Lord of the Wolves

by Heather Graham

  He had come home late because he had been spending his hours with his mistress.

  And he had most probably been determined to return to France without her so that he might spend his life with his slim blond rune reader, unencumbered by any necessity to look after her.

  Conar was such a stranger. And yet, in ways, she knew him very well. He had managed so deftly to rule her life with an iron fist that she spent half her waking hours despising him, and half of her very best dreams meeting him in battle with a sword, and seeing him down on his knees at its end, begging for mercy.

  Recently, since she had met Gregory of Mercia, she had decided that she would allow him the chance to live if he would help her acquire an annulment from their marriage. She had some beautiful dreams about returning to France with Gregory and living there with him, carefully tending to their land and their people, as her father had taught her. Upon occasion she did feel a qualm of guilt for her dreams, since Conar"s family—though watching her with eagle eyes—

  had offered her every kindness, making her imprisonment—for yes, no matter what Olaf said, she was a prisoner—a gentle one. She could not possibly have sailed for France from the king of Dubhlain"s house, she had been certain. Yet it had occurred to her, since she had received Conar"s message and determined to come here, that once she was convinced Conar had sailed from France himself, she might well manage to do so from here. It had been an exciting thought.

  Rhiannon, Eric"s wife, was a golden blond beauty who was extremely kind and charming and a great deal of fun. Melisande had been very careful not to say a single word about Conar that was unkind, or give away her emotions regarding him. Rhiannon therefore offered her every freedom in the world. It would be difficult to curtail her activities anyway, since she spent so much of her time with Daria, who had a streak in her just as wild as that in any of her brothers. Daria, despite her exuberance, usually had her brother"s trust, and Melisande felt as if she had found her best friend in her sister-in-law.

  Everyone else had been lost to her, she thought upon occasion. Marie de Tresse remained in France, as did Ragwald—she had never imagined she would miss that old tyrant—Philippe and Gaston. She wrote constantly, and heard from them in return. None of their letters had reached her here, though, since she had been careful to leave as quickly as possible once Daria had invited her.

  She had tried to keep her distance from Eric since she had come here, and that had been easy enough because Rhiannon was so charming, and Daria so constantly on the go, and the fortress on the sea such a hive of activity. She had enjoyed her host"s precocious and toddling young son, Garth, and his infant daughter, Aleana. She kept herself busy and out of the lord"s way, which was easy—there was so much to see in the countryside. Daria had been the one to originally suggest that she come to Wessex, and when she had received the letter from Conar, informing her after all this time that he was returning and she should be prepared—well, it had certainly seemed the right time to her to vacate Dubhlain!

  She had enjoyed Mergwin, too. She was certain that she had never met a man quite so old in all of her life, but Mergwin"s great age made him all the more fascinating. He was fantastic to look at, very tall and skinny, with flapping robes, a wild mane of silver hair, and a beard that rippled past his knees. His eyes were ancient, almost the color of his hair, and all-seeing.

  Too all-seeing. He watched her often with disapproval, but she found that she still liked him very much, for though he taunted and warned her upon occasion, he also spent long hours with her talking about Eire and England and history and her own country"s past—and future. He reminded her very much of Ragwald and seemed a link to home for her—even if he was the one person who seemed to read something that was not quite innocent into her relationship with Gregory.

  “I repeat, milady,” Mergwin said firmly. “He’s here.” Gregory frowned, looking from a suddenly pale Melisande to Mergwin. He plucked his feet from the water and smiled pleasantly. “Who’s here?”

  “Conar MacAuliffe,” Melisande said briefly.

  Mergwin bowed deeply to Gregory. “The lady"s husband,” he added carefully.

  Melisande waved a dismissing hand in the air. “In truth, Mergwin, this lady has no husband, only a dictating tyrant.”

  “Milord Eric"s brother?” Gregory murmured.

  Melisande inhaled and exhaled slowly, wanting to shake him. “There is nothing to be afraid of,” she said, staring at Mergwin.

