The Castle on the Loch

by Evie North

  "This is the Lady Maire," she heard the crone saying. "She has a favour to beg, Murchadh."

  "Has she indeed?" The sound of Murchadh's voice seemed to brush against her skin, like a lover's touch, and to her confusion she felt once more the stirrings of desire.

  When she was slow in answering, the old woman nudged her and nodded encouragingly. "Tell him what it is you want, lady," she said with a hint of impatience.

  "The Norsemen have taken my village, sir. They drove my people into the hills and we cannot go home again while they hold my land. We will all starve, come winter, and there is no one else I can call upon for help."

  She looked up at the last, lifting her chin, and found that black assessing gaze upon her.

  How old was he? she wondered, and then couldn't answer her own question. His face was that of a mature man, a warrior, but it was also ageless. He might be her own age or a hundred. The Knights had been spoken of as long as she could remember, and for generations before. They were magical creatures to be wary of, and only approached if there was no other option.

  It would be a mistake to believe him her friend.

  Murchadh was still watching her and suddenly he smiled a smile that took her breath away.

  Some part of her mind noted the crone's soft chuckle. "Ah, he likes you," she murmured. "I knew he would. He is old, the oldest of the Knights, and he needs a woman not a girl."

  She spoke the last few words in a manner that was defiant but it meant nothing to Maire, who was struggling to understand. His smile seemed to have momentarily taken away her wits.

  "You are aware that there is a price to pay, Damsel?" he was asking her, his deep voice sending ripples once more across her senses.

  "I understand." She choked the words past the lump in her throat. She wanted to ask him what the price was but she was afraid, and childish as she knew it was, she thought if she did not ask then she could pretend it wouldn't be so bad.

  Murchadh stared a moment more and then nodded. He stood up and once again she saw that he was taller than any man in her village. Every part of her being was gathering itself, preparing to turn and run, but she didn't. She reminded herself that even if she reached the gate and the bridge over the loch, there was still the fate of her people to consider. No, she could not turn coward now. She must stay and submit. She must hold true to her word.

  And then he was before her, his powerful body blocking out the firelight, his face above hers, his eyes fixed upon her. She found herself unable to look away and as she stood before him she could feel the heat from his body, and smell the faint scent of the sea.

  "You have not been breached by mortal man?" he asked. His gaze dropped to her mouth and she felt her lips begin to tingle.

  "No, I-I haven't."

  "How so?" he demanded, and his hands were clenching and unclenching at his sides as though he wanted to touch her and was restraining himself. "You are beautiful, damsel, tell me why no man has come to your bed?"

  "I was to marry," she said, her voice dropping despite her determination to be brave. "But he died, and since then there has been no one I . . . no time to find another," she corrected herself, but he had already heard her slip.

  "No one you would wish to share pleasure with?" There was a note of satisfaction in his voice. "I am glad."

  Maire felt as if the floor was moving beneath her feet. Only a short time ago she had believed she would be eaten alive, and now . . . Did Murchadh mean to take her maidenhead? Was that the sacrifice she must make to save her people?

  She wanted to laugh, and swiftly put her hand up to her mouth and lowered her eyes, so he wouldn't see. There was a warm tide rising inside her, a sense of anticipation. Maire had been chaste for a long time, and Murchadh was a handsome and captivating man. But there was more to him than that, and she had thought so from the first moment she saw him on the loch shore. Or was he indeed a monster masquerading as a mortal? Perhaps he would feast on her after he was done? The hysteria threatened to bubble out from between her lips and she gasped.

  "Damsel," his low, quiet voice was so close. She felt his warm breath upon her hair and went very still.

  He must have glanced to the crone, because suddenly she bustled forward.

  "Thank you, Sibby," he said, his voice almost too low to hear. "I am grateful."

  The old woman nodded and then took Maire's hand. "Come lady," she said, in a voice suddenly shaky with emotion, "there are preparations to be made."

