A Yuletide Kiss

by Glynnis Campbell

  He’d imagined it was impossible for his desire to grow.

  He was wrong. This time when they came together in a kiss, the ecstasy of her pillowy breasts colliding with his chest and her warm abdomen pressing against his raging arousal left him drunk with longing.

  Driven by impulse alone, he caressed the silk-smooth globes of her buttocks and lifted her up, turning to brace her against the plaster wall. She cried out in passion, squeezing her eyes shut and digging her fingers into his shoulders.

  If he wasn’t quite certain how to proceed, he knew she’d guide him. In another moment, she’d sheathe his blade within her willing womb and grant him sweet relief.

  Then, just as he was about to storm the gates of her heavenly fortress, she pushed at his shoulders and twisted aside.

  “Nay!” she cried out on a gasp. “Nay! Stop!”

  He heard her plea as if from a distance, and he was sorely tempted to ignore it.

  But he was no beast.

  It took all his will to comply, and his body cursed him as he pulled away and let her slide down the wall.

  But the instant she staggered away, he snarled in rage and frustration and punched the wall, cracking the plaster this time.

  He glanced over his shoulder, sure his outburst would scare her away.

  It didn’t.

  “Go on!” he snapped. “Leave!”

  “Nay! I can explain.”

  He shook his bruised knuckles. He needed no explanation. It was obvious she didn’t wish to couple with him. He didn’t want to hear the sordid details.

  “There’s no need,” he grunted. “But I trust you’ll return the coin my brother paid.”

  Kimbery heard the bitterness in his voice, and it saddened her.

  “This is my fault,” she admitted. “I should never have…” She sighed and sat on the bed, clutching her discarded kirtle modestly in front of her.

  What she’d done was as reckless as mounting a wild horse. She should never have let him kiss her again. She definitely shouldn’t have taken off her clothes.

  But she hadn’t wanted to stop. The pretense had rapidly taken on a life of its own. Lost in a fog of rapture, she’d wanted nothing more than to mate with this hulking, hungry, ferocious beast.

  And until the moment she finally begged him to stop, she couldn’t remember why that would not be a good idea. He obviously wanted her. And she definitely wanted him. Every inch of her burned with yearning, from her breasts, grazing with delicious friction against his chest, to the place between her thighs, throbbing in white-hot demand.

  Only at the instant that he pinned her against the wall, preparing to lay siege to her body, did she finally remember just who she was.

  She wasn’t a common harlot, free to couple with whomever she wished.

  She was Kimbery, daughter of Avril and Brandr, keeper of the title of Rivenloch, shieldmaiden and future laird of the clan. It was her responsibility to marry and give birth to the next generation of great warriors. She couldn’t be trysting with every handsome stranger who passed by.

  She’d had to force the words from her lips, for she knew they would bring an end to her joy. And she knew by the tension in his jaw that it cost all his self-control to stop. But he had stopped. And for that she was grateful. It saved her having to use her warrior skills to thwart him.

  The fact that he’d punched the wall hadn’t surprised her. She’d been raised with hot-tempered Vikings. She’d even put her own fist through a wall once or twice herself.

  But now she had to explain, even if he didn’t want to hear it. She started again. “I should never have misled you.”

  His chuckle was devoid of humor. He reached down to retrieve his shirt, using it to conceal his loins as he turned back to her. He was such a magnificent creature, she had a hard time focusing on what she meant to say next. And for one mad moment, she envisioned the next generation of great warriors she could make with such a man.

  His scowl was colored with disappointment, anger, and something else—a sort of sad inevitability that said he should have expected as much.

  She didn’t mean to tell him everything. She only meant to say what was necessary so she could make a clean escape.

  But when she saw the tiny glimmer of hurt in his eyes, she found she cared what he thought of her. She didn’t want him to think that she didn’t desire him. Nor did she want him to believe she’d intentionally seduced him, only to abandon him. And because she was born with more than her share of pride, she especially didn’t want him to think she was leaving because she was afraid of him.