  “Oh, indeed not!” Mergwin exclaimed, smiling at Gregory. “After all, milady Melisande is not afraid in the least, is she?” Melisande grated her teeth together, not letting her eyes fall from Mergwin"s.

  “Not in the least,” she assured him. And she wasn"t afraid, she told herself, she was just deeply disappointed—and angry. Conar had been so damned determined to be rid of her, to send her away from home. And now, when she had finally begun to enjoy the sweet taste of freedom, he was appearing. Well, she wasn"t a child anymore. And he wasn"t going to dictate to her forever, and after all this time she"d see him when she damned well chose to do so.

  “Perhaps you might wish to come to the house,” Mergwin suggested, his tone annoyed. “I"m sure that the ships have docked by now, but if your lord husband finds that you have, at the least, hurried to meet him there …”

  “I"m not hurrying anywhere.”

  Gregory stood, his eyes upon her, still caring, but deeply concerned.

  “Perhaps—”

  “Perhaps nothing!” she cried. “Mergwin, if you wish it, you go back to the house and greet him. You may send my regards, and I will come along shortly.

  I—” She broke off for a moment, a chill running down her spine as she remembered that she had come here under false pretenses and that he had sailed specifically to retrieve her.

  Well, if he had let her stay home where she longed to be, then he wouldn"t have had to retrieve her.

  “I"ll give Conar your apologies, and assure him that you will be with him soon,” Mergwin said. “Very soon.”

  “But that"s not what I wish—” Melisande began. It didn"t matter. Mergwin was gone. He had been her friend, her companion. She realized bitterly that that didn"t matter at all. Mergwin had served the Ard-Ri, and then his daughter, and thus his son-in-law. And now there was no ill that could be done by the offspring of Olaf and Erin. Once Conar entered upon the scene, Mergwin served him. She should stand well advised.

  She sighed, watching the old man go, unease sweeping through her. Maybe she should follow him, be with him. No! She wasn"t going to return to Eric"s coastal fortress. She didn"t want to see Conar any sooner than she had to, and she wasn"t going to hide behind the old Druid"s robes.

  She suddenly wished with all her heart that she had somehow managed to run away from Conar years ago.

  But she couldn"t have done that. She intended to return to her own land— her inheritance.

  Gregory was still standing, barefoot and awkward, looking at her, his eyes warm, his young face handsome and sincere. “Melisande, you said you barely knew him, that he wouldn"t come for you. I truly think that perhaps you should go. You can only make matters worse. You"ll have to go to him eventually.

  You did marry him.”

  She walked toward him, shaking her head, placing her hands upon his shoulder. She came to him for strength, for support. They were of a height. She felt such a warmth for him, such a gentle affection! “Maybe I don"t really have to go back!” she said softly but, desperately.

  “But—”

  “I married him, yes. There had been a battle, my father had just been killed.

  He was strong, and my people seemed to think we needed that strength. But we parted right after. I was very young. It has never been a real marriage,” she said earnestly. “Truly, he has been like a guardian, nothing more. I"m of age now.

  Old enough to choose, old enough to know my own mind. And I"ve beautiful lands of my own, Gregory. They are mine, you know, not his. Perhaps …” He inhaled swiftly, star
ing at her. A hunger went into his eyes for her, or for the promise of a rich future, she wasn"t sure. But the moment was suddenly very sweet. The scent of the earth was rich and inviting, the sound of the bubbling brook seemed to lull her senses. His mouth was so very close to hers.

  She leaned forward, not really knowing what she intended, or what beckoned her. Her lips touched his. They were soft, pliable. She felt no great desire, just the most tender warmth, and still it was very nice. His hand pressed suddenly upon her shoulders. He touched her cheek, lifted his face from hers, met her eyes, and kissed her once again.

  And it was then that she heard her name, and a wall of ice seemed to form around her.

  “Melisande!”

  She had never heard it spoken so coldly, with such a fierce bite of anger. She didn"t need to turn to feel the ice continue to form. A great wave of dismay washed over her, cascading fiercely down her back, causing icy rivulets to sweep through her.

