A tall, bearded youth stood in the doorway, his legs braced. His garb bespoke a lowland Scot. A collective gasp echoed off the stone walls. The sparrows abandoned their perch. Nolana swooned in Aidan’s arms. Baudoin leapt to his feet, cursing that his sword, along with that of every man present, lay at Kirkthwaite Hall. He stood nose to nose with the newcomer. “Who are you? What is the meaning of this intrusion?”
The young man glowered. “I’m Ingram Maknab, son of Neyll.”
A Bedding
Aidan lifted Nolana as his kinsmen rushed to the door of the church to confront the uninvited guest. They were unarmed, but would fight with any means at their disposal to protect their own.
Ragna tore off her wimple and fanned Nolana. His wife stirred in his arms and opened her eyes. She seemed disoriented for a moment but then gasped, “Ingram.”
He tightened his grip on her. “All is well. He’s being dealt with.”
She wriggled out of his arms. “They canna hurt him, Aidan. He’s nay his father. He’s a good man.”
He looked to the door of the church. Ingram held his hands out before him, no weapon in evidence. “Nolana,” he called out to her, “tell them I come in peace.”
She swept down the aisle, elbowed her way through the defenders, and embraced the Scot. Aidan’s gut clenched with jealousy. He strode to her side, pulled her away from the lowlander. “You’re holding my bride, intruding on my wedding.”
The Scot bowed. “I am nay here to intrude. I’m happy to see Nolana wed. I’ve come to claim my father’s body. ’Tis only right he be interred at Kolbrand’s Path. I am laird now. ’Tis time we put an end to the bad blood that has existed here for nigh on thirty years. My father allowed old hatreds and greed to rule him. He was a hard man to live with—Nolana can attest to that. I often bore the brunt of his anger, especially after Nolana’s escape.
She nodded in Aidan’s embrace. “My half brother aided my flight.”
Ingram continued. “I came to pledge friendship. Bloodshed and revenge benefit no one. Let what was in the past remain in the past.”
Aidan stared at him, but Nolana’s happy smile reassured him this man was to be trusted. He reached out his hand to the Scot. “Enter, Ingram Maknab. I was about to kiss my bride.”
He bent to kiss her, intending it to be gentle, but the highs and lows of the past hour and the exhilaration of the moment got the better of him and he kissed her fiercely, delving his tongue into her mouth. Everyone whooped their approval as Nolana’s face reddened and she clung to Aidan, returning his kiss.
It was as well Edwin had insisted Aidan wear a long doublet for the ceremony.
* * *
“I appreciate you’re glad your half brother is here to celebrate with us,” Aidan whispered to Nolana as they waited for the sweet to be served at the banquet.
He hesitated to continue, giving her an opportunity to tease. “I believe ye are jealous.”
He reached for her hand under the table and placed it at his groin. “Of course I am. You can see I want all my wife’s attention.”
She remembered from the infirmary how magnificently sculpted he was, even in the throes of agony. “And ye shall have it,” she replied, her body heating as she gently kneaded the warm bulge with her fingertips. “Though ye’ll have to teach me how to please ye.”
“You’re doing just fine,” he breathed. “Forgive me. I don’t begrudge you Ingram’s presence.”
“Ye canna imagine how happy I am he’s free of his father’s domination. Thanks be to the saints he has more of our mother in him. I could ne’er have escaped without his help.”
“It’s interesting the traits we inherit from our parents,” he mused. “I’m more like my father than I realized, and so, I suspect, is Edwin. Blythe is my twin, yet she is definitely our mother’s daughter. As for Ragna, she’s completely different from all of us—a throwback perhaps to some previous generation.
“The Vikings?” she asked.
“Aye,” he laughed.
* * *
Having left the wedding banquet that he feared might drag on, Aidan closed and barred the door of his chamber after firmly ushering out the last of the well-wishers. He had made it quite clear he would take care of preparing his wife for bed without their aid. He turned to look at his bride. “If you’d licked the chicken juices off your fingers one more time I’d have taken you right there on the table.”