  Maire looked back at him over her shoulder. He was standing watching her, the firelight flickering behind him and warming the skin tones of his naked shoulders. "The Norsemen," she said anxiously, searching his face. "Will you save my people?"

  "It will be done," he promised.

  And although she didn't know him or anything about him save for legend, Maire believed him. She had met men in power, had bargained with them and learned to understand their ways, good and bad. She could read their faces and their actions, and she knew Murchadh was telling her the truth. Relief swept over her, and she told herself that whatever happened to her now at least she had fulfilled her promise to those who depended upon her.

  "Come," the crone spoke again, clearly exasperated, and finally she turned away.

  ***

  This room was a bedchamber and a bath had been placed before the hearth. The old woman, who she now knew was called Sibby, had lit a fire before she helped Maire to strip off her damp clothing and climb into the water.

  "Allow your thoughts to calm," she had said. "You have placed your life and that of your people in the hands of Murchadh and there is nothing more to be done. You have chosen wisely." She smiled a little smile. "I will return soon."

  The bath was deep, filled to the brim with steaming water, so she was able to sink down beneath the suds. It was delicious. Maire had a smaller bath at home, and she had swum in the ocean when it was warm enough, but nothing had been quite this luxurious. And it was made all the more so after her arduous journey and her fear of what she would find at the end of it.

  The scent of the rose petal soap filled her head and made her eyelids heavy, or perhaps it was just that she was tired from her long walk to Samhanach Castle.

  If she could only sleep for a moment . . .

  She half dozed. Instantly she found her thoughts turning to Murchadh, as he had been last evening when she first saw him. It was easy enough to imagine that, instead of stopping by the loch to dress, he had walked all the way to where she was crouched, hiding, at the edge of the trees. Damsel . . . In her dream he stooped to her, cupping her face in his hands, and then his mouth captured hers, drawing forth sensations she could not remember ever feeling before. His lips caressed hers, his tongue sliding across the full shape, until his taste became as familiar to her as her own. There was a hungry ache deep in her belly and in her dream he straightened and stood, gazing down at her, his handsome face hard with desire, his dark eyes intent.

  "You will be mine," he said. "This time all will end well."

  With a sigh, she woke.

  The shadows were deep, the fire a mere glow of coals compared to the blaze it had been earlier. She had slept for some time and now she felt languid and relaxed, her fears at peace. The old woman should have come to fetch her, she thought, but it didn't seem to matter. Maire stretched her arms above her head, easing her muscles, and prepared to rise from the bath.

  "Damsel."

  His voice came from the corner and she froze. She had been dreaming of him and now he was here. Perhaps, she thought warily, it had been no dream. Cautiously she touched her lips and found them tender, as if the kiss had been real.

  The shadows stirred and reformed as Murchadh rose from his chair and prowled toward her. Maire lifted her head, her hair dripping, and stared. Because he was completely naked. The muscular chest and shoulders were complimented by equally muscular thighs, and then her gaze flew instinctively to his manhood. And it was big, in keeping with the rest of him, and already semi erect. As her
eyes widened it hardened further, and she made a wordless sound, her gaze lifting to his.

  "You have spent a long time in your bath, lady. I could wait no longer," he explained, a smile teasing his lips.

  Her breasts peaked and she looked down in surprise at the hardened buds of her nipples, reddened by the heat of the water. Quickly, embarrassed, she sank below the surface but he had seen and he made a sound in his throat, deep and hungry, as he moved purposefully to her side.

  "Sir, I . . ." She swallowed and spoke more firmly, as befitted her position in life. "Please allow me to dry myself and dress."

  But he shook his head. "I will dry you," he declared in a voice that brooked no argument. He reached for her hand and, before she knew it, she was being lifted from the water as if she weighed nothing at all. A moment later she was out of the bath and standing beside it, as naked as he.

  Murchadh reached for the drying cloth. Maire hung back, arms folded over her chest, dripping water onto the floor. His dark eyes swept over her, seeming to take in every inch of her glowing skin, momentarily lingering upon the dark curls between her thighs. "Damsel," he said, a request and a warning, and reached for her, drawing her gently but firmly toward him.

