The King's Warrior (Pict King Series Book 2)

by Donna Fletcher

  She is your responsibility.

  He shook his head, being reminded of King Talon’s command. He needed to see this done and be rid of her soon.

  Wrath laid her on his sleeping pallet once inside his dwelling. He left her there and turned to get a fire going in the fire pit in the middle of the small room. He needed no more than what he had—a place to sleep and to couple. He took his sustenance in the feasting hall and shared drinks and tales in there as well. He had no wont or need for more.

  He returned to her and quickly relieved her of his cloak and her wet one. Her shift was another matter. It was soaked from the snow and difficult to get off her. He lost his patience after struggling with it and getting nowhere, he ripped it off her.

  She was thin. He had seen such thinness before from those who had been deprived of food. Studying the length of her, her head would reach just past his shoulder. Her skin was pale, her breasts plump, which meant she had sizeable breasts at one time. The golden thatch of hair between her legs matched her hair on her head that was plaited in a long braid. Her body would be quite appealing once filled out. He was surprised to see that she bore no body markings. He turned her gently on her side and found no markings on her back as well.

  The only mark on her was the burn mark from the rope that had been around her neck at some point.

  She shivered and he hurried to cover her with a blanket, then placed fur hides on top, wanting to warm her as much as possible. There was no telling how long ago she had collapsed and been buried in that snowdrift. She had to be chilled to the bone.

  He had built his sleeping pallet wide enough for two, intending to not always sleep alone, though not intending to sleep at those times either. He eased her closer to the wall and sat beside her on the bed to look more closely at the mark around her neck.

  The skin was rubbed raw, more so in some spots than others. With gentle fingers, he touched along her neck just below the red mark and found that his touch turned to a caress, her skin so soft it enticed.

  He pulled his hand away at the tempting thought, though more so since he felt himself growing slightly aroused. He did not need to add to his problem. Besides, she was far from a willing woman and he preferred women who were not only willing, but who enjoyed coupling as much as he did.

  She had asked for his help and if possible that, and only that, was what he would give her.

  He looked at the mark on her neck again. Something about it disturbed him. It took a moment for him to realize it was similar to ones he had seen before on captives, after battle. Prisoners of the conquering tribe would be tethered to one another with a rope around their necks and forced to march in a long single line. But there was no need for that now in this area, so did she bear a hangman’s mark or the mark of a captive?

  A sudden yawn reminded him that he needed rest. It had been a long, tiring, and burdensome journey, and he was glad to be home and sleeping in his pallet. And while he had not planned on sleeping alone, he certainly had not planned on sleeping with a woman unknown to him.

  With his plans gone astray and sleep creeping up on him, Wrath shed his garments and climbed in naked beside the woman he knew nothing about. He no soon as lay on his back, then the woman turned and curled herself around him. She nestled her head on his chest as if it was something she did often and pressed her body next to his as if it belonged there. Her arm drifted over his middle, as if laying claim to him, and her leg slipped over his one until her knee rested just below his manhood as if it had found its way home.

  Wrath thought to move her, but her body still held a chill and with his own body heated, more than he would have liked, it would help warm her. He eased his arm around her shoulder and laid his hand on her arm.

  He shut his eyes, trying to force himself to sleep, but every time her body stirred the slightest against him, his manhood stirred as well. He had to fight to keep himself from growing more aroused and grew more annoyed with himself for having to do so.

  After a few moments of complete torture and fearing he just might disobey the King’s order, he decided to ease her off him. He looked down as he made ready to move her and saw her staring at him wide-eyed.

  She smiled softly and it stole his breath. She was far lovelier to look upon than he had first thought.

  “Wrath,” she whispered gently. “I am safe with you.”

  Once again her eyes closed and she fell into a deep slumber, cuddling even closer to him.

  He wanted to shake her awake and demand to know who she was and how she knew him, but her words, said with such conviction, had him keeping a firm hold on her and doing as she said—keeping her safe. But from who?

  He finally slept. How long, he was not sure. Her stirrings woke him again. This time he found himself wrapped around her, with her back to his front, his leg over her two, and his arm snug around her middle, keeping her locked against him as if he had claimed her. Surprisingly, the thought did not disturb him and he fell back to sleep.

  “Wrath!”

  He woke with a jolt and seeing that she was curled tight against the wall away from him, he hastily reached out, slipped his arm under her and pulled her against him. She went without protest, turning and pressing herself against him until she was once again wrapped solidly around him.

  She looked up at him and whispered, “Finally, I am where I belong—with you.”

  Wrath watched her eyes close again and he was stunned at the thought that hit him suddenly.

  Aye, you belong with me.

  He shook his head and blamed the foolish thought on his lack of sleep and let himself drift off once again.

  His sleep was restless, mostly because of the stranger in his arms. She would cry out as if demons haunted her sleep. He would soothe her with a gentle touch and she would calm. It was the tears she cried in her sleep that upset him the most. Women who shed tears easily annoyed him. He preferred a woman who argued with him and showed strength than one who teared every time something upset her. Yet her tears disturbed him, twisting at his insides, causing him to silently swear and promise himself that he would find the culprit who had brought her such suffering, and kill him.

