by Sandra Lake
“I don’t growl.”
“Yes, you do,” she whispered, “and I like it.” She couldn’t keep from smiling. She wanted to feel his tongue stroke longingly against her own. She wanted to feel his weight pressing on her again.
“You shouldn’t,” he snapped.
“I beg your pardon, but I do.” She sank back down to the bed, tucking her feet under her nightgown.
“Katia,” he said, more pleading and less snippy, “we can’t do this. Once we do, there is no going back.”
“You said you have done this with other women. I don’t see them packed behind you on your horse.” She wanted to keep her snide remarks in check but it was not always possible.
“They were different.”
“So you are allowed to . . . have that feeling of pleasure with whoever you want, but I am not?”
“No!” He stepped forward and pointed down at her. “You are not allowed to have that feeling with anyone.” He growled a little and she smiled. She still liked it when he growled, even when it was without his lips against hers.
“I am adding that to the list,” she said, crossing her arms.
“What list?”
“All the reasons why being a woman is unfair and I am determined to change the way things work.”
“What?” He moved to the bed, leaned over, and grabbed both her shoulders, giving her a bit of a shake. “You will never do this”—he pointed to the bed and then him and her—“with anyone else. Do you understand me?” His face was inches from hers again.
“Why not?” she asked.
“Because I said you can’t.”
“You’re not my father, Lothair. You’re my travel companion and friend. I get to say what I do, when I do it, and with whom. Not you.” She pressed her lips together.
“I’m nothing to you?” he growled.
“You are very dear to me. I am forever in your debt, as you very well know, but as for telling me what I can and cannot do, then no. I get to decide, not you.”
The words had barely left her mouth before he was on top of her again. This time the assault to her senses was even more overpowering than before. He captured her arms over her head and held her in place as he kissed down her throat into the open lace of her nightgown. He tore the thin linen shift with his teeth. She gasped at the sheer thrill of it. He stilled himself for a moment, examining her exposed breasts. Katia hoped they were pleasing enough. She knew several girls back in Tronscar who had larger chests but she had always thought hers were average enough. Still, a flicker of self-doubt passed through her, and she hoped that the other women that Lothair had been with had not pleased him more.
He pushed back the torn linen with his nose, kissing, tasting, suckling her right breast. His luscious torment knew no end. She felt the sensations in every part of her body. She could not help but move against the sheets below, her back and buttocks arching to twist in the air, her muscles clenching to draw out more of the magnificent sensation.
Lothair pressed more of his weight onto her. She opened her legs and his thick thigh pressed up between them. He covered up her right breast before uncovering the left, and she gasped anew when his mouth connected to the tender flesh.
Katia unconsciously thrust her pelvis into his hard thigh and felt a sudden rush of excitement from the friction. She could feel the bulge in his trousers pressing against her belly—she knew what it was, and vaguely understood how it was to function. She wanted to touch it. She pressed her flat, open palm over the top of his trousers.
“No,” Lothair groaned unconvincingly.
“Does it pain you?” She didn’t want to sound like a fool, but she didn’t want to stop.
“No, but you mustn’t touch it,” Lothair said. He returned to assaulting the sensitive skin of her nipple. His action led her to a conclusion: if he got to touch her, it was only fair that she got to touch him. She returned her hand to the forbidden member.
“Katia, you don’t know what you are about,” he hissed, and moved to take her hand away. She answered him with a bold but gentle squeeze. He closed his eyes and his head dropped to the side.
“What? Does that not feel good?” she whispered in his ear. He stifled a groan. She took that as a yes and rubbed her hand up and down, trying to touch all of his manhood, which was still safely secured under the fabric of his leather trousers.
“Damn it, Kat. Why must you make everything so hard?” He jerked and twisted above her, not retreating from her touch but adjusting it.
“I didn’t make anything hard. It was like this after you kissed me.” She defended herself with a smile. She was confused as to why he could not just be happy and admit that these feelings were enjoyable.
His hand clamped down around hers, squeezing with increased pressure, and he rocked against their joined hands. His eyes were closed and his nostrils flared out as he pulled in a deep breath, taking his pleasure from her touch. He withdrew his hand, leaving hers in place, and seized the bottom of her gown, raising it midway up her thigh, and stopped. He looked down at her sharply and drew in a shallow breath.
“Are you sure about this, Kat?”
“Aye.”
His large hand disappeared under her gown, and with a feather touch, his fingers stroked the insides of her thighs.
“Bloody hell,” he said in a whispery groan. “You’re so wet.”
“Sorry. I don’t know why that happens.”
“’Tis your woman’s dew . . .” He sucked in a painful-sounding breath. “’Tis natural. Your body preparing for—” He couldn’t finish the sentence but instead caressed the inside of her thigh. It almost felt as if he was toying with her before finally moving closer to her throbbing center. Every kiss, every groan, every suckle of her breast seemed to dampen the flesh between her legs.