Nolana giggled, dipped her finger in her tumbler of mead and stuck it in her mouth, sending more arrows of desire to Aidan’s core. “Surely nay in front of everyone, husband.”
Aidan took hold of her wrists. “Beware, Nolana, you can only tease a man so far.”
She blushed and cast down her eyes. “I’m sorry, Aidan, I didna mean to tease ye.”
He was contrite. He hadn’t meant to make her feel a wanton, something Nolana definitely was not. His intention was to make this night memorable and he had started off on the wrong foot. He drained his own mead, then licked her fingers. “Sticky.”
She smiled shyly.
He drew her into his arms. “May I help you undress, my lady?”
She looked at him nervously and nodded. Her hands fidgeted with the belt of her surcoat. He gently brushed them away. “Let me.”
He undid the decorative knot Ragna had fashioned in the twisted gold thread and brushed his lips against her belly as the belt fell to the wolfskin rug. She was breathing more rapidly as she put her hands on his head. He smiled. “We won’t do anything you don’t wish to do this night. Can I remove your shoes?”
He licked his lips. What would she think if she could read his thoughts as he imagined his tongue delving into her moist folds?
She nodded mutely.
He drew her over to sit on the bed. On his knees, he removed one shoe, then massaged the sole of her foot, digging his thumbs into her flesh. She leaned back on her elbows while he repeated the painstaking process with the other foot.
“Aidan,” she breathed.
Her pose accentuated the thrust of her lovely breasts. He might have to make greater haste. He ran his fingers lightly over the soles of her feet. She giggled. “I’m ticklish.”
By now he was a hungry wolf. His appetite had become overwhelming. He had never wanted a woman so badly.
Slowly, he lifted her skirts until they were over her knees. He untied the bows securing her stockings and removed them, kissing each toe in turn. He ran his fingertips over her calves. Her skin was smooth as silk. “I hope my hands aren’t too rough,” he whispered.
“Perfect,” came the murmured reply. She was lying flat on her back now, legs parted slightly.
He leaned forward and smoothed his hands the length of her thighs, pushing the fabric far enough that he caught a glimpse of his goal. She must not feel invaded. He licked each thigh, starting at her knee and going as far as he dare.
She entangled her fingers in her hair. Her hips rose off the bed as she stretched languidly. “Aidan,” she purred.
His need was pressing. “Sit up and I’ll take off your surcoat and léine. I want to see your body.”
She obeyed as he lifted the garments over her head and outstretched arms. The glint of passion he saw in her eyes sent more blood rushing to his groin. She crossed her arms over her breasts. “I’ve ne’er been naked in front of a man.”
How could that be? She and Grouchet had spent two nights together. He had expired on the second night. He had to know what had happened the first night, had to be sure.
She reluctantly told him how she had duped the drunken sot, shyly showing him where she had smeared the blood on her thigh. He bade her lay back, knelt between her legs and kissed her there, his eyes on her pink jewel and the golden curls of her mons. He eased her legs apart, turning onto his side, his weight on his forearm. He gently placed his thumbs on her most intimate place and opened her nether lips. “He never touched you here?”
She shook her head vigorously. Aidan fought to control the urge to leap up on the
bed and beat his chest. “Do you like it?”
The shake turned to a nod. “It sends strange feelings through my body.”
Godemite.
He carefully slid one finger inside her, hooking it slightly as his father had indicated, feeling the inner flesh respond to his touch. God. She was warm and wet. She whimpered and lifted her head to look at him.
“Don’t be afraid. I love you.”
“I was born to love ye, Aidan.”
He had longed to hear her say the words and relief washed over him. Caution be damned. He needed to taste her. He put his lips to her womanhood and licked her juices, swirling his tongue over her swelling nub.
“Aidan.” There was a hint of uncertainty in her voice and in her eyes.
“I want to taste your sweet honey.”
As she watched him, mewling sounds emerged from her throat. He delved his tongue deeper and she called out, crushing the bed linens in her hands, her hips lifting from the bed. He grasped her thighs and held on, sucking and licking until she screamed her fulfillment.