  What woke him next startled him. The woman straddled him as if she intended to mount him. She dropped down over him, her hands on either side of his head so that she hovered slightly over him. Her hard nipples faintly poked at his chest, teasing, tempting, and demonstrating what they could offer, but not letting him have a taste. With her backside nestled nearly on top of his manhood and her nipples grazing his chest, he could not stop himself from growing hard.

  She lowered her head toward his, her golden braid slipping past her shoulder to fall upon his chest, its silky softness only adding to his already aching manhood.

  He thought she intended to kiss him, but she halted a short distance from his lips. He stared at her lips, her bottom one plumper than her top one and so shiny and moist that he wanted to reach out, grab her around the neck, and yank her to him, claiming her tempting lips in a wicked kiss.

  “Promise me,” she whispered. “Promise me.”

  “Promise you what?”

  “Promise me. Promise me,” she said again, though more urgently. She lowered her brow slowly to rest on his and whispered, “Promise me, Wrath. Please promise me.”

  “I promise,” he said, wondering not only why he promised, but what he promised.

  She raised her head and brushed her lips across his. “I am grateful.” She slipped off him to rest herself comfortably against his side.

  Wrath did not move, except to raise his arms above his head and lock his hands together. It was the only way to stop himself from climbing on top of her and poking her. Her faint kiss, so soft and enticing, had grown him harder and had him aching like never before. But then it had been days since he last joined with a woman and while it had been enjoyable, he had felt nothing close to what he was feeling now.

  He wanted to bury himself in her and ride her until they both collapsed in pleasur
e. But he would not dare, not yet. He needed to know who she was and how she knew him and what it was that he had promised her. When that was all settled, then and only then would he join with her and settle this ache he feared would remain with him until he did.

  How long he laid there with his eyes open, his arms stretched above his head, and his hands locked together, he did not know. Perhaps it was fear of falling asleep and waking to find her on top of him again and this time surrendering to his need that kept him awake. He waited to hear the sounds of first light, when the stronghold woke and the voices of the villagers were heard as they got busy with their daily chores.

  He lost his fight to remain awake to the fatigue that finally took hold and perhaps by instinct or possibly familiarity, he lowered his arms to wrap around the naked woman pressed against him.

  Wrath’s eyes shot open, as if shaken from his sleep, to see the woman who had pressed herself against him all night, sitting with her back against the wall, the blanket clutched against her naked chest, her cheeks stained soft red, and her eyes spread wide.

  “Who are you? Where am I?” she said with a quiver to her words.

  Wrath wondered if his own surprise showed on his face when he asked, “You do not know me?”

  She shook her head and clutched the blanket tighter.

  “You called me by name when I found you buried in the snowdrift.”

  She lowered her head, her brow drawn tight, trying to remember.

  He thought to remind her and learn her name as well. “I am Wrath and you are?”

  She tilted her head as she raised it and looked upon him, uncertainty in her eyes. “I am Verity.”

  “Verity, the bearer of truth and not a name often heard, for it is a heavy one to own.” He nodded at her. “Tell me, Verity, how did you get that red mark around your neck?”

  Her hand went to her neck and she winced when she touched the raw skin. She turned her head away and chewed at her bottom lip, uncertain how to answer.

  “You told me you were safe with me and that you were where you belonged... with me.”

  She remained silent, not turning around, not looking at him as she continued to nibble at her lip.

  Wrath sat up. “Look at me, Verity.”

  She did not want to look at him. She had been looking at him ever since she woke, which seemed an endless time ago. She had been shocked when she laid eyes on him, a face more handsome than she had ever seen, long dark hair that gleamed in the fire’s light, and a body more sculpted with muscle than most men. And he was a good size for mating, though she had covered that part of him fast enough. It was his body drawings that fascinated her the most. They covered his neck, both arms, and across his chest with a single swirl running down his middle. He was impressive to look upon while frightening as well. It was easy to see he demanded respect and admired strength.

  Verity had neither.

  She jumped when his hand took hold of her chin, not tightly, but with enough strength that warned her against fighting him as he turned her head to look at him. She almost shut her eyes, not wanting to meet his dark ones that had intimidated as soon as he had opened them.

  “You begged a promise from me last night, and I gave it to you. What was it that I promised you?”

  Her eyes held his, though it was more that his eyes had captured hers and refused to release her. She felt her breath catch in her throat and her chest tightened.

  “Breathe,” he ordered, though softly, and she did. “Another breath.”

  Again she obeyed until her breathing calmed and all the while, he never released the hold he had on her chin.

  “Now tell me of this promise.”

  She took another breath before responding. “I know of no such promise.”

  Wrath brought his face closer to hers. “You are the bearer of truth, Verity, do not speak falsely to me.”

  “It must have been a dream. I dream often.”