  So she confessed.

  “I’m not really a harlot. I’m…” She wouldn’t tell him her name. That was too risky. But there was no reason to conceal the rest. “I’m a runaway bride. Those men you saw, they mean to drag me back and force me to marry a…a cruel and vicious man, a man with a violent temper and an iron fist.” She stiffened her jaw. “But I won’t do it. I won’t let them sacrifice my maidenhood and leave me at the mercy of a monster, just because they need an heir to…” She stopped before she could blurt out too much.

  “You’re not a harlot?”

  She furrowed her brows. Was that all he had heard? “Nay.”

  “You’re a runaway bride?”

  “Aye.”

  “And you’re a virgin.”

  Her frown deepened. She didn’t see how that was really his concern, especially since they weren’t going to pursue any bed sport. Nonetheless, she answered him. “Aye.”

  The last thing she expected was for him to burst out laughing.

  Disconcerted, she clutched her kirtle tighter. “It’s not funny.”

  “Oh, aye, it is,” he assured her, his black eyes dancing with humor.

  He unfurled his long shirt and slipped it back on over his head.

  If Kimbery stole one last pining glimpse, she couldn’t be blamed. His was a splendid body. She thought she’d never again see a man so gloriously endowed.

  Brude should have realized the woman was not a harlot. She was too lovely and fresh-faced to be a seasoned prostitute, no matter how seductive she seemed. What amusement Galan would get out of the fact that he’d somehow managed to match his untried brother with an untried maiden.

  Of course, he understood now why she’d stopped him. A woman’s maidenhood was not to be taken lightly. She was right to preserve it for the man she meant to wed.

  To be honest, he was still impressed that she wasn’t fleeing in fear. And since she was being candid with him, he was moved to be just as frank with her. Perhaps she would see the humor of it as well.

  “We’re quite a pair, you and I,” he confessed in a murmur, sitting beside her on the bed. “You see, we’re both virgins.”

  Astonished by his admission, she lowered her hands to her lap, inadvertently exposing her breasts—her lovely, tempting breasts. He ached, just looking at them.

  His smoky gaze must have given him away. She lifted the kirtle back up and proceeded to try to slip back into it without exposing more skin.

  Meanwhile, he tried to avert his eyes.

  Neither of them was very successful.

  “Since I’m soon to be wed,” he continued, “my brothers thought it was time I was initiated. They didn’t want me to be untried in battle when I bed my bride.”

  That coaxed a smirk out of her. “And you ended up with me?” She thought that over and had to admit, “That is funny.”

  “The blind leading the blind.”

  She smiled. Then her smile faded. “Oh. Oh!” Her kirtle in place, she stood and reached for her apron. “I should fetch Modwenna back then. After all, you’ve paid good coin and—”

  He caught her wrist. “Don’t bother. She won’t come. I believe she fled in terror.”

  “What? Why?”

  It made him smile that she even had to ask that. It wasn’t that Brude was ugly. Or evil. He was just…imposing. With his large size, his dark features, and his black scowl, women found him menacing. Most wo
men.

  But if this woman didn’t think so, he wasn’t about to argue with her. So he shrugged.

  She sat back down beside him. “So then how do you plan to…get your battle experience?”

  “I guess I’ll have to rely on my instincts.” Then, with an openness that surprised him, he confessed, “Mostly I don’t want to hurt my bride.”

  She nodded, then looked at her hands in her lap. “It’s thoughtful of you, wanting to be a good husband.”

  Brude could see she was thinking about her own predicament. He plucked his linen under-trousers from the floor and began to put them on.

  “What will you do?” he asked gently. It wasn’t necessary to explain what he meant.

  She swallowed, and for one moment, he glimpsed her uncertainty. Then she straightened proudly and said, “I’m not going to marry a monster. That’s for certain. They cannot make me.”

  Brude would disagree. That pack of Vikings looked more than capable of making the wee lass do whatever they wished. He pulled his under-trousers over his hips and tied them, then reached for his woolen trews.

