A Woman of Courage

by Marlow Kelly

  Without a word he stepped to her side, tugging her torn léine over her head leaving her naked. She wanted to fold her arms across her breasts to hide her body but resisted the impulse. To be ashamed or embarrassed would be a sign of weakness, and she would be damned if she would show any vulnerability in front of him.

  Starting at her head, he jabbed, probing her scalp, his strong fingers gentle but firm. She inhaled, counted to ten, and then exhaled. Maybe this wouldn’t be too bad. He brushed the hair on her right side away from her temple, examining the wound. He stopped poking when she winced.

  “You have a nasty bruise, and a small cut here. There’s a lot of dried blood, but I don’t think that means anything. Head wounds tend to bleed a lot. We’ll know in the next few days if the blow is fatal. There’s nothing I can do if it is.”

  “That’s a reassuring thought.” Was this his idea of comforting the injured? Thank God he was a king, because he’d starve if he had to earn his keep as a healer.

  His warm, rough hands roamed lower, exploring her midriff. When his knuckles grazed the underside of her breasts, she stared at the flames dancing in the hearth, praying for a distraction. The dull pain that accompanied the numerous small injuries covering her body was replaced by a different kind of ache as her nipples hardened into points. His long hair teased the skin of her legs, which sent shivers ricocheting through her. She clenched her buttocks, and squeezed her thighs together in an attempt to contain her reaction.

  His hands stopped. “Are you cold?”

  “No, just finish. I need to get on.” She wasn’t sure if she managed to convey anger or if she simply sounded like a sulky child. It didn’t matter, as long as he didn’t know how much she wanted him.

  “Your ribs feel fine.” He seemed oblivious to her torment.

  He continued to feel his way around her rib cage, and again his knuckles brushed her breasts. She bit back a gasp of delight when a dull, warming pulse hummed in the pit of her stomach, and then advanced lower. Visions of how he used to suck her nipple into his mouth while he entered her, burned through her mind.

  “I want you to rest after your bath,” he said, interrupting her thoughts.

  “No,” she moaned the word, not because she was in pain but because every part of her screamed for him. Trying to compose herself she said, “There’s much to be done. The children—”

  “Are being cared for while we speak. Unlike you they have no injuries. You on the other hand, have a blow to the head, and God knows what other wounds. What if you collapse again? How will you be of use to them then?”

  How would she ever survive this ordeal? She needed to leave this house, and she most definitely didn’t want to sleep in Connell’s bed. She would be alone, but what did that matter, when his scent surrounded her, his wonderful, intoxicating, dangerous smell. His musk made her want to snuggle into the crook of his neck, and take a deep breath while she wrapped her arms around him, drawing him close.

  “Leave while I bathe, and then I will tend to my people,” she croaked.

  “No.” His gaze lanced her, telling of his determination.

  “I need some time alone.”

  “The last time I left you alone you slipped out, stole a horse, and rode to Rathtrean.” He pointed at her. “You have a head injury, and you’ve already fainted once today.”

  “Do you always have to get your own way?”

  “Me? You think this is—”

  “You can stand at the door. There’s only one way out of this house.”

  “Not good enough, if you pass out in the tub you might drown.” Why did he sound so reasonable? Was it because he was fully clothed and unperturbed, while she stood here, aroused and naked?

  “Is there nothing I can say that will get you to leave me in peace?”

  He crossed his arms over his chest, shaking his head.

  She sighed. “All right, but turn around.”

  He did as she asked which surprised her. But then again he wasn’t a young lad anxious for a peek at a bare breast, but a grown man who had, no doubt, slept with many women. Besides he had inspected every inch of her, and seen everything—rounded hips—stretch marks—everything.

  She put her hands on either side of the tub, and took a deep breath preparing to jump in. Normally, she had no problem climbing into the barrel but fatigue made her pause.