  “A dream in which you know what I am called?” He stared at her eyes, the dark blue color he had seen when she had first opened them and throughout the night was gone. They were now a softer, lighter blue. But how could that be?

  “I cannot explain it,” she said.

  He released her chin. “I think you can, but for some reason you choose not to.” He tossed the blanket aside and swung his long legs off the sleeping pallet to stand and face her. “You can either tell me or tell King Talon and he will not take kindly to false words.”

  Verity kept her eyes focused on his face and tried with all her might to keep her wits about her. “I am a slave to a Northmen family. Many Northmen treat their slaves well, I was not so fortunate.”

  “A rope was kept around your neck?”

  “At times, when I did something that displeased them.”

  Wrath clinched his hands, wishing the ones who had treated her so badly stood in front of him. He would beat them until there was nothing left of them and with the fury that was mounting in him simply pondering the thought, he would need no help to do it. His rage would give him strength as it usually did.

  “Were you forced to mate with any of them?”

  She shook her head. “I was not to their liking.”

  He found that difficult to believe. She had a pleasing face, a soft voice, and a body that aroused, though once fed well would be even more difficult to ignore.

  “I thought often of trying to escape and I finally did, but the sea turned angry, as did the wind and the rain. The small vessel I had taken could not withstand the brutal beating of the sea. I thought for sure it would be a watery grave I would suffer, but I woke on a sandy shore.”

  Wrath could not imagine the horrifying ordeal she had gone through, but she had proven strong and courageous enough to survive.

  “You are free now. King Talon will offer you shelter and protection here in Pictland.”

  “That is kind of him, but I cannot stay here.”

  “Why not?” Wrath demanded angry that she would think to refuse the King’s kindness or was it that he did not want her to leave? The foolish thought stirred his ire even more.

  “I did not escape alone. My sister was with me and I must find her.”

  Chapter Three

  “You saw no sign of your sister when you woke on the shore?” Wrath asked.

  Verity shook her head. “I searched the surrounding area, but found nothing. I came upon a tribe, though remained hidden, not knowing if I would be welcomed. I watched from the woods to see if my sister was there and when I saw no sign of her, I left to continue my search. The snow made it difficult, covering any tracks she may have left.”

  “Is she a child or grown like you?”

  “She is grown, though has not seen as many moon cycles as I have.”

  “King Talon has begun trade with the Northmen and has forbidden them to enslave the Picts. You must have been taken when you were wee bairns.”

  “I barely recall my parents, but I do remember the day the Northmen came and swept me and my sister away.” She did not tell him how ill she had gotten on the Northmen’s mighty vessel as they journeyed across the rough sea or how she had cried in fright. Or how she ached when she realized she would never see her home again.

  “The Northmen kept their attacks to the far northern isles. You and your sister must have been from those isles to have been captured by them.”

  Verity shook her head. “No. We were not from the northern isles that much I know.”

  “How could you be sure of that?”

  “The tribe to the north of us would come to trade. I could never forget them. They wore little clothing and drawings covered their entire bodies.”

  Wrath’s brow wrinkled. Had the Northmen journeyed further into Pict territory than was first known? No tribes south of the Drust had ever made mention of Northmen attacking them or taking anyone as slaves. Perhaps she had been too young to remember things as they truly had been.

  “What brought you here to Pictland, home of the High King, when your tri
be lies just south of the Drust?” Wrath asked, seeing her hand cling more tightly to the blanket that covered her naked breasts. His question had upset her. Why?

  “I suppose it was the snow. It blinded me and set me off course.”

  Wrath placed his hands on the wall behind her and brought his face close to hers again. “You lie to me, Verity, but I will get the truth from you one way or another.” He watched her face turn pale and smiled. “You wear your thoughts open for me to see.”

  She shut her eyes, as if it would close her thoughts to him.

  Wrath pushed away from her. “Shutting your eyes against me will do you no good, especially if you want help in finding your sister.”

  Verity eyes shot open. “You will help me?”

  “When you are completely truthful with me, I will help you.” He moved off the pallet.

  Verity watched as Wrath slipped on a long sleeve, black shirt that fell to the middle of his upper leg. She continued to stare as he proceeded to clothe himself. There was strength in his every movement. With one yank, his strong hands cinched the leather strip he wrapped around his waist, then he hastily applied his foot and leg coverings. He stretched his broad shoulders back before running his fingers from the top of his head down the length of his hair. Then he took the two long braids that hung on either side of his head and drew them back into knot.

  He stared at her as intently as she did him. “Will you now tell me the truth?”

  No one could know the truth.

  “What is your sister called?”

  “Hemera,” she said. “And I fear for her safety being in unfamiliar land.”

  “Then the sooner you are truthful with me, the sooner we will find her.”

  “My garments,” she said, feeling much too vulnerable with only a blanket covering her nakedness.

  “I had to rip them off you.” Wrath ignored her eyes that rounded so wide they appeared ready to burst from her face. “Wait here while I see about getting garments for you to wear. Then I will see that you have food. Afterwards you will speak to King Talon and tell him your tale.”