He had yet to touch her breasts and she had released. Life with Nolana held promise.
He rested his head on her mons while her wits slowly returned and her breathing slowed. “Was that my little death?” she whispered.
He chuckled. “The first of many.”
She sat up. “Ye’ve seen me. Now I want to see ye. Again.”
His elation turned to puzzlement. “Again?”
She blushed and smiled. “I’ve seen ye naked before.”
He searched his memory. “Where? When?”
“I’ll ne’er tell.”
She screeched when he lunged for her. “You shouldn't have told me you’re ticklish.”
She gasped for breath and laughed as he tickled her belly. “Pax. Pax. In the infirmary,” she finally admitted. “I hid and watched the monks disrobe ye. I was there when they brought ye in from the hives.”
Panting, he stared at his naked wife’s beautiful breasts. He wagged his finger at her. “Wanton woman. And did you like what you saw?”
Her face reddened more and she bit her lip. “It was the finest male body I’d ever seen.”
He preened, then it came to him what she had said. There was a gleam in her eye. “But you’d never seen...”
She giggled. He sat on the edge of the bed, tore off his leggings, hose and braies and came to his feet beside the bed. She stopped giggling and gasped when she laid eyes on his swollen erection. “Aha. As I thought, wench. You didn’t see me to my best advantage.”
* * *
Nolana wanted to laugh with him at his jest, but her throat had gone strangely dry. The baron and Aidan were indeed very different. But how might such a member fit inside a woman—inside her?
Clearly sensing her fear, he put her hand on his shaft. “Don’t be afraid. I know I am big, but we’ve already eased the way and I’ll go slowly. Move your hand on me, like you did before.”
She obeyed, hoping she was doing it correctly. He sucked in a sharp breath. His shaft looked powerful, yet delicate and sensitive. The silkiness of his skin awed her. She had an urge to run her tongue from root to tip. What would he think of that?
“I’d love it if you did,” he murmured. She hadn’t spoken out loud. Her wanton open-mouthed gaping and the way she had licked her lips must have betrayed her desire. She bent to swirl her tongue over the swollen end of his shaft, then sucked him into her mouth. Groaning, he raked his hands through her hair and rocked his hips slowly. “I can’t hold on much longer, Nolana. But this is sweet torture. I am at your mercy.”
The power she held as a woman struck Nolana for the first time. Giving herself to this man did not mean she had lost control. She had gained more. Power could be destructive. Maknab was a testament to that truth, but she and Aidan would never use the sway they held over each other to destroy. He might dominate her as the male, but he would do it to bring her pleasure, not pain.
Aidan withdrew his shaft from her mouth, cupped her face and kissed her lips, then her nipples. He suckled each hardened tip in turn, grazing them lightly with his teeth. She moaned and arched her back, cradling his head to her breasts. He carefully slid a finger inside her. “You’re still warm and wet. Are you ready for me?”
His eyes betrayed his need. His shaft looked painfully engorged. But he had asked, not taken. “I’m ready, my love.”
He settled her on her back and opened her legs wide. Guiding his shaft, he dipped into her opening and slid inside in one thrust, never taking his eyes from hers. She tried not to grimace at the stab of pain that arrowed into her core, but he kept thrusting and the discomfort eased. “The pain will pass, Nolana. I cannot stop now.”
She gripped his shoulders, then his thighs. His body felt firm and vital. As the urgency of his thrusts increased, so did the warm tingling inside her, tantalizing, building, promising then fading, promising then fading, then mounting to an unbearable...suddenly she was tumbling into an abyss of soaring bliss, her cries mingling with Aidan’s primal shout as his essence filled her.
He collapsed onto her, breathing heavily. Her fists clenched. Panic threatened when she feared she might suffocate beneath him, but then she calmed, relishing his warm weight on her. He stirred and came up on his elbows. “Sorry, too heavy.”
She pulled him back, curling her arms around his shoulders, trailing kisses along his neck. “Nay, I can bear yer weight.”
