel,” Warwick said.

  “Blienskastel!” Lothair corrected. Over his shoulder, Lars snorted with an attempt to stifle a laugh. Lothair sighed. “As you will. Lead on, commander.”

  ***

  Constructed on the high back of Elbe River, the golden steeple of the fine church in Magdeburg could be seen for miles. Next to it was Hardsbeck Castle, the keep of one of his father’s more modest barons. It boasted four watchtowers and the inner compound walls of the principal keep were built of solid stone, ten feet thick.

  The large iron gates rose as they approached, and Lothair waited to the side until Katia and Tosha had entered. He rode past the gate, and as he swung his leg over his horse to dismount, he saw no less than five knights jockeying for the honor of helping Katia to dismount.

  She smiled for each and every one, finally accepting the hand of the lack-wit Warwick.

  Lothair cursed under his breath. Even in his own bloody territory, there was no safe place to take her.

  Chapter 14

  After more than her fair share of sweet wine and jovial conversation, Katia decided to retire to the guest chamber she’d be offered. The room was grand, with lovely, delicately crafted wood furnishings.

  She suddenly longed for home. There was nothing wrong with this pretty velvet-canopied bed other than the fact that it was not her bed. The closer she got to home, the more she felt like she may never get there.

  On the other hand, the closer she got to Lubeck, the closer she got to saying good-bye to Lothair forever. She could already sense him slipping away from her—he barely looked at her anymore.

  As she lingered in her luxurious bath, all she wished for was to be back in their goatskin tent. It felt like years since the rainy night they had first shared a bed. On the warmer nights of their travels, they had stretched out under the stars, retelling as many enchanting tales of giants and gods as they could remember. They had laughed easily together and debated the merits of the lore of each Norse god. There wer
e many you could both love and hate, proving Katia’s point that people were not black and white, but somewhere in the middle. Which made her wonder if Lothair would ever forgive her; although for what exactly she needed forgiveness, she was not certain.

  A lump formed in her throat.

  Katia shivered. The water had gone cold. She rose from the bathtub, dried herself quickly by the fire, and slipped under the fine linen sheets, tugging the goose feather bedcovering up under her chin. Still, she shivered.

  She was a burden to him . . . Lothair resented her, when all she had ever wanted was to be useful. She’d tried to do something with her life and she had mucked everything up. It must have been that last kiss in the stables, that perfect, dizzying, wild kiss. He must have hated that kiss, resented it.

  Eventually, utter physical and metal exhaustion won out and her body claimed its much-needed rest

  ***

  A rattle of the doorknob on her chamber door woke her up out of a shallow sleep. Katia sat straight up. The cavernous room was black, her sword out of reach; not that it mattered. Her sword arm throbbed and her grip still much too weak to put up much of a fight. Her pulse beat in her head, just behind her ears, magnifying the smallest sounds.

  A hand holding a candle slipped through the crack of the open door. The glowing white linen shirtsleeve was soon followed by Lothair’s broad shoulder.

  “What’s wrong?” she whispered.

  She turned down the fluffy bedcovers. Why was she so nervous? It was just Lothair—he had seen her soiled, sick, and every stage in between.

  “Nothing,” he whispered from across the chamber, barring the door behind him with a thick iron bolt.

  “Why are you bolting my door?”

  “I am checking on you.” He stepped across the finely woven rug.

  “Checking on me? I am a grown woman, Lothair. I can check on myself.” She had long since lost patience with his treating her as a child.

  “I know you are a grown woman, Kat.” He sounded equally annoyed.

  Katia’s palms began to sweat. He was here because she was a woman and he was a man—a very handsome, worthy, brave man, with a most particularly pleasing backside if memory served. “What are you saying?” A hint of hopeful expectation rose in her voice.

  “I didn’t like the way Warwick and his men were looking at you. The fact that they asked ten different times if you were betrothed—I wouldn’t put it past any of them to compromise a maiden with an impressive dowry like yourself in hopes that it would pay off in a forced wedding. Hence the need to check.” He set the candle down.

  He stood a few feet to the side of her bed. He was wearing his belt and sword, but the laces of his linen under-tunic had been opened, as if he had stopped while preparing for bed and come to check on her. Why did that thought send a surging swirl of warmth straight to her belly and inner thighs?

  “What did you think they would do, Lothair? Pick my lock, sneak into my chamber while I was warm in my bed, crawl under the sheets behind me, and hold me in my sleep? Perhaps they would scrape their short whiskers along the top of my ear and stroke my hair?” She whispered her accusation at him—that was exactly what Lothair had done to her night after night while she recovered. She lifted the edge of her blanket and held it open, offering.

  ***

  Lothair stared down at Katia’s outstretched arm. She was offering herself to him, yet again. He both craved and loathed her at this moment. Guarding her virtue had become his full-time job. Did she spend her time while riding in the saddle next to him plotting her next punishing seduction technique? He would not take the bait this time.

  “Lothair?” She rose to her knees. Moonlight flooded through the cracks in the shutters and he could see the outline of her petite, perfect figure. Her hair tumbled down around her delicate shoulders, and her thinly embroidered nightshirt was the only barrier between him and her breasts.

