by Jianne Carlo
“Speak to me quickly because I am afire for you.” His busy fingers untied her laces, then he drew her astride his groin, and bunched her skirts to the waist.
Courage Catriona, you are not a bleating sheep.
She pushed off his chest.
He glanced at her, one blonde brow lifted.
“I have come to love you Ruard, Dragon Slayer.” She stiffened when his muscles rippled under her palms. “I would be your true wife if you will have me, but should you wish to cast me aside,
’twill be so.”
“I wish for no other Catriona.” His tone was gruff and as hard as the stone of the castle, but his gaze never wavered. Combing her hair with his fingers, he whispered, “I am well pleased with my bride. You are mine now and will never leave my side.”
Lady Carlton had warned her that though husbands liked to hear their wives speak of love, warriors did not. She had also told Catriona of a bedsport activity all men craved. And though they’d tupped oft since saying their vows, and his hands had explored every crevice of hers, she had only been able to hold his man part for fleeting seconds before he growled and buried his thick flesh in her sheath.
“Ruard?”
“Catriona?” His hand cupped her neck and he pressed his face to her hair. “You smell of spring in winter—how comes this to be? Do you then smell like winter in spring?”
“Beg pardon?”
“’Tis naught. What is amiss?”
“Have you heard of the bedsport cock sucking?”
* * *
“Are you sotted brother?” Njal stretched his long legs under the high table. “’Tis mid-morn and you fair stumbled down the steps.” Ruard could not collect his thoughts, too many images of Catriona’s ruby lips covering his cock painting his vision. Truly he had found a wife beyond measure. His heart had stopped when she sweetly asked him about cock sucking. And this morn, he choked back a groan as his prick thickened, this morn she had swallowed his seed.
I am besotted by my wife.
He had always sneered at men whose brides led them by the nose. Now he knew what parts women truly led men by. Heart and prick: the worst betrayers of a man’s mind in all the worlds. “Where is my wife?”
“Behind you, my lord.” The smell of spring enveloped him as she slid onto the bench. As was custom for a wedded woman she wore a veil, and glad though he was her unbound glorious tresses were for him alone, he missed the way the fire of her hair brightened the great hall’s shadows. “I went to fetch you food to break your fast.” At her signal, a kitchen boy deposited a wooden plate on the table.
“’Tis cured venison from your hunt, eggs, cheese, and bread freshly warmed in the ovens.” He heard not a word, too busy staring at her white teeth, the pretty dimples, and her talented lips. This morn she had taken his balls into her mouth. He had been with harem women, women of the great courts, and never had he acted such the green sapling. When she purred with his cock’s crown between her lips, her nails grazing his sac, his seed had erupted like the fire spewing mountains of Ísland.
“’Tis not to your taste my lord?” She hung her head. “’Tis the poison you are recalling. I will taste your food first so you have no cause to wonder—”
“Nay, elskling.” He cupped her chin, captured her gaze, and spoke for her ears only. “While
’twould be paradise to eat from your fingers or lips,
’tis I who will be the taster, for you are precious to me.” Her eyes shimmered and he feared ’twould do him in to see her cry.
Njal chortled and slapped his hand on the table, jostling the food. “’Tis a pity our brothers Jarvik and Magnus arrive on the morrow, for you are a sight to behold making moon eyes at your wife.”
His face heating, Ruard twisted and cuffed Njal on the jaw.
Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed Catriona’s sudden frown. “’Twill not happen again.” Suddenly ravenous, he gobbled every morsel while Catriona explained her dowry chests had arrived, hence the wooden plates. Had the treasure arrived when he had been laid low? ’Twould please Catriona and show all how much he valued his bride.
“Do you hunt this morn, my lord?” The smile she gave him made Ruard’s chest ache and he yearned to cradle her in his arms.
“Aye.” He kissed her palm. “Until this eve, wife.”
Ruard and Njal spent the rest of the day inventorying Dunsmuir’s lost riches, and discovered King Cnut had not exaggerated the castle’s wealth.
The brothers arranged for the carts to be led into the hall at the end of the evening meal.
The day took too long to pass for Ruard.
To his consternation, during the evening meal Ruard couldn’t stop staring at his bride, admiring her perfect profile, her ready smile, and growing sotted on her spring fragrance. He fed her the choicest morsels from their plate, held the goblet so that she drank from the same spot he did, and touched her as oft as he could.
When the kitchen boy brought him not an apple pie but a small gooseberry tart at the end of the meal, he suppressed a smile.
“’Tis to your liking my lord?”
“Aye wife. ’Tis a miracle you found berries after so many frosts.”
“Captain deGrecy sent them to me. I gave him and his man leave to return to King Cnut’s court yester eve. The berries came by messenger this aft.”
’Twas only by dint of his warrior training that Ruard suppressed a howl, and he had to stuff a huge chunk of pie into his mouth to stop the foolish grin threatening to take over his face. DeGrecy was gone. Catriona had declared her love. Never had tart berries tasted so delicious.
Njal cleared his throat, and Ruard glanced up to see him signaling a pageboy. Minutes later, a mule led in the first of the carts.
Busy chatting with Helene, Catriona didn’t notice the clopping of hoofs. ’Twas only when a collective gasp went through the great hall that she glanced up.