  Maire stood stiffly as he began to dry her, smoothing the cloth across her shoulders and down her arms, and then gently patting the firm mounds of her breasts. Her body heated from his touch. She caught her breath when his finger circled the peak of her breast and for a moment she thought he was going to kiss her there—and the truth was she wanted him to. But he smiled instead, and began firmly drying off the remaining water from her belly and thighs, moving to stand behind her so that he could pat her back and buttocks.

  She stood, compliant, swaying a little. His touch was everywhere and she was breathing quickly, while her body readied itself. He must know it, she thought feverishly. Was that what he wanted from her? Was this her sacrifice?

  And what, her fevered thoughts demanded, would happen to her afterwards?

  Her hands shaking, she snatched the cloth from him, and heard him laugh softly as she turned away to wrap it about herself. The material was soft and thick, but she knew it could never protect her. And besides it was too late. She wanted him, and even if she didn't she had made this bargain with him, so that when he came up behind her she made no protest as his hands slid around to cup her breasts and finger the hard peaks once more. The cloth fell to the floor. Shocked and at the same time aflame with desire, Maire could feel the solid length of his cock pressing to the small of her back.

  "You are sure that no man has breached you, lady?" His mouth was hot on her nape, and she gasped, her thoughts splintering, so that it was difficult to find a reply. And why, she thought, did it matter so much to him?

  "Yes, I am sure."

  His fingers slid between her thighs, stroking her sex, and she tried to pull away but he caught her and turned her, kissing her again. Hot, demanding kisses, until she found herself lying back in his arms, her legs too weak to hold her, and once more his hand was between her thighs.

  "And has a man touched you here?" he murmured.

  "No," she managed. "No man."

  He gave a grunt, as though what he heard pleased him, and once again his fingers smoothed her damp folds. Because she was damp, she realised feverishly, and it wasn't from the bath water. His touching of her was so pleasurable, and even though the circumstances were strange and unsettling, she no longer cared.

  What if, she reminded herself, these were her last moments on earth?

  It seemed all the more important to enjoy them.

  He was leading her to the bed now, and pressed her down upon it, so that her face was against the furs that covered it, and she could not see him. Perhaps he thought she would be afraid to see him in this moment, but she wasn't. Instead her senses were enhanced, every one of them focussed on his caresses. She felt the bed sink a little as he sat down at her side, and then she felt his fingers stroking her again, finding her opening and pressing inside. He bent and kissed her shoulder, at the same time pushing deeper, and finding her maidenhead.

  "You spoke truth, damsel," he said with satisfaction. "I never doubted you but women as beautiful as you are rarely untouched."

  And then he used his fingers to break through her hymen so quickly that she barely had time to cry out.

  A moment later he lifted the strands of her dark hair away from her face, where she had turned it into the furs, and she felt his gaze on her profile, assessing. His hand rested heavily on her lower back, the heat from his palm seeming to spread outwards over her skin, but she did not move or speak.

  "Do you want me to let you go now?" he asked her. "Have you changed your mind?"

  She opened her eyes in surprise and lifted her head to look at him. "Would you?" she asked. "Let me go, I mean? If I-I changed my mind?"

  "Of course."

  Just for a moment Maire considered it. She could walk away from here, back to her village, and tell them the Knights would not help. She could . . . but it was pointless to imagine such a cowardly thing. And yet, the fact that he was giving her a choice, now, at the very last moment, spoke well of him.

  "No, Murchadh, I have not changed my mind," she said softly. "You may do with me as you will."

  She could hear his breath close to her cheek but she could not see him, because she had closed her eyes again. She was a sacrifice, she reminded herself, and so she would behave.

  And then she cried out as suddenly he lifted her into his arms, cradling her, so that her head was against his shoulder and she could no longer hide from those dark eyes.