  “You can’t hide here forever,” he pointed out.

  Kimbery almost wished she could hide here forever.

  But she wasn’t thinking straight. She needed to get dressed and shake off the vestiges of desire that lingered with the alluring warrior so close. She could feel his warmth, smell the intoxicating scent of spice and smoke and leather that clung to him. The fires of lust were slow to die. She had to douse them quickly and plan her next move.

  She put her apron on over her kirtle and picked up the silver brooches with their connecting beads.

  “I wish I didn’t have to wed,” she said. It was the first time she’d admitted it aloud. It was a relief to be able to confide in a stranger. “I don’t really want a husband.”

  “Why not?” he said, shoving his legs, one at a time, into his trousers.

  She paused, thinking it over. “I was raised to be a shieldmaiden.”

  He cast a cursory glance at her, arching a dubious brow.

  “I’m stronger than I look,” she informed him as she pinned on the first brooch. “I was born with a shield on my arm and a blade in my hand. What do I know about keeping a house? Or pleasing a husband? Or bringing up children?”

  Her fingers faltered on the second brooch as the truth hit her. She was afraid. It wasn’t independence or stubbornness or even the prospect of wedding a notorious villain that had made her run away. It was fear of marriage itself.

  “To be honest,” he said, threading his belt through the loops of his trousers, “I don’t want a wife either.”

  “Really?” Her brows went up. “Why not?”

  “I’m a warrior as well. What need do I have of a companion? Give me a blade of strong steel and a wrong to right, and I’m content.”

  “Exactly!” she chimed in, adding dreamily, “There’s nothing like the weight of a well-made sword or the battle cry of a well-trained army.”

  “The thunder of a charge,” he mused.

  “The clash of steel on steel.”

  “The boldness that fires the blood.”

  “The satisfaction of dodging a deadly blow.”

  “And delivering a deadly blow.”

  “Aye! And the taste of victory…” She sighed.

  “It’s as sweet as honey.”

  “Aye.”

  He understood her. Completely. Why did no one else?

  The warrior drew his brows together and shook his head. “My proficiency lies on the battlefield, not in the bedchamber.”

  Kimbery would argue that. He might be inexperienced, but she had very much enjoyed his proficiency in the bedchamber.

  Still, she knew what he meant. “Why must everyone marry?”

  “Precisely.”

  “I mean, it’s not like there aren’t enough bairns being made.”

  “Right.” He buckled his belt.

  “And maybe some of us aren’t meant to be…”

  “Domesticated?”

  “Aye!”

  The dark giant knew exactly what she meant. Why couldn’t her parents understand?

  She sank back down onto the bed. “It’s a shame we can’t just run away together, you and I.”

  He chuckled. “Two errant warriors-in-arms?”

  She chuckled back. “Aye.”

  His smile was wistful. “I suspect we’re both too honorable for that.”

  She wasn’t so sure. For one impulsive moment, she considered confiscating his weapon and absconding with him at sword point.

  But he was right. In the end, a warrior’s honor was everything. Besides, he had three big, burly brothers waiting below. She didn’t think they’d allow her to abduct him without a fight. And then there was his bride. He obviously cared about her, even if he didn’t particularly want a wife.

  Like Kimbery, when it came to marriage, it seemed he was only afraid of his own inadequacy.

  “If it eases your mind,” she ventured as he began to don his hauberk, “I think your bride will be pleased.” She was appalled when her voice cracked over the words. “She’s a very lucky lass.”

  He gave her a doubtful glance. “That’s generous of you to say. But that hasn’t been my experience with lasses so far.”

  Surely he was jesting. Kimbery couldn’t imagine a woman not wanting this divine warrior in her bed.

  Feeling suddenly very melancholy and hopeless and sorry for herself, she ducked away—hiding the foolish tears gathering in her eyes—to search for her boots.