  It was one thing to come to him when she so desired, or leave him waiting as he had so often left her. It was another to be caught like this when she really hadn"t been guilty of anything.

  Conar remained behind her. She did not want to turn to see him.

  But Gregory was watching him.

  He stepped swiftly away from her. So swiftly, she might have fallen had she not made a valiant effort to balance herself. She saw Gregory"s eyes first, and they were wide with sinking fear and vast dismay. She stared at him, stunned as he fell to his knees in the few inches of water, head bowed low.

  “Milord! Your pardon.”

  He stood quickly, and Melisande turned at last.

  Conar had indeed come.

  It was amazing. Apparently, he hadn"t been willing to wait for her to come to him—startling after all this time. He had Thor with him and sat atop the huge black horse in a rich crimson mantle, ermine-edged. His brooch held the shield of the wolves, his father"s insignia from the house of Vestfold, while his sword hilt was decorated with one of the Celtic crosses of Eire. He sat upon Thor as easily as always, silent, still, staring at them both with the blue eyes that cut like fire and ice.

  She was not afraid of him, she assured herself, she was the injured party in this. She had been sent away from him—from her home—by force. Equally, she had been kept away from home by force. He lived his life as he chose, with no thought for her. She owed him nothing. She was suddenly quite determined to get an annulment.

  She moistened her lips, dismayed that Gregory was so quickly and ardently intimidated by Conar. Perhaps Conar was intimidating, he seemed so tall upon the horse, so broad and as if molded of steel, hard and striking with his sweep of golden hair and rugged features. She swallowed hard again for strength, swearing that he would no longer hold her beneath his will.

  “So you"ve come, Viking!” she said lightly, determined that she had done nothing wrong.

  He nudged Thor, and the huge war-horse carefully picked his way down to the water. Gregory struggled for the sword he wore in the scabbard at his side.

  Before he could begin to draw the weapon, Conar"s steel was touching his hand where it lay upon his sword hilt.

  “Leave it, boy,” Conar warned.

  “You"ll not hurt him—!” Melisande began, but those glacial Viking eyes were on her quickly, and to her dismay, she found herself falling silent.

  “No, I"ll not hurt him. I do not do battle with boys.” Gregory was down on his knees again, kissing Conar"s boot. “I thank you for your mercy, milord. I—”

  “Gregory!” Melisande cried, deploring his subjugation.

  “Ah, Gregory. I believe she thinks you should be quite willing to die for her.

  But, alas, I am not willing to slay my brother"s young kin for my lady"s foolishness. Go home, boy. Now.”

  “Milord!” Gregory agreed. He was instantly on his feet.

  Melisande discovered that he could run very fast. He raced from the stream to his horse, mounting him in a frenzy, and quickly disappearing.

  And she was, quite suddenly, alone with Conar, her husband, the stranger she knew only too well.

  He stared at her, very long and very hard. The rivulets of ice that had come dancing down her spine now seemed to be full rivers. She forced herself not to move, returning his cool stare. The silence between them seemed incredible.

  She could hear the soft gurgle of the water, the swaying whisper of the trees. It was so beautiful here, so peaceful, with little rocks in the way for the water to dance upon. She heard the chirping of a bird, and still no sound at all from him.

  “Well?” he murmured at last.

  Melisande hiked a finely arched brow, determined that he"d never know how she stood there shivering. “Well, what, milord?”

  He dismounted. She found herself backing away a step, and then forced to halt as he stood before her since she had backed her way against a tree.

  “It didn"t occur to you that I might have been ever so slightly displeased with the fact that you fled across the sea to England when I sent a message specifically to inform you that I was coming for you? Ah, and then, when you knew I was coming here, you didn"t think it might be wise to greet me with the others, and somewhat soothe an ever so slightly heated temper?” Ever so slightly heated …

  She could see the fury of his pulse, ticking against the corded strength of his throat. Maybe she was a fool. She"d fought him before and lost every time.