  “Are you all right? I should not have taunted you.” She reached out to touch his hand and he quickly jerked away. “Sorry,” she whispered.

  “I should go.” He swallowed, choking down his throbbing need, and turned toward the door. He’d resolved not to touch her—not like this, not while he craved her so profoundly. He would lose control. This fire they were playing with, it would consume them both. He needed to protect her even if she was unwilling to protect herself.

  “Wait,” she whispered from behind him. “I . . . must you go?”

  His self-control snapped. He turned and in a single stride was at her bedside. She launched herself at him, throwing her arms around his neck and crushing her body against him, pressing her soft, open mouth into his.

  Lothair opened his mouth to hers, sinking his knees into the mattress, and rammed his hand much too aggressively into her satiny hair, his control faltering. He coiled his arm around her slim waist, arching her back, and clamped an open hand to the side of her hip, yanking her forward, locking them together.

  “Ow! The hilt—your sword—stabbing me,” she mumbled against his lips; yet she would not loosen her hold on him. Lothair released his hold on her hip and with shaking fingers managed to unclasp his belt, dropping his sword to the rug with a muffled thud.

  Her uncommonly strong arms uncoiled from around his neck, the palm of her hand resting against his cheek as her thumb stroked his skin. He wished she would stop doing that and at the same time he had never felt so enamored by a simple touch before and prayed the sensation would never end.

  Lothair tried to ignore the soothing strokes and returned to punishing her mouth for tormenting him so greatly. He demanded control of the kiss, prying her lips apart and plunging his tongue into her month to establish dominance, to make it clear that he was in charge here.

  A small moan from her buckled his knees and his legs banged against the bed rail. He locked her hips to his.

  When Katia started to wiggle and twist in his arms, pressing herself against his throbbing need, Lothair began to hate her again. Why was she so determined to ruin herself, and him along with her? His head was sending commands to pull away, but his mutinous body won out. Lothair lifted her into his arms and placed one bent knee on top of the bed, keeping his booted foot dangling over the edge.

  All the while, she assaulted him, darting her sweet tongue into his mouth, softly moaning and wiggling her breasts against his chest.

  Without warning, she jerked back with all her strength, sending them both down hard on the bed, pulling him on top of her.

  It was a blur of continuous movement as they each tried to gain power and control over the other. She pulled and pressed into him, locking one of her bare legs around the back of one of his. He could feel her soft, pebbled breasts pressing into his chest as he basked in the glorious sensation of her squirming body below him. She had no idea how close he was already to finding his release. He shifted, trying to gain leverage when all of a sudden she gasped and dropped her head back on the bed in surrender.

  “Lothair . . . that . . . why does it feel like that?” she panted. “It feels . . . so nice—”

  “You’re worked up. We should stop before—” He dropped his spinning head to her temple, struggling to breathe. She was so warm and soft, so sweet to the taste, so eager, open, and willing. He had to get out of here.

  “Have you ever—” She bit her lower lip. “Have you been with a woman before?”

  That did the trick. The reminder of her innocence gave him the willpower to roll off her.

  “Several.” He lay back in the bed, rubbed his free hand across his face and into his hair. He pulled at his other arm to dislodge it from under her firm, rounded backside and sat up.

  “I didn’t mean . . .” She sat up next to him. He looked over at the silhouette of her, his gaze traveling down to her swollen lips. He’d done that. He had been there. He looked down farther to the open top of her nightgown and the bunched-up fabric
that exposed her slender thigh muscles. He reached over and pulled the gown lower, covering her.

  “You should get some sleep, Kat. We ride out at dawn.” He shifted his weight to stand, praying that he had enough blood reserved in other parts of his body to make his legs work.

  “Lothair, I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  “For what?”

  “For what I did wrong.”

  “You did nothing wrong. I should be apologizing to you. I was wrong to take advantage.” He stood, thanking God that his legs held him.

  She reached for his hand and he let her claim it. “You make me feel things sometimes that I cannot explain, Lothair. You make me feel things, new things, exciting things that I . . . I like feeling . . .” He pulled away from her, determined to leave, but his hand hesitated, rising to her face instead, cupping her chin and cheek and recklessly guiding her toward his mouth once more.

  This kiss was different. It was not fast or searing, harsh or devouring like before, but rather slow and purposeful. She tilted her head and he deepened the kiss. He stroked his tongue tenderly against hers, and she caressed him in return. He pressed his lips harder, shifting his head to the opposite side and sliding his hand to the back of her neck. His free hand rose to her chest, cupping her perfectly weighed breast. Bloody hell, she felt so right in his hand. He squeezed her harder than he should.

  Katia pressed into his touch and Lothair stroked the sides of her breast as his thumb descended down, stroking across her taunt, sensitive bud. She thrust her hips forward into his center, cradling his hardened length between them. This wouldn’t feel so good if they were not meant to have more, more . . . no, she was Magnuson’s daughter. She was his responsibility until he got her home to Tronscar. He pulled away.

  ***

  “When you growl low in your throat like that, it makes me light-headed,” Katia blurted out. His broad chest heaved as he caught his breath. She had no idea what was going on between them, but she liked it. More than liked—she was as drawn to it as a drunkard to his cup. She needed more. Her entire body ached and throbbed and felt alive like never before.