  Somehow he sensed her despair. Buckling his sword belt over his hauberk, he softly vowed, “Listen. If you need a champion against this foul beast, my lady, I will gladly fight for you.”

  That made her feel even more like sobbing. But she was a shieldmaiden, not a child. So she turned to him with forced smugness. “Thank you for the offer, but I fight my own battles.”

  She could see she wasn’t fooling him. There was pity in his eyes. But since there was nothing to be done for it, she choked back her tears and made quick work of her stockings and boots.

  He did the same.

  Her cloak was still on the bed. She idly stroked the hood. She didn’t want to leave. But she couldn’t stay here. And it was best she travel while the day was young. She draped the cloak over her shoulder.

  “Do you think my da’s men are gone?” she asked.

  “I’ll take a look.”

  Arming herself with her dagger, she followed him as he went to the door. No one was in the passageway.

  She stayed close behind him as he cautiously descended the stairs. Of course, as soon as he appeared, his ribald brothers started teasing him mercilessly about his haste in accomplishing the deed. Feeling suddenly and fiercely protective of this man who felt like her kindred spirit, she drew her dagger and prepared to confront them.

  He halted abruptly on the steps, but she elbowed her way past him, determined to defend his honor.

  Then she too stopped on the stairs, and her heart sank. The Vikings hadn’t left after all. They were swigging ale with his brothers. By the looks of them, the whole lot had been drinking ceaselessly since they’d arrived.

  “To Kimbery of Rivenloch!” Axlan raised his cup in a drunken salute, and the others followed.

  She gasped. Bloody Hel. So much for her anonymity. What would she do now? No matter the odds, she wasn’t about to surrender to her da’s men. She refused to let them drag her home to become a barbarian’s bride.

  She steeled her spine. Relying on her wits and her warrior instincts, she used the only leverage she had left.

  As much as it pained her to betray him, she turned on the stairs to face the warrior. She pressed the point of her dagger against the vein pulsing in his throat, effectively taking him hostage. With her free hand, she reached for his sword, intending to disarm him.

  But his hand clapped over hers with lightning speed before she could draw the blade. When she glanced up, a black storm was brewing i
n his eyes.

  “You,” he bit out.

  She blinked. What he meant by that, she didn’t know. After all, he was a stranger here. He probably had no idea who she was.

  He was probably just angry that she’d turned on him.

  Maybe when he heard her plan, he’d realize that she was only bluffing in order to make her escape. Maybe then he would play along.

  She called out to his brothers. “Let me go, let me leave the alehouse, and I won’t hurt him.”

  She expected gasps of horror and disbelief. Instead, his brothers laughed, which vexed and confused her.

  “Hurt him?” one of them scoffed. “Oh, I’m sure Brude can take care of himself.”

  Kimbery’s breath caught.

  Brude.

  Brude?

  She froze. It felt as if the whole world froze with her. Her thoughts, however, continued to swirl around her like a wild snowstorm.

  It couldn’t be. Surely it was only a coincidence.

  Brude was a common enough name.

  Besides, the Brude she was meant to marry was mean, despicable, barbaric. And he wasn’t due to arrive until the morrow.

  Yet even as she assured herself of these things, deep inside, she sensed the truth.

  This was Brude.

  Brude the Brutal.

  Her betrothed. Hel, he’d even admitted he was about to be wed.

  If there was any shred of doubt in her mind, it vanished when she turned her gaze slowly up to his and glimpsed the cold and silent fury in his eyes.

  Instantly, every ugly word she’d uttered to him about her evil betrothed came rushing into her head. What had she called him? A monster?

  She gulped. Then she made a deadly mistake. For one perilous instant, she let down her guard. Her voice was a rough whisper. “I didn’t mean…”

  Before she could even finish, he swatted her dagger hand away, took a step back, and drew his sword, setting it under her chin.

  She’d hardly had time to gasp when he skewered her with a glare, grinding the words between his teeth. “You were running away. You meant to cheat me of my bride.”

  The men downstairs let out a collective “ooh” of disapproval.