  But she"d been a child then. She refused to be one any longer.

  “Well, milord, you will forgive me,” she replied smoothly, her chin high, “if I refuse to take any message of yours to heart. You sent me away bound up in a sheet once. Therefore it is difficult to believe that you are eager to find me once again.”

  “Trust me,” he warned, his voice with an edge of danger, “I would like to see you bound in a sheet at this moment.” He stared at her still, shaking his head with disbelief. “By the gods! I cannot begin to believe your behavior now!

  Have you no sense?”

  “Sense?”

  She gasped as the tip of his sword swung like mercury in the air, coming to rest just at her throat. “Some men would take great offense at your actions, lady. Not only do you defy me, but I find you in the act of seducing some poor boy in the woods.”

  She froze for a moment, her breath gone, wondering if she hadn"t gone too far, if he would, in fact, skewer her through. She inhaled raggedly, seeking some emotion in his eyes, but there was nothing there except for Nordic blue frost. So she had offended him. All that he had done to her meant nothing.

  Let him skewer her.

  She touched the sword with her fingers and thrust it from herself, challenging him. “Really? Some men would take offense! Well, milord, I have taken grave offense, many a time. So you are angry that I did not run to beg your pardon when I heard that you were near! And you are disturbed that I have acquired friends within the households of your family. Pray forgive if I do not quiver with fear! Just what is it that you intend to do, milord, in retribution?

  Steal my land, perhaps? Seize my property? Why, I do believe that"s already been done!”

  “Take care, Melisande, I can surely find something.”

  “Ah, well! I don"t think that slitting my throat the Viking way would serve you well. If I die, my property will revert to my father"s nearest male heir, I believe.”

  He sheathed his sword, staring at her. “You are quite incredible, Melisande.

  Time has not improved your manners in the least.”

  He seemed so calm. She had done well to stand up to him, she thought. She still wished that the tree was not so tight to her back, that he did not seem to tower over her so. He created a certain breathlessness within her. She had felt it all that miserable night when they had last met. She felt it now. That and a heat that spread throughout while she continued to shiver at the same time.

  She arched a brow again. “I have been left in the care of your family, milord.

  Surely, then, I have matured as you migh
t have wished.”

  “Umm. Perhaps. And then again, perhaps it is a pity that I have not had much time to see to your maturing myself!”

  Her hands pressed against the tree at her back. She realized that she was using it for strength. “Shouldn"t you be with your family now?” she demanded.

  “I don"t think so,” he told her. He took a step closer. One of his hands landed against the tree, as well, just above her head and to her right. No matter what her sense of victory had been, she discovered then that she was tempted to spin to her left and run. She forced herself to stand still, meeting his gaze.

  “I think I"m exactly where I need to be. With my wife. Remember, Melisande? That is what you are. My wife.”

  She moistened her lips, her eyes falling from his as a new wave of shivers swept over her.

  “By a contract only. It means nothing.”

  “It means everything. And you will learn that, milady!”

  “It has meant everything to you—”

  “You are a little fool—my love. I tried to consider your feelings. Your dislike for me—”

  “Ah, milord! Dislike? How gentle a word! I despise you!” she assured him swiftly.

  “Forgive me for so sorely understating your gentle heart, Melisande. But then you must bear this in mind. It"s a good thing the boy wasn"t a shade older,” he snapped out, his voice so raw that she could feel its fever. “I"d not have stayed my hand.”

  The passion and fury in his words suddenly frightened her, not so much for herself as for Gregory. Perhaps she had wanted Gregory to stand up to Conar, but now she was afraid. Conar was older and harder and far more experienced.

  He had learned everything he knew from his father and the fiercest fighters on earth. He was built like brick and steel and remained as quick and agile as a buck.

  “Nothing happened here!” she whispered, furious herself. She didn"t want to whisper, she wanted to cry out. But then suddenly she saw her opening. “Yet if you are in the least concerned I beg you, have this marriage annulled. I"m sure—”