  "You are mistaken if you think I mean to hurt you," Murchadh said, catching her chin in his hand and holding it so that she could not turn away. "It has been a long time since I held a woman in my arms and I mean to enjoy every moment of it."

  Suddenly she remembered him standing and staring at the loch, and the sound of his sigh, and her stubborn pride wavered.

  "How long?" she whispered.

  He laughed softly, but there was no humour in it, and only a deep sadness in his dark eyes. "Centuries, damsel," he said. His gaze slid over her, lingering on her breasts and then the curls between her thighs.

  She no longer thought to deny him—she didn't want to. He began stroking her again, his eyes gleaming between half closed lids. He found the little nub Maire had sometimes touched herself, when she was alone, and teased it so that she gasped and raised her hips toward him. He stroked her again, harder, and now she was aching for the resolution she knew was there but had never known before with a man.

  "Should I stop?" he asked her, but there was amusement in his voice, as if he knew she would shake her head with such urgency. That made him chuckle, and she thought: Perhaps he is a mortal man after all, the same as any other.

  "You like this?" he murmured. "And this? Ah yes, you like this."

  She moved harder against his fingers, panting now, almost at the peak of her pleasure. A little further, a little further. When he stopped just short of climax, she gasped in frustration, half sitting up, her damp hair like a cloak about her shoulders.

  He caressed her cheek with his fingers, eyes narrowed, and then his mouth was on hers. Somehow he was above her, and she felt his cock sliding into her channel, stretching her beyond what she could have believed herself capable. Maire clung to his shoulders and wondered how much of him there was and whether she could take him.

  Perhaps he wondered too, for he rested a moment, his breath hot against her cheek. But as he waited she was aware of the sensation of his powerful body upon her, the rasp of hair upon his chest and groin, and the hard muscles of his thighs between hers. He stretched out her hands and held them above her head and then he began to ride her, slowly at first, each stroke deliberate and breath taking, and then harder and deeper, until she was gasping and groaning, and finally, crying out so loudly she was sure the whole castle could hear her.

  When it was over she lay, trying to breathe, tremors stil
l running through her. And it was only when she realised he was still hard inside her, that she looked up and met his eyes.

  "We are not done yet, Damsel," he said. "I told you, I have waited centuries for you, and there is much pleasure to be had."

  This time it was quicker and he thrust deeper—it was as if her body was already more accustomed to him. Again his mouth closed on hers, his tongue caressing, and her hands went of their own accord to grasp him to her. She had not thought she could do it again so soon, but surprisingly the pleasure began to build and build. She gasped out his name at the end, and this time he groaned as loudly as she, and she felt his seed spill into her.

  After a time he pulled away and instantly she felt his loss, and shivered. But soon he returned with a goblet of wine, which he held to her lips as she sipped. He looked pleased with himself, she thought, watching him through her lashes. And he looked as if he wasn't finished with her yet.

  Centuries? Could that be so?

  Setting the goblet down, he stretched out beside her on the bed, and leaned to lick a droplet of wine from her lips. The kiss that followed caused her to roll toward him, her body pressed to the hard warmth of his. When his kiss grew more insistent she placed her palm against his chest, holding him at bay, although she knew it was only so because he wished it to be. He was strong enough to overpower her and yet he chose not to—he chose to be gentle with her.

  Maire looked into his eyes.

  "Why have you had to wait so long?" she dared to ask him. "Surely there are other women here in your castle that you could take to your bed?"

  "Women do not normally wander into Castle Samhanach," he said, and she thought he might be laughing at her. "Besides, there are rules to be followed."

  "What rules? I don't understand."

  He reached out to stroke her face, tracing the shape of her cheek, and then her mouth. His thumb brushed over her lips, swollen from his kisses, before he moved downward again. "My brothers and I are soldiers. Knights. When we came to this place we were fleeing a war and our world was destroyed. We are all that is left of our race. The Chiefs of your land met together and agreed to allow us to stay. But there are rules, damsel. This castle, and all the lands around the loch, are ours, but we must not encroach further."