Lord of the Wolves

by Heather Graham

  He ran quickly to her, throwing his arms around her legs. She was nearly unbalanced, but caught herself just in time, slipping her arms around him. She bent down to him, lifted his chin, and kissed his cheek. “Good-bye, Garth,” she said, then stood quickly and slipped out of the room, leaving him alone with his uncle.

  She fled down the stairs.

  The soft sounds of a lute filled the hall when she returned to it. Servants carried huge platters of food to the tables, atop which sat whole wild pigs, and pheasant still adorned with colorful feathers, wild berries beautifully decorating the edges.

  Rhiannon saw her return and lifted a brow, then offered someone a slow smile. Melisande spun around. Conar was coming right behind her.

  She heard a whine and looked down. One of the big wolfhounds bounded into the hall. Dag was his name. He nuzzled his nose beneath her hand, and she stroked him. “I even have to say good-bye to you, eh?” she whispered softly.

  The dog whined again and thumped his tail. He, too, seemed to look past her, wagging his tail with greater ardor.

  Conar. He had reached her.

  “Shall we sit? Rhiannon and Eric are taking their places.” He set his hands upon her shoulders, guiding her toward the table. She longed to shake off his touch.

  She would bide her time.

  They were all arrayed there once again, Eric and Rhiannon, Conar and Melisande, Daria, Bryan, Bryce, Mergwin, Brenna, a few of Eric"s men, English and Norse. Again she shared a chalice with Conar. Again when her fingers laced around it, she smiled at him coolly and drained the whole of it.

  He allowed her to do so several times. She spoke enthusiastically with Bryce about horses and told him how eager she was to see Warrior, her father"s great bay stallion. “He"s aged, too, I imagine, but Philippe and Gaston see to it that he is ridden and tended, and I believe he will remember me.”

  “It"s hard to tell,” Bryce warned her. “You were a young girl when last you saw him. Bear that in mind and take care.”

  “You"ll hardly be needing use of such a horse,” Conar said suddenly, and she swung around to stare at him in amazement.

  Now he meant to tell her that she could not ride her own father"s horse on her own property?

  “Warrior is trained for battle. You"ll not be riding into any more battles.”

  “But you have ridden into battle!” Bryce exclaimed. There was admiration in his handsome face. Melisande shrugged. “My father was dead, our people were losing a center of command. I had to go out—”

  “How courageous!” Daria cried.

  “Wonderfully so,” Conar said dryly, entering into the conversation. “Why, haven"t I ever fully explained? That"s exactly how I acquired my lovely wife, Daria. She was in the arms of the kinsman who had slain her father.”

  “But, Conar, sometimes there is no choice,” Rhiannon explained.

  There was a sudden silence, and she blushed, feeling a number of eyes upon her.

  “My wife is quite remarkable with arrows,” Eric explained lightly. “She managed to send one flying into me once.”

  “Could you refrain from giving Melisande any new ideas on the proper behavior of a wife?” Conar demanded.

  He spoke lightly. Everyone laughed. But then Bryce said enthusiastically,

  “Melisande"s weapon is the sword. She is really quite extraordinary with a blade. Have you seen her work with one, Conar?”

  “Not as yet, but if you comment that she is talented, brother, I believe you.”

  “She practices almost daily,” Bryce continued.

  “Does she now?”

  Melisande had her fingers curled around their shared chalice, and she kept her gaze upon it. But she felt his look, felt his movement as he came closer to her.

  “Are you hoping to ride into battle, my love?”

  “I am always hoping for peace,” she said smoothly.

  “Then why the determination with the sword?” he asked.

  She smiled pleasantly his way. The wine helped her do so. “Perhaps I am hoping to skewer you in your sleep, milord,” she suggested, her voice as pleasant as her smile.

  There was easy laughter around the table, but she was keenly aware that her husband"s smile was very cold, and that his eyes held an ice-fire sizzle. She drank more wine.