With tender care, he stroked her there again and she jerked at the sudden shock of pleasure. She could do no more than arch and gasp, paralyzed by the powerful feelings. Her body began to jerk and twist against his fingers. Every breath sped her forward, toward something she couldn’t quite identify. His mouth latched on to hers, and his tongue returned to her mouth with a growl.
His breathing was hard and fast but hers seemed harder and faster, and before she fully understood what was happening, her body was sent into a convulsion. Her feet pressed against the bed and her backside pressed up.
“Lothair!” she gasped.
It might have lasted for a breath, a moment, or an hour. Katia was too bewildered to be able to guess.
Chapter 15
As her senses returned, Katia realized Lothair had begun to move above her with small, intense thrusts into her hand. After a few moments, his head dropped to the mattress and he breathed heavily on her neck.
It took a few motionless moments to realize that it was over.
She wiggled her wrist free from between their bodies and wrapped her arms around him, clinging to him. She never wanted to leave the comfort of this bed again.
Suddenly, in a singular fluid movement, he pushed up and turned away, leaving her instantly cold.
With a brisk stride, he crossed the chamber to the washstand. She couldn’t see clearly in the dark, but he appeared to be washing his hands and himself at the waist. Perhaps she should bring the candle for him. She crept out of bed, away from the sudden shift of his mood.
She touched his shoulder. “Lothair?”
He jerked away. “Your virginity has been tread upon, yet it is safe for one more night.” He was angry. Without even a brief glance her way, he retrieved his sword and unbarred the door.
“I beg your pardon, Lady Katia.” His tone was imbued with painful sincerity. Clearly, Lothair regretted the moment they had just shared. She wanted to die of embarrassment.
“But—” She stepped toward him as he silently closed the door behind him.
***
“Be gone with you.” Katia yanked the sheet back up and over her head. She would hide away from the world for one day. She felt entitled to one day of consuming self-pity.
“I wish I could, but I cannot. We viscountesses have many responsibilities, I am finding out. We must curtsy for the duke, and host annual feasts, and,” she laughed, “drag our besotted sisters out of bed.” Tosh pulled at Katia’s arm, dragging her out of bed. “What has gotten into you? Are you ill? It cannot be your courses; they are not due for a fortnight.”
“Leave me be!” Katia shoved against her friend. “Tell everyone I died in my sleep.”
“I will not. Not until you tell me what is going on with you.”
“Nothing,” she grouched. “I am tired, is all.”
“Lothair claims that nothing is wrong either, yet he insisted I come up and check on you all the same. Even though he has two perfectly well-formed legs himself.”
“What did he say?” Katia’s head sprung up from her pillow.
“Nothing.” Tosha raised a curious brow. “What is going on between you two? Did he finally propose? Did he finally tell you how hopelessly in love he is with you?”
Katia flopped back down hard on her pillow and buried her face in the fabric. “Go away,” she said into the feather stuffing.
“I will be sure to keep my distance from the pair of you today.” Tosha smacked Katia’s bottom. “Up with you now. We have a long, cold road ahead of us this morn, from the look of the dark sky.”
Katia finally rose, grumbling, and after a very hurried bowl of porridge, they joined Lars, Lothair, and the guards out in the yard. The dismally gray morning gave way to a frigid day of riding.
The weather cooperated for the next two days, allowing the group to cover a considerable amount of distance.
Breaking the silence one drizzly afternoon, Lars comforted Tosha by informing them they were less than two days from Lubeck. Katia’s heart sunk like a stone. Her friend’s reprieve would signal the beginning of Katia’s mourning. Tosha would stay behind and begin her new life as a wife with a man who worshipped her while Katia would lose her closest friend. She would gladly sleep forever in ill-kept inns and along frigid roadsides if it meant spending each day at Lothair’s side, with Tosh nearby to raise her spirits.
Katia stared at the back of Lothair’s head. He had said scarcely five words to her in the last two days. She’d caught him staring in her direction several times, but he would quickly turn away. And yet she spent every waking hour of the day with him. It was equal agony and comfort. The world made no sense.
That night, they rode until well after dark. The men wanted to guarantee that they would make it back to Lubeck by tomorrow night. They arrived frostbitten and starved at an inn that suited Lothair’s strict security standards. Their evening meal held little to no conversation. Forks scratched over plates, horns of ale clanged to the table, bread was torn and chewed, and then all made a hasty retreat to their private chambers.
Katia tiptoed around her cold chamber, preparing for bed. She dove under the cold sheets of the small, creaking bed and tugged up the blankets. The smells of weathered fur and the crisp coldness of the chamber reminded her of home. The familiarity, combined with her body’s exhaustion, drew her quickly into sleep, yet even then her mind wouldn’t stop spinning with frustrating thoughts and images: Lothair’s eyes staring at her as she rode next to him; his firm, possessive touch around her waist as he lowered her to the ground from her mount; and the sight of his hard, fixed lips. His lips that didn’t speak to her, didn’t smile at her . . . and then there was the torturous memory of those lips upon her breast. She jerked the fur covering higher, turned over, and with her face in her pillow, released a loud, long, overdue curse.