  “Oh, for pity’s sake.” Before she knew what was happening, he grabbed her under her arms and knees, and slid her into the water. “I had forgotten how difficult, and stubborn you can be,” he shouted.

  “Why? Because I want to bathe in peace without the man who used to be my husband watching me?”

  “You are the most obstinate woman I have ever met.”

  “And you are impatient. Why couldn’t you wait for me to climb in myself?”

  “Don’t you know how hard it is to watch you struggle? Accept help now because you need it. You can be independent later, when you’re well.”

  She wanted to tell him to go to hell. She wanted to kiss him, and make love to him.

  “Is the water hot enough?” he said, making an obvious attempt to change the subject.

  She nodded as warmth seeped into her skin adding another layer of intoxicating sensation.

  “I’m going to wash the wounds on your back, and the blood from your hair.”

  Panic shot through her at the thought of his hands on her again. What if she couldn’t control her reactions, and embarrassed herself. “I can do—”

  “No, you can’t. Maybe tomorrow you could, but for now let me help you.”

  What could she say? I don’t want you to help me because I want you to touch me everywhere. “Do you always bathe your guests? I would have thought the duty would fall to one of your servants, or your wife. Do you have a wife at the moment?” She hadn’t seen or heard mention of one since she arrived, but that was this morning, and she had been distracted. Was she lusting after another woman’s husband?

  “No. I’ve had many short-term companions, but never any that lasted longer than three months.”

  “Like our marriage.” She found the thought comforting, maybe their divorce hadn’t been all her fault. Perhaps he didn’t like being married.

  “I suppose.” He soaped her shoulders and back.

  Once again she sank into the pleasure of his touch, unable to resist. In twelve years nothing had changed. She still wanted him. She wanted to feel his legs entwined with hers while they slept, wanted him to trail kisses down her body, and to be held in his strong arms. She closed her eyes, letting her mind drift, trying to imagine the hands touching her were the hands of a lover who cared, but she could only envision Connell. Their three months together had been a whirl of lovemaking. She may not have measured up as a wife, but they had always complemented each other in bed.

  Her body needed him. Perhaps it was her close call with death, or maybe her memories were haunting her, but whatever the reason she yearned for him. He kneaded her neck, working the stiff muscles at her nape.

  “Duck your head, and I’ll soap your hair.” His voice lowered until it was almost a growl. Was he reacting to their closeness? She did as he asked. Holding her breath, she dipped into the warm water. While underneath she spun so she surfaced facing him. Using both hands, she swept her sopping hair away from her face, knowing the action projected her breasts, inviting him to touch her. Spots of colour appeared high on his cheeks. Yes, he was aroused. He stared at her chest for a long while. His Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed. He then turned his gaze to her face, his cheeks flushed, and his breathing shallow. He wanted her. After all this time she could still awaken his desire.

  “Are you…umm…” He cleared his throat. “Are you sure you want this? There’s no going back.”

  “Yes, I want this.” And she did. She needed this, needed the release. She would use his body to rid herself of her hunger, and when she was done she would face what was left of her clan, and their uncertain future with renewed strength. She nee
ded this affirmation of life to go on.

  He scooped her from the tub, standing her in front of him. They stared at each other for what seemed like forever. She had started this, but she had no idea how to continue, having never played the role of seductress before. He cupped her cheek with his warm hand, which then slid down her neck until his thumb stroked her collarbone. She groaned, giving herself up to his wonderful touch. His mouth crashed down on hers. His kiss, coaxing and tender at first. His lips moist and warm, the way she remembered. An onslaught of sensations invaded her. Her body belonged to him, and remembered what to do.

  His scent, his touch, and the emotions they evoked rushed to the fore. His tongue pushed past her lips. Her logical mind scattered, disappearing under his carnal onslaught. He wrapped his arms around her waist, drawing her closer, aligning their bodies. The buckle of his belt dug into her stomach reminding her of her nudity.