Ruard had fixed his gaze on her and ’twas only when Njal jabbed him in the ribs and growled,
“Toast,” that he tore his eyes away from his wife.
He captured Catriona’s hand and rose, pulling her to her feet, and brushed his lips over her knuckles.
In the sudden silence, he heard her rapid breathing, saw her cheeks lose their roses, and her brows pucker. Squeezing her fingers, he whispered,
“All is well wife.”
He turned, faced the hall, raised his goblet, and shouted, “I return Dunsmuir’s treasures to their rightful owner, my wife, Lady Catriona.” A moderate cheer rose in the hall. His people needed time to trust him, though the blacksmith’s endorsement had helped produce smiles instead of frowns. Njal and he had added the monk and cook’s body to those in the pit, and fired all again, ensuring the blacksmith would not hang.
Catriona thanked him prettily for her gift and gave all back to him.
He would not release her hand and cared not that all saw him doting on his wife. He fed her cheese from his fingers, tucked a lock of hair escaping her veil back under the transparent cloth, and kissed her palm repeatedly.
They did not linger in the hall. Ruard carried his bride up the stairs to the accompaniment of whistles, cheers, and shouts. She blushed hotly when he started to strip off her clothes.
“Shy, wife?”
“I fear I may have been too bold last eve and this morn.”
“’Tis what I have waited for all day long. To have you naked in my arms. I find I miss the feel of you, the smell of you, these dimples.” She smiled wider, and when he touched a finger to each indentation, the slight frown puckering her brow vanished. “Did Lady Carlton tell you of the bedsport activity of puss eating?” Her eyes grew round and widened.
“’Tis similar, but sweeter. And I cannot wait to give you the pleasure you gifted me with last eve and this morn.” He could see questions waiting to burst from her mouth, so he touched a finger to her lips. “I would give you a wife gift first.” Reaching under the bed furs, he felt for the cloth package, turned her palm upward, a
nd set the gift in her hand.
“’Tis not necessary Ruard, my bride gift suffices.”
“Open it.” He stopped breathing, fixed his gaze to her face, wanting to see every nuance of her reaction.
Delicate fingers pulled the red ribbon bow apart. She pealed back the linen and stared at the finely wrought gold dragon glittering against the black fabric. With one delicate finger, she traced the tail, the head, and then peeked up at him a question in her eyes. “You give me a dragon, Dragon Slayer?”
“I will slay all your dragons, Catriona, for you have claimed the Dragon Slayer’s heart.” Her eyes misted and a bolt of panic struck him.
He scrambled for the other hidden gift, caught the wooden box, and presented it to her.
“Another? Ruard, ’tis too much.”
“Open it,” he ordered, hoping she would understand.
Carefully she unlatched the metal clasp, lifted the lid, and laughed aloud. “’Tis a needle. Jeweled and lovely, but a needle nonetheless.”
“You will never thread another. Hire others to perform the task.”
“Why?”
“When I walked into the chamber when you and Helene were confined for that day, you were threading a needle. It took you but a breath to spin the thread through the eye.”
“Women thread needles.” She cocked her head and a devilish twinkle fair danced in her dark eyes.
“’Tis not the threading you object to, but that it took but a breath.”
Ruard widened his stance and clenched his fists. “My wife will n’er thread a needle again. Not unless she can stretch the threading to take an entire morn, or mayhap a sennight.”
~End~
~ About the Author ~
I’m an Iron Chef America and Law and Order addict who loves to cook, eat, and read. I wish you could burn a ton of calories being sedentary and eating. Don’t you?
Married for thirty-four years to an amazing man who still astounds me every single day, I’m also the proud mama of three fantastic sons, all of whom are now of legal age. If only they’d stop changing majors in college…
I grew up on the Caribbean island of Trinidad where the population is representative of almost every race and nation on the planet, so multiculturalism oozes from my pores. Though I attended an all-girl Catholic school run by nuns, we were taught all religions, Hinduism, Muslim, Buddhism, and celebrated all the holidays associated with those religions. Did you know many delish foods go with religious holidays?
Alpha males, strong heroines, exotic locations, and cultural differences are my forte. And from Monaco, to Trinidad at Carnival time, to rural Washington, to Denali National Park in Alaska, to Sleeping Dog, Texas and Norway in 1028 AD, I’m travelling the world through my books, and sharing my view of it with readers.
My writing career began in 2008, and since then I’ve been lucky enough to have nine books published. Two more, including my first historical, will release at the end of 2010, and I currently have six manuscripts in progress.
One of the most rewarding aspects of writing is hearing from readers, and nothing makes my day more than an email from someone who’s read one of my books. I love to hear what tickles someone’s fancy. So far, I’ve heard from readers from almost every continent on the planet. Almost…
Find more about Jianne Carlo here:
http://www.jiannecarlo.com
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Published By:
Etopia Press
P.O. Box 66
Medford, OR 97501
http://www.etopiapress.com
The Dragon Slayer
Copyright � 2011 by Jianne Carlo
ISBN: 978-1-936751-26-6
Edited by Georgia Woods
Cover by Mina Carter
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
First Etopia Press electronic publication: April 2011
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