  He clasped the chalice from her, demanding softly, “For fortitude?” She shook her head, her chin hiked in challenge. “I think not, milord. Not tonight. I have a few demands of my own to make tonight!”

  “Do you now?” he said very softly.

  “Indeed.”

  “And how is that?”

  “It has come to my understanding that you are seeking things from me. If you would seek them, milord, then you must be willing to give in return.”

  “So far, I am going to be skewered through by your excellent swordsmanship. I must find some wondrous concession to make in turn!” She tried to take the chalice. His grip on it was firm. “If you plan on bargaining, love, you had best keep your wits about you and slow down.”

  “Ah, so now you are interested in bargaining!”

  “We shall see!” he told her softly. “Tell me about the demands you think you will make of me.”

  “Alas, not here, not now! We"re in the midst of a banquet set before us by your gentle sister-in-law. The one who is so excellent with arrows.”

  “Aye, and who has since become such a tender wife!”

  “Perhaps he has learned his lesson and become a far kinder husband.”

  “Perhaps …” Conar mused, his eyes narrowing upon her. “But then again.. .

  perhaps not!”

  He suddenly pushed back his chair and stood, reaching for her arm. She stared up at him in astonishment as he pulled her away from the table.

  “Conar—” she began, but he was already speaking with his sister-in-law at his other side. “Rhiannon, as always, you express the greatest warmth through the most spectacular meals. We thank you deeply for this wonderful banquet you have spread before us, yet forgive us—as we hope to sail very early, we need to retire early, as well.”

  Rhiannon leapt to her feet, Eric at her side. “Of course,” Rhiannon said quickly. “You will want to retire early!”

  “Indeed,” Eric agreed, looking at them both somberly, but with a grin pulling upon his lip. Rhiannon leaned against his side, which caused him to grunt. His hands fell upon her shoulders, his fingers curling tightly upon them. “I was thinking of retiring early myself.”

  “We"ll be up in the morning with you, of course,” Rhiannon assured Melisande. “We"ll wish you Godspeed.”

  “Thank you,” Melisande murmured to her, so surprised by his sudden determination to leave the great hall that she could not think swiftly enough of a reason to stay.

  Conar propelled her about the room. He called a quick good night, his fingers firmly set upon her arm, and led her from the hall to the stairway. He had to practically run her to the top of it before she managed to speak.

  “What is the matter with you! I had barely eaten! Rhiannon prepared all that in your honor!”

  “I"m very sorry, my love!” he said, his tone anything but. “Yet you are the one who brought about our premature departure.”

  “I—”

  “You tempted me, goaded me. And I but took the bait.”

  “I don"t know what—”

  “But you do.”

  “I don"t know what you"re talking about! I do know that you"re being incredibly rude and as crude and ill-mannered as any—” she broke off.

  “Viking?” he finished. They had reached the door to her room. Her room!

  The one she had slept in before he had followed her here.

  She started into it ahead of him, throwing the door closed behind her with all her might.

  But it didn"t close.

  He caught it, shoved it open, and closed it deliberately behind him, and Melisande jumped as she heard the energy with which the bolt was slid.

  “Let"s have it, Melisande. What i
s it you think you have as bargaining power against me?” he demanded. His tone was cold. His arms were crossed over his chest. He leaned against the closed door, watching her.

  She told herself that she had to be determined where this man was concerned, as determined as he was. She stood very still, lacing her fingers before her and speaking very softly. “You would never have come for me, Conar, unless you needed me.”

  He frowned at her. “What are you talking about?”

  “You were given a bride you never wanted.”

  He waved a hand impatiently in the air. “I cannot win! I was a wretched Viking for taking you, and now I am a wretched Viking for leaving you alone.” She ignored that. “You need me now. You saw Count Odo, and he warned you that you needed the barons to see the strength of your marriage in order to solidify your position among them. So you have come for me—because you need me to repeat my vows in public.”

  “Ah …” he murmured. “And you think that this is your bargaining point?”