  His arousal nudged her. She enjoyed having the ability to excite him, to stir his passion. She wanted to feel his bare chest beneath her fingertips, and let her hands glide over his skin and touch every sinew, every muscle. A hum of need vibrated through her stomach, and travelled lower, causing the folds at the apex of her thighs to quiver. Without stopping their kiss she undid his belt in sure, swift movements, letting it drop to the floor. He stepped back, jerking his léine over his head revealing his powerful, naked body.

  She had to remind herself this wasn’t about love. Once she had mistaken her physical need for something more, now she knew better. But she wanted this, not the insanity of their marriage but this—this coupling. She needed to feel his touch, his kisses, and the magic of their lovemaking.

  She stepped closer and using both hands, let her fingers wander over the inverted vee of his chest hair. He sucked in a deep breath, clenching his fists by his sides. She remembered how he had always enjoyed it when she stroked him there. She liked being able to excite him, to have that power over him. She bent forward, licking his nipple. He groaned. She licked the other.

  “Enough, damn it. If you keep that up, it will be over before we’ve even started.” He put one arm under her legs, and the other under her back, and carried her to the bed. Then placing her on the linen blanket, he covered her with his body.

  “I see you’ve remembered how to drive me insane. Two can play at that game.” He pinned both arms above her head, and proceeded to kiss her until she was breathless. Then he trailed small kisses down her neck and across her chest until he reached her breast.

  “Your breasts are bigger than I remember.” He sucked one into his mouth. Her body arched as lightning flashed through her, leaving behind a warm tingling glow that vibrated with every flick of his tongue. She tried to free her hands, but he held her tight.

  “I can’t let you touch me, not this time. If I do, it’ll be over too soon. I need you to catch up, to be as excited as I am.” He caught both her wrists with one hand, and slid lower, using his fingers to stroke, touch, and urge her on.

  She struggled against him while she wrapped her legs around his waist. “I’m ready. I want you inside me now. Do it now.”

  He freed her hands, and at the same time plunged into her. She gasped while she adjusted to the feel of him. Her body rocked with the pulse of its own rhythm. A rhythm that matched his. Throbbing tremors ricocheted through her until she peaked, crashing into a thousand tiny splinters. She thought she heard him call her name when he found his own completion, but couldn’t be sure.

  In the aftermath they lay entwined in each other’s arms. Fianna tried to suppress the lurching of her stomach. When had she become such a fool? She had deluded herself into believing she wanted his body, and not his heart. How could that be true when even after all this time the memory of their shattered marriage still caused her pain? Why had she avoided him for twelve years? The answer was so simple even a child could see it. She loved him. She had always loved him.

  Chapter Five

  Connell rolled onto his back, gasping for breath. He had made love to Fianna for a second time. And it was love. Did she feel the same way after everything that had happened between them? Her guileless responses seemed so open and honest, it was easy to let himself believe the past had never happened. He had not intended to seduce her when he decided to examine her wounds. But her reaction to his touch had been unmistakable. He had taken advantage of their mutual attraction, and goaded her with gentle caresses, hoping that their renewed physical intimacy would bring them closer.

  She raised herself up on one elbow, cupped his face, stroking his beard with her thumb. Dark circles shadowed her eyes making them appear more luminous, revealing her grief with a transparency that hit him like a blow from a hammer. Was she using his body to deal with her anguish? Perhaps. He knew from experience that when faced with overwhelming death most people chose life, and one way of doing that was to copulate. But how did he feel about being used? It didn’t matter. If she’d asked he wouldn’t have refused. He couldn’t.

  She traced a finger down his cheek, lingering on a small scar by his right eye. “What caused this?”

  “Quinn.”

  “He hit you?”

  “No, but my foster brother is a man of strong opinions. In this particular case he said unkind things about my brother Padraig’s ability with a sword.”

  “And Padraig hit you. Our son is staying with a man who hit his brother?

  “No, he threw the punch at Quinn, who ducked. I didn’t.”