Epilogue
Ingram Maknab returned to Kolbrand’s Path with Neyll’s body. The Maknabs and FitzRams eventually forged an alliance that brokered an end to many a bloody feud in the volatile borderlands between England and Scotland.
In 1135AD, Gallien de Montbryce inherited the title Third Earl of Ellesmere upon the death of his father. Edwin had earlier taken ownership of Shelfhoc Manor in the Welsh Marches and maintained a strong relationship with his Montbryce cousins. They worked together to bring prosperity to the region.
Aidan commissioned a stone cairn dedicated to the memory of his parents which was erected in nearby Bolton. Each time he visited the village, he was always gratified to find some small token left there by a villager.
Kirkthwaite Hall became famous throughout Northumbria for the quality of its mead and honey, which were rumored to rival Lindisfarne. Aidan got used to being stung by bees, and taught his children to treat them with healthy respect. He and Nolana sired twelve children. Three sons, Ingram Caedmon, Symon, and Bronson, and three daughters, Elayne Agneta, Ysenda Jennet and Suannoch Ascha, grew to adulthood. The rest—still infants—were lost to a pestilence that swept through Northumbria.
Nolana never returned to the Carnsith Fells.
Ragna? Who could predict what a Wild Viking Princess might do?
* * *
If you missed Blythe’s story, The Black Knight’s Captive, you’ll find it here.
Enjoy this short excerpt:
Relegated with the other ladies from England to a corner of the immense hall, Blythe swayed on her aching feet, willing the audience to be over. There was no way of telling how many days this farce would go on until King Heinrich arrived. The long line-up snaked out of sight beyond the elaborately carved doors.
Her roving gaze snagged abruptly on a tall, dark-haired man dressed entirely in black, apart from the white cape hanging from broad shoulders. Among the gaudy reds, greens and blues, he stood out. Unlike the other men in the gathering, he wore no ostentatious gold chains around his neck. No rings adorned his fingers.
“Dignified,” she whispered to herself, distracted when Sir Montague called her name with some urgency. It appeared the princess had nodded off and almost pitched forward out of her throne.
Rushing with the other ladies to save her mistress from further embarrassment, Blythe stole a glance at the black knight. Winged creatures fluttered in her belly. He was staring at her, an amused smile on his face.
* * *
Ingram’s return to Kolbrand’s Path turned out to be not so easy, as you’ll
discover in Maknab’s Revenge. Meet Ingram’s heroine:
Fisted hands on hips, Rubaidh Blake Buchan rolled her eyes up to the gallery overlooking the Great Hall of Kolbrand’s Path then glared at her father. “I will not marry an auld man.”
She frowned when he didn’t reply. Instead Gray Buchan eased both hands under his knee and cautiously levered his bandaged foot off the stool wadded with cushions. Despite her anger, she breathed again when his foot came to rest on the planked floor without the usual wince of pain distorting his face. He leaned forward heavily, both hands atop his cane, shoulders hunched. “Ye will wed Darach Conran, Ruby, and that’s my final word.”
This wasn’t going according to plan. “He stinks.”
“Hold yer nose then, lassie. King David wants the marriage.”
“A pox on King David.”
He brandished his cane, wobbling alarmingly on the chair. “Fie, daughter! But for this cursed affliction of kings, I’d chase ye down and put ye over my knee for yer treasonous insolence.”
She stuck out her tongue. “Ha!”
Her spluttering father came close to losing his balance completely. “Brazen hussy. ‘Tis a punishable offense to stick out yer tongue at yer laird.”
She was instantly contrite. Age had not been kind to her father. Once a brawny, imposing figure, he’d deteriorated into a lame caricature of his former self. But she loved him still. He was right—a girl shouldn’t stick out her tongue at her laird.
She came to kneel demurely before him and took his hand. “Forgive me, dadaidh,” she murmured.
Honey usually proved more persuasive when she wanted something from her sire. Feared by those he ruled at Kolbrand’s Path, he’d denied her nothing since her mother’s death fifteen years before. “Forgive me,” she repeated, pleading with her eyes, knowing they reminded him of the wife he’d mourned since the day of her death.
Love’s Sweet Sting Page 12