  “I"m not a child any longer, Conar. You cannot force my words now, and neither can Ragwald. It would hardly stand you well if we were to enter the church and I were to denounce you!”

  “Is that what you"re planning on doing?”

  “It is my bargaining point,” she said flatly. He entered the room, pacing before the fireplace. The night was damp and cool, and a low blaze burned. He watched the flames for a moment, then his pacing brought him behind her. He lifted the fall of hair from her shoulder, allowing the length of it to sweep over his arm. He studied it. She started to twist. The warmth of his breath touched her shoulder and throat and earlobe. His lips didn"t quite touch her flesh. She felt a spiraling of liquid heat seep slowly into her.

  “Indeed. Just what is it that you would bargain?”

  She turned, unable to bear him so close to her back, that near touch that sent hot tremors racing within her. She faced him, yet he held the rich length of her hair in his hands, and he remained uncomfortably close.

  “Freedom,” she said softly.

  He arched a brow. “Restating your marriage vows before a sizable crowd is no way to find freedom—since I"m assuming the freedom is from me.” She spoke quickly, nervously, despite all her resolve, moistening her lips and starting over again. “Freedom in that I wish to be let alone. I"ll sail back with you tomorrow. My eagerness to return home is certainly evident enough.”

  “As it"s evident enough that you have found friends here!” he reminded her.

  “I have longed to go home forever,” she said softly, “and everyone knows it.”

  “Go on.”

  Her mouth was dry again. He remained too close, almost on top of her, one thigh brushing hers as he continued to run his fingers through the long fall of her hair.

  She tried to draw the ebony length back. His fingers wound more tightly around it. “Go on,” he urged her, and the tone of his voice was harsh.

  She moistened her lips quickly again to speak, then felt the rise of her temper when she least needed it. “Are you daft!” she cried. “I"ll go back with you, I"ll state any vows you wish, but I want to be left alone. Sleep alone. I take my father"s room. You keep out of it!”

  He was dead silent for the longest time. Eons. She held her breath through all that time. Her heart began to pound too fiercely, but she did not draw breath, for she felt the searing ice-fire of his eyes pinning and impaling her.

  He lifted the length of her hair between them, his fingers entwined within it.

  His voice was husky, nearly silken, not at all the explosion she had expected.

  “I have told you—I will never let you go.”

  “I didn"t ask that you do so!” Once again she tried to tear her hair from his grasp, tugging upon it. His fingers closed into a fist. “You"re hurting me!” she charged him.

  He shook his head slowly. “Nay, lady, you are hurting yourself. Stand still, and your hair will not pull.”

  She ceased for a moment, standing very still, staring into his eyes and realizing this had nothing to do with her hair.

  They were discussing her life.

  Obey him, and she would not be hurt.

  Try to break his rein upon her, and the tendrils would be pulled back, one by one.

  “Obviously I cannot best you in this room!” she cried. “I cannot tear out your hair, throw you about! But I can create great havoc for you in Rouen, and I swear that it will be so unless—”

  “Ah, threatening me now!”

  “You are forever threatening me.”

  “But I thought you were bargaining with me.”

  She let out an oath of frustration. “Call it what you will, in any language! I can be the most charming of heiresses, the most giving. I can—”

  “There"s nothing for you to give me, Melisande. I earned my title to that land, not by marrying you, but by coming when your father summoned me, slaying his murderer, and besting his enemies.”

  “Be that as it may!” she cried. “You are here now because Odo warned you that you need me.”

  He suddenly released her hair and strode back to the fire, stretching his hands with their long fingers before it. She watched him, praying that she had found some small victory.

  He turned back to her, a rueful smile curved into the corners of his lip, his eyes sizzling. “Let me repeat this one more time, to be sure that I have it right.”

  “You know exactly what I"ve said—”

  “Daft Vikings sometimes need to hear things twice,” he said.

