Her first reaction was guilt. He was right. She had been running away from him.
But then she realized he wasn’t exactly blameless. She straightened in outrage and knocked his blade aside with her dagger. “You meant to cheat on your bride with a harlot.”
The men “oohed” again, louder.
Brude narrowed his eyes. She could see she’d hit her mark. But there was no way he was going to let a maid best him in battle.
Brude’s pride wouldn’t allow him to let her win, even if she was right. Not while his brothers and that pack of Northmen were looking on, judging the man who was to wed the laird of Rivenloch.
Damn! Of all the women who could have come to his chamber, how could he have ended up with his own bride-to-be?
While he was wondering that, the little minx lunged forward with her dagger, and he almost didn’t leap back in time.
Wrenched back into the moment, he swept his blade forward, intending to whack her with the flat of it.
But she ducked with unexpected speed. His sword whooshed over the top of her head, striking the wall and breaking loose a chip of plaster.
She thrust forward with her dagger then, under his guard. Thankfully, his leather hauberk prevented her from doing much damage.
Bringing his blade back, he raised it vertically, intending to use the pommel to give her a light but punishing rap on the back of her head.
Again, she dodged out of the way. The sprite was so small and fast, he couldn’t catch her.
He assumed her Viking kin would come to her rescue. Then his brothers would naturally join in. An ugly melee would result. But the oafs only sat with their cups of ale, alternately whooping and gasping over every thrust and dodge.
Kimbery came at him like a wasp, her dagger biting at his legs.
He managed to hold her off with his sword, though just barely.
When he least expected it, she sprang up with her weapon, nicking the side of his neck.
Before the dagger could slice off his ear, he yanked his head away.
She chose that moment to barrel forward, knocking him off balance. He landed with a thud on his arse. But to her horror and his brothers’ chagrin, she tripped and fell as well, with her face in his groin.
He grunted, folded in half from the impact.
With a mortified cry, she scrambled backward down the steps as fast as she could.
They found their weapons at the same time. He lifted his sword. She lifted her dagger.
She was obviously outmatched. Not only was his blade longer, but he had the superior reach and an upstairs advantage.
Yet, as he moved his way down the stairs, countering her dagger strikes, the stubborn wench continued to stand her ground, tossing her snowy blonde locks and glaring at him with her icy blue eyes. Her teeth were bared, and her breast heaved.
She really was magnificent. Apparently, his brothers thought so as well. They were hooting and whistling as if this