  “You’re getting slow in your old age.” Her lips curved into a half-smile that didn’t touch her eyes. He wished he could take away her pain. He wanted to see a smile light her face, and hear her voice bubble with laughter. He ran his hand along the length of her body letting it rest on her hip. The bath had cleaned the scratches that criss-crossed her legs and thighs. A bruise on her knee showed signs of turning a deep bluish-purple, but she didn’t seem to notice. The cut on her head no longer seeped blood. She hadn’t complained about a headache, which surprised him.

  “Why have you never had a wife for longer than three months?” She tilted her head to the side.

  “Because none of them were you.” He answered without hesitation, relieved to finally admit the truth.

  She fell onto her back. “You tease me, but it’s a serious question.”

  He leant over her, brushing a kiss along her bruised cheekbone. “I’ve missed you, and none of the other women could make me happy because they weren’t you.”

  She didn’t say anything. Damn. She didn’t believe him. Was there anything he could say to make her understand the truth? What use were words after all the pain he had caused her. He changed the subject. “Let’s eat. I’m starving.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “Can you even remember the last time you ate?” He regretted the question before he’d even finished speaking. Last night she had fought the Norsemen, and today she had found the survivors.

  He walked to the dying hearth, scooping a bowlful of food from the pot. “I had some oat stirabout prepared for you. I hope you still like it?” He placed a finger into the bowl. Lukewarm. He didn’t want to call the servants to heat it. He couldn’t take the chance the interruption would ruin their bond. He stirred in a scoop of honey, and a dollop of butter. The food still held enough heat to melt the butter. Then, he grabbed two spoons on his way back to the bed. She smiled, appraising him while he walked. Instantly his body tightened, responding to her interest.

  She eyed his growing erection while her nipples stiffened. She wanted him again. When he was younger that would have been enough. He would have put the food aside, and worked his way down her body, pleasuring her. But with Fianna he needed more. He needed her love not just her lust.

  He stopped, shaking his head.

  Her eyebrows creased. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m not coming any closer until you promise to eat before we make love again.”

  “Again? You’re awfully sure of yourself.”

  “Yes, I a
m. Are you going to eat?”

  She made a humming sound in her throat. “I can promise to make you smile.”

  He shook his head.

  “I don’t believe this. The Connell I knew would never turn down the opportunity to—”

  “That man was an irresponsible nineteen-year-old. The man you see before you is a king, and perhaps more importantly, a father.”

  She gasped. “Will you tell me about Lorcan?”

  “If you promise to eat.”

  She sat up, crossed her legs, tugging a blanket over her body, and patted the bed beside her. “Tell me everything.”

  “Take a bite.” He sat next to her, waiting while she nibbled on a spoon of the oat mixture. “He’s a very handsome boy.”

  “So he has the look of his father.”

  “No, he takes after his mother. He has your eyes. He’s stubborn like you, too. Once he gets an idea in his head, it’s hard to change it.”

  “What ideas?”

  He was pleased when she took a second mouthful. “There’s a girl—”

  “A girl? He’s only eleven years old.”

  “I know, and she’s sixteen. He’s not ready and she’s too old, but when he reaches an appropriate age, I’ll make arrangements for them to have a temporary marriage. She’ll be able to teach him a thing or two.”

  “She will? I was seventeen when we married and I didn’t teach you a thing.”

  “Actually you did.” You taught me I was a fool.

  She raised her eyebrows, but he didn’t elaborate. Instead he said, “I was thinking she’ll be able to educate him in bed.”

  “Oh.” Her cheeks flushed slightly. He resisted the urge to smile. Fianna was a touch naïve when it came to a man’s education. It had probably never occurred to her that he had been tutored by an experienced woman in matters of pleasure.

  “Our son is going to be taller than his father—” Connell said, trying to think of details a mother might want to know.

  “Do you think he’ll be as tall as my father?”

  “No, he won’t be a giant. Finn was the tallest man I’ve ever met.”