She heard the sounds of floorboards creaking outside her door, yet no footsteps coming or going. Someone was loitering just outside her door and she had a very strong suspicion as to who it was.
She threw her coverings off in frustration. Whoever it was, he was about to get an earful. She crossed the small chamber with her sword in hand and silently raised the thin metal latch to the door. She jerked it open.
Lothair stumbled in, tripping and grasping at furniture to find his footing.
“What in the blazes do you think you’re doing?” he asked, sounding slightly drunk.
“What am I doing? What are you doing?” she asked.
He just scowled.
“Why didn’t you just pick my lock, like you usually do?”
“Get back to bed before you catch your death,” he said.
She crossed her arms against the cold.
“You should share a room with Tosha and Lars. You’re not safe alone,” he muttered.
“Well, then, be my guest to come in and keep me safe.” She gestured at the bed.
“I imagine we’re both safer with me sleeping in the hall.” He swayed a little toward the door.
“Lothair?”
“No,” he responded flatly, without even needing to hear her question.
“There is no hearth in my chamber. I am cold.” She pouted her lips out, remembering her grandmother’s saying, “All is fair in love and war.” So this is what that meant.
“Get to bed then.” He didn’t take his eyes off her.
She shook her head and smirked. Silly drunk man.
“No?” He pushed back a thick thatch of hair that had been hanging over her eyes. “You intentionally wish to catch your death?”
He swept her up in an instant, tossing her over his shoulder, kicking the chamber door closed behind him, and striding the three short steps to her cold bed. He dropped her down like a sack of wheat and covered her roughly with the blankets and fur, tucking them in tightly around her.
She giggled, happy to play Lothair’s prisoner.
When he finished, he stood up straight. She turned on her side, holding his gaze, silently inviting him to join her.
Without a word, Lothair released his belt. His sword, ankle blade, and dagger were all quietly removed and placed on the small table next to the bed. He sat down on the edge of the bed with his back to her and removed his boots, placing them neatly under the bed. He slipped under the blankets. Not a word was spoken.
***
Lothair decided he wouldn’t touch her tonight, not in that way. The last few nights spent guarding her door had exhausted him. He would not kiss her—that was when the trouble always started.
She nuzzled into his arm, wiggling her hips to press into his side. He curled his arm around her back, pulling her in, and she instantly molded against him. Neither one moved for a long while, but as his breath returned, he found himself sinking farther into the thin straw mattress. Her softness and fluttering heartbeat against his chest soothed him into sleep.
***
The thundering sounds of a thousand stampeding feet woke Lothair in the predawn hours of morning. The inn must be under attack from bandits. Releasing Katia from his arms, he twisted and dove for his sword just as the chamber door crashed open.
“You!” A giant, white-bearded warrior filled the doorway, his sword drawn. His chest was heaving, eyes flooded with murderous intent.
Lothair drew his sword and widened his stance, preparing for a battle he had no certainty of winning.
Chapter 16
“Rikard?” Katia leapt from bed and rushed to stand between Lothair and the raging giant.
“Will you ever learn self-preservation?” Lothair said, grinding his teeth and hooking an arm around her waist, but Katia broke free and flung her arms around the man.
“I am overjoyed to see you. How is Mama? How are the boys? Oh my stars, there is so much to tell you.”
“Katia
, who is this man to you?” The Norrland warrior pointed his drawn sword at Lothair.
“Do you not remember Lothair? Baron Hanseatz, Lord Blienskastel, traveled to Tronscar with the Duke of Saxony several years ago. Do you not remember meeting him?” She vainly tried to defuse the tense situation.
“Answer me, my lady. Who is he to you? Why is he in your chamber?” Rikard demanded.
The corridor was chaotic with activity and raised voices. Before Katia could form her response, two more men shoved their way into the chamber. Lothair reached for Katia’s arm and dragged her quickly behind him.
“Cover yourself,” he whispered for only her to hear. “And put something on your feet, for God’s sake. The floor is freezing.”
“Lothair, really. Why must you always be so grumpy in the morning? Rikard is my dear friend. This is wonderful—”
“Get your robe on.” He shoved her toward the satchel in the corner.
“Lothair! You’re alive. Thank God.” His father shoved forward into the chamber and embraced him. “We heard reports that you were taken in Kazik. Where have you been? Your mother is beside herself with worry.” The duke embraced Lothair, but he pushed him away and stepped closer to Katia, away from the men that crowded the small chamber. Light from the torches in the corridor illuminated them from behind, sending shadows over their faces and concealing their expressions.
“What is going on here?” Count Charles of Flanders pushed forward into the chamber, and Katia, now covered in her dressing robe, stepped to his side to greet her uncle.
“Oh, Uncle, I have dreamed of this moment a thousand times in the past months.” Katia spoke into the count’s chest.
“My child, we feared that we had lost you. But here we find you, with . . . my dear.” Count Charles looked back and forth between Katia and Lothair and Rikard’s sword and then down to their bare feet. The entire assembly of men followed his gaze. “My dear, there is much that needs to be said. Yet first I believe it appropriate for you to dress.”