  He began to walk toward her again, his hands clasped behind his back, his stride easy, lazy. “You promise to vow eternal love and obedience and all manner of wonderful things in Rouen as long as I leave you be. Quit this chamber now, I assume, sail to the coast, remove my things from the master"s chamber, and let you live there alone in chasteness and purity.” She didn"t reply. She didn"t like the tone of his voice.

  “Is that it, Melisande?”

  Again her temper flared, perhaps because he had made her so very uneasy.

  “Aye, that is it. Are you so daft a Viking that it must be repeated one more time?”

  As soon as the words had left her lips, she was heartily sorry.

  Once again he stood dead still. Until he reached out, caught her arm, and drew her to him. Hard against the length of his chest. Her head fell back, her eyes met his.

  “No,” he grated out harshly.

  “I can make your life hell in Rouen!” she cried, straining against his hold.

  “You do whatever you damned well please in Rouen, Melisande.”

  “Damn you! Damn you!” she cried, trying to kick him. “You just sit there and let me go on and on—”

  “You were determined to do so,” he interrupted, swearing as her foot managed to connect with his knee. He swept her off her feet suddenly, and she was startled to find herself clinging to his neck, lest she fall.

  “Set me down!” she cried desperately.

  He did so, dropping her down upon the expanse of the bed. She was ready to leap away from him, but he turned away himself, striding back to the fire, stretching out his long fingers again, as if he could not get his hands warm. He turned at last with a weary sigh, striding back to her. She started to rise, but he sat by her side, and she remained there, leaning upon her elbows, her gaze upon his.

  “You cannot bargain away what is, Melisande,” he said at last. “Rouen is intended as a pretty show, but you are my wife now, lady, and have been, and I will not turn back again.”

  “But you want—”

  His finger fell upon her lips, hushing her along with the force of his eyes. “I have told you before, Melisande, I want you.”

  His finger fell from her lips.

  “How dare you take such a chance!” she whispered.

  “Recklessness, perhaps,” he suggested.

  “Ruthlessness!” she returned.

  He smiled, his finger stroking her cheek. Her lashes fell, she looked away, and his touch ceased. Her gaze f
ell upon the door. More than anything in the world, she wanted to run to it, escape. She had been so certain of her victory!

  “Ah, the door! Freedom!” he murmured.

  Her gaze met his. Clashed with it.

  “And if I were to run?” she demanded.

  “Ah, well, if you were to run, I"d have to come after you, of course. Drag you back by the hair, throw you down, and ravish you.” His voice was light.

  The words were mocking.

  Nay, he"d not pull her hair out.

  But she would never leave the room.

  “And if I were not to run?” she asked him, alarmed that she should be so breathless.

  “Ah, well, then …” His fingers were suddenly upon the lacing of the soft linen tunic she wore. She clutched at his hand, but the binding gave. The shift she wore beneath it was as thin as gauze, and her breasts were all but bared. He stared upon them, then met her eyes again. “I would beg you to lie still. I would strive my hardest to seduce you,” he informed her.

  “That is far worse!” she protested.

  “Nay, lady, nay. Far better!” he assured her.

  His lips found hers, his weight pressing her back to the pillows. His tongue found entry, delving deep, stroking, bringing its touch of liquid fire.

  His lips broke from hers. His gaze touched upon her mouth, then rose to her own.

  “Lie still,” he urged.

  “It"s better to run.”

  “Better to stay.”

  He lowered his head. His mouth closed over her breast, tongue stroking it through the thin veil of her shift. He circled her nipple, laving until the crest hardened into a pebbled peak, then sucked upon it until she began to writhe beneath him, the fires wild and rampant within her, her protest at the alarm that rose so swiftly in her heart.

  “No!”

  Her fingers tugged upon his hair. His lips rose from her breast at last, but his answer was firm and unyielding.

  “Lie still …”

  His hand had slipped beneath her tunic and shift, drawing each up against the length of her limbs. Fingers stroked her upper thigh gently above her hose.

  Circular motions brought them higher and higher. The fabric bunched to her waist. His eyes were upon hers.