by K. E. Saxon
But this question he’d asked gave him pause.
“Aye, my lord King, I do.” Tho’ he still had no idea how he could do it and still pay his debts. His clan was going to kill him. Beat him, flay him, roast him o’er a spit, fire flaming arrows into him, then kill him.
And he’d help them.
King William nodded his head. His red hair had long turned to gray, but there was still a youthful, yet speculative, twinkle in the old man’s sharp gaze. “Because the lady’s uncle demands it?”
Robert swallowed hard. “Nay, sire.”
King William’s eyes narrowed. “Because you love the lady?”
Robert’s heart began to thud. What was King William’s purpose? Would he scorn the match? A thrill of relief coursed through him. But then, immediately on its heels, came remorse and an even stronger sense of purpose. He would not leave Morgana in the violent hands of her nearly mad uncle. “Nay, sire,” he answered honestly. He dared not lie to his liege. “But I like her well. As she does me, I trow.”
King William settled back in his chair. “Donnach told me he found the two of you hidden away in a hunter’s cot up in the hills. Is this true?”
“Aye, sire.”
King William studied the nails on his beringed right hand. “And did you force the lady?”
“Nay, sire.”
The king looked at him. “But you did tup her?”
Robert cleared his throat. “Aye, sire.”
King William smiled. “Well then. I see no reason for the wedding not to take place as Donnach has arranged. We’ll leave for the chapel at the morrow’s dawn.” He rubbed his hands together. “Now, I do believe I’ve a wedding gift for you that you’ll not forswear.” He paused, a jolly grin splitting his countenance. “I’ve decided to forgive a portion of your debt, Robert MacVie. Exactly half, in fact.”
Robert’s heart began to race so rapidly, he grew dizzy.
“And the remainder you may pay me o’er the next five years.”
“My...my thanks, sire.”
“ ‘Twas a boon that you chose my darling Morgana to seduce. For I’ve had a soft spot in my heart for her since she was no more than a babe. ‘Twas my fondest wish, after the horror of her youth, that she would have the chance to be a wife, have bairns.” He sighed. “Aye, ‘twas a boon for you, and a good decision on my part to demand that Donnach take her from that nunnery and bring her here to me.”
Robert cleared his throat again and nodded. “Aye, sire.”
“Off with you then. You’ve a wedding to prepare for, and I’ve six more subjects with whom I must meet before supper.”
Robert rose to his feet and bowed before walking with a lighter step than he’d had in many, many moons out the door.
There was silence in the chamber a moment as the King watched the young knight’s departure, and then he said to the high steward, “ ‘Tis a fine thing, and only fitting I trow, that Guy de Burgh sent such a heavy purse to pay MacVie's debts—and the extra half I shall receive o’er the next years will aid in my campaigns against the upstarts, eh?”
“Aye, that it be, sire,” the man replied.
* * *
“So, it all turned out well for you after all,” Vika said later that night as she sat in Morgana’s chamber watching the lady’s maid put salve on her cousin’s welts and sores. “Tho’ if you’d only agreed to the match when I told you to do so, you’d not have near the number of marks on your flesh that you bear now.” Vika let out a loud sigh of frustration. “Did I not tell you? My father can be quite cruel in his punishments.”
Morgana kept her gaze on the older woman’s ministering hands, but she nodded.
“Ack! But enough of that. It turned out well in the end.”
Morgana swiveled her head and looked at her cousin, one brow lifted.
Vika chuckled. “Do not give me that look, my pet. It did turn out well. You shall be wed to the man you’ve pined away for these past sennights, and he’s had half his debt forgiven by the King—and the other half he has five years to repay!”
Aye, Morgana thought, but for how long will Robert remain hers alone? She’d seen too much of the ways of the flesh here at court these past sennights to believe he’d stay true for e’er more.
She returned her gaze to as much of her sorely-abused backside as she could see. Nay, she’d not ruminate on such dreary thoughts. No matter what the outcome with Robert, she was determined to remain cheerful, to enjoy her new life, and to be thankful that she’d now be able to have the bairns she’d dreamed of, but had given up hope of having.
And who better to sire strong sons than her mighty, virile, handsome lover—soon to be husband—Robert MacVie?
In some future time, when he left her bed for good, she’d not break her heart o’er it. Nay, she’d busy herself with other things that she enjoyed, like cooking and raising her bairns, and she’d ne’er bat an eye at his wandering. Not one eye.
* * *
‘Twas as Vika was making her way across the courtyard to meet her lover of the evening that a strong arm swept around her waist and a large, gloved hand clamped o’er her mouth and nose, nearly suffocating her. As the man hauled her into a dark alley between the stone walls of two of the abbey’s inner structures, she struggled to free herself from his grasp.
This abduction felt too real to be a lover’s game and her heart raced with fear. Would he slit her throat? Strangle her? She redoubled her efforts to get free, but she was fast losing consciousness. She hadn’t taken a full breath since her captor got hold of her and her mind was swirling, her ears ringing.
But just when the soft ebon mist began to surround her vision and she was near to swooning, he dropped her to her feet, pressed her up against the wall—she started to scream, but he stuffed a gag in her mouth—then jerked her hands behind her back, bound them, and yanked up her skirts. When he had both her legs bent o’er his arms, he leaned down and nuzzled her ear.
Oh, God. Let me live through this. Her blood turned to ice and she began to shake. She screamed behind the cloth, twisted and bucked.
But then, an all-too familiar voice said, “This is how you like it, is it not, Vika, my love?” In the next second, he was pushing inside her.
“Ohhh, God!” she ground out in a wash of relief and instant desire, tho’ ‘twas muffled by the gag. The sound of his voice alone had sent a flood of juices into her canal. He had always had that effect on her. Always. Since their first meeting when she was but a young bride of twelve summers. He stroked into her again and she tightened around him. Would he like her new trick?
He jerked. “Aargh!” And then: “Vika.” There was heartbreak in his voice, as if he knew well of all the lovers she’d lain with since him.
But then he began to take her in earnest. He kissed her neck, with a rough, biting suction, pounding into her so deep, so voraciously, she could feel him battering the mouth of her womb. “Come for me, Vika,” he said as he strummed the pleasure point at the apex of her sex with the pad of his thumb.
Her womb quivered but she shook her head. She didn’t want to come for him. She fought hard not to do so. ‘Twas not fair. He had much too much power o’er her for her liking. ‘Twas another reason, mayhap the true reason, she’d left the isle of Leòdhas after her husband’s death. To get out from under this Nordic warrior’s control.
But ‘twas no use. “Nay! Nay! Nay!” she moaned through the cloth. Her limbs quaked, her tummy trembled, her sheath violently convulsed around his erection.
He ripped at the neckline of her gown and chemise. "I want to hear you come apart," he said, pulling the gag from her mouth at last as well. But she was in the throes of such an intense release, she was barely aware of what he was doing. As she was over the edge of the crest, however, she felt the same hot, humid suction on the tip of her breast as she had a moment before on her neck. It sent her careening once more.
“Aaahhhh! Aaahhhh! Aaahhh! God!” She heard her keening cries, felt the hot tears streaming down her
cheeks, touched the stars he handed her once more.
No one else had e’er been able to do this to her, tho’ Lord knew, she’d tried to find another who could. That stray thought flitted out of her mind just as he hauled his head back and, with a harsh, gravelly yell, spent inside her.
They were silent for a time, both recovering, catching their breath, awaiting lucid thought to return.
“What do you here, Grímr?” Vika asked finally. Her voice was hoarse from the strain she’d put it through. He’d unleashed her hands and she’d wrapped her arms around his neck. Her legs were secured around his waist as well and he pressed his torso into hers, nuzzling her ear with his lips.
“I’ve come to take you home, Vika. You’ve our daughter to raise, remember?”
She closed her eyes and willed the mist that formed there at the mention of her bairn to vanish, still, her heart broke a little. Ignoring the pain, she said, “My life is here now.”
“Your life is with me, with our daughter.”
She slowly shook her head. “I’ve been beaten, I’ve been prisoned, I’ve been starved, all to be forced into submission to a man’s will. First by my father as I grew, then, after he bartered me to Hákon, by him as well.”
“So you told me, so I saw,” Grímr murmured.
“I’ll give you yet another reminder, then: I’ll not be another man’s chattel e’er again. I have no use for bairns, I have no use for marriage. And the only use I have for men is what dangles ‘tween their thighs.”
“Aye, you said that as well. Still, I believe you not.”
She pushed against his chest, but ‘twas as immovable as a mountain. “Aah!” she screamed in frustration. “Then you are guiled at your own peril, for this I swear: ‘Tis true.” A shadow of heartbreak darkened his countenance, and she fought her conscience, determined to be cruel to assure he would ne’er return to her again. “I only lay with you—bore Halla—to gain my freedom from Hákon.”
“Now, I know that’s not true,” he said, his voice soft, gentle.
She turned her face away and let out a weary sigh.“You should find a good woman to wed and be mother to the lass,” she murmured.
He touched the rough pads of his fingers to her chin and forced her to look at him again. “You are Halla’s mother. She needs you, Vika. She asks for you almost every day.” He leaned back and took her cheeks in his gloved palms. “She has no understanding of why you left her, left us so soon after birthing her.”
Vika was silent for a time. She studied the ties at the neck of Grímr’s shirt. “And what of her aspect? Has she the look of me?”
Grímr smiled. “Aye. Very much, in fact. Except for her pale blonde hair. That, she gets from me. But she has your amber eyes.”
Vika started to weep in earnest. She could not hold back the tears any longer. “I cannot return with you, Grímr. I beg you to understand! Do you want me to perish there? Shrivel, like a piece of dried fruit? For, ‘tis truth, that is surely what I would do—and quickly—were you to force me to return with you.”
“Do not cry, little one.” Grímr leaned down and kissed her. ‘Twas a gentle kiss, soft, sweet. Loving.
Panic filled Vika’s breast and she shoved him away. “Nay! You must leave here, Grímr. Forthwith. And do not return. E’er again.” Vika dropped her legs back down to the ground and Grímr took a step back.
“Vika—”
“Nay, Grímr. I am dead to you—and to Halla as well. ‘Tis time and past for you to begin anew.” Vika let her gaze fall to his chest. “Find a wife from your own homeland and bring her back to the manor you inherited from my husband. Build a life with her and Halla. And forget me.” Meeting his eyes with a steadfast gaze, she said, “All right?”
Grímr took another step back, did a sweep of the abbey’s walls with his gaze, as if he had thoughts of forcing her to go with him. But thankfully, ‘twas well fortified with armed men, now that the King had taken up court there, and clearly he decided against it, for in the next moment, he spat out, “All right.” He turned then and stormed off, quickly disappearing into the inky blackness of the courtyard.
Ne’er to be seen again. The words tripped across her mind and pierced, like the points of sharp daggers, into her heart.
After a moment, Vika lifted the torn edge of her gown and chemise o’er her bared breast and trudged into the courtyard as well. But instead of heading in the direction she’d been going prior to her surprise meeting with the avid lover of her first blossom, the man whose memory still haunted her restless dreams, she turned back toward the abbey, back toward her chamber, back toward the comfort of her own feminine power.
CHAPTER 5
ROBERT TOOK HOLD of Morgana’s hand. “ ‘Tis done.”
She looked at him and nodded.
“I’ll meet you in the great hall of the abbey in a half-hour’s time.”
Morgana blinked. She motioned toward the wagon her uncle had arranged for them and cocked her head in question.
“Nay. I detest the things.” He did a quick scan of her attire. “But ‘tis clear that you’ve a need for such, as that gown must weigh a ton.”
Morgana clamped her palm o’er her mouth to hide her grin. The gown was a bit excessive for her liking, but she’d not had the heart—nor the courage—to say nay to such an expensive loan from the Queen. ‘Twas made of an unusual royal blue woven-silk cloth—velvet, ‘twas named—got as a royal gift from a legate of Regnum Aragonum, and lined in ermine. There were rubies sewn around the neckline in a repeating arabesque design that had also been used on the lower half of the wide sleeves.
And, aye, ‘twas heavy.
Robert led her over to the conveyance and lifted her onto the seat.
She winced. The abrasions on her backside were still quite tender, even tho’ the lady’s maid had put more salve on them prior to helping her dress this morn. Thankfully, Robert didn’t notice her discomfort.
He surprised her then. He leaned in and gave her a quick kiss on her mouth, and a treacherous warmth spread through her. Afterward, he looked at the driver and nodded before turning and walking away.
Morgana shrugged, but a thrill of joy bounded about in her rapidly beating heart. Would they be able to enjoy each other this eve, in spite of her sore backside? She prayed they would, for she truly did not believe she could wait another day—or, the good Lord forbid, a sennight?—to have him inside her again.
* * *
Robert took a longer route back to the main building of the abbey. He needed a bit of time to grow accustomed to his new status as husband before greeting his comrades and fellow clansmen in the great hall.
The vows had been exchanged and blessed with only Morgana’s uncle and the King and Queen as witness, which pleased Robert greatly. He’d had horrors of having the entire court bear witness to his wedding. Aye, a privy ceremony was much more to his liking.
But now ‘twas time for the true test of his mettle. For he had no doubt that he’d be at the center of all his comrades jests this day, with no relief until many hours from now, when he and Morgana were at last allowed to go to their marriage bed.
Tho’—Christ’s Bones!—was there not some humiliating tradition involving that as well?
If ‘twere not for the fact that this match was being celebrated by the King himself, Robert would find some way to abduct his bride and spirit her off to his holding without delay.
* * *
“ ‘Tis sorry I am that I was not able to see you wed this morn,” Vika whispered in Morgana’s ear an hour later, resting her hand atop her shoulder, “but my father strictly forbade it.” She’d just arrived and was about to move past her to settle at her place further down the table. “Do you forgive me, my pet?”
Morgana looked up at her cousin and placed her hand o’er Vika’s. She gave it a slight squeeze and followed that with a smile.
“Good.” Vika sighed and straightened. “Well, I’m off to the nether ends of this King’s table. Lord, but I hope I haven’t b
een seated next to a driveling old fool!” She swayed away then and Morgana grinned, shaking her head at her beautiful, black-haired cousin’s dry wit.
She scanned the chamber once again. Where is Robert? ‘Twas well past the time he’d said he’d meet her here and, by the dark spots of color on her uncle’s cheeks and his strained expression, ‘twas evident that he was growing quite vexed with her new husband.
At last, her eyes lit upon him.
Thanks be to heaven! He was not more than five paces inside the chamber, but he’d clearly been waylaid by a few of the younger warriors. All at once, great roars of laughter erupted from the lot, with each in his turn slamming his palm down upon Robert’s back. And the answering sheepish expression on her husband’s mien told her exactly what they were jesting about.
She sighed. Poor Robert. This could not be an easy day for him. For, she’d learned quickly that he was more a man of action than of words. And not only that, he’d always seemed more interested in being victorious in the contests of skill, and in the winnings he received from them, than in any of the glory that was lavished upon him afterward.
Nay, he would not be liking the amount of notice he was receiving, she decided.
She fluttered her fingers to gain her uncle’s eye, then she motioned toward Robert. Her ploy worked, for in the next second, her uncle was off the dais and storming toward her new husband.
It didn’t take him long to extricate Robert from his comrades and soon the two of them were settled on either side of her. She heard her husband say under his breath, “Christ’s Bones! Will this day ne’er be done?”
He’d splayed his hand on the table next to their wine goblet. She took hold of it and gave it a light squeeze. When he turned his gaze to her, she smiled. She was pleased when her tactic succeeded and his shoulders visibly relaxed as one side of his mouth tipped up in a begrudging smile.
Trumps sounded and they both turned their gazes toward the entrance leading from the King’s privy chambers into the great hall. A hush fell o’er the assembly as the tall arched doors were flung wide and the King’s attendants stepped o’er the threshold. King William came into the hall next with his Queen Consort, Ermengarde, on his arm. His aged stride was still purposeful, his bearing still straight, as he strode to the dais and, after seating his Queen, settled into his wide, oaken chair to the left of the earl. He nodded to the pages lined up near the door leading to the kitchen’s corridor and the young lads filed out to retrieve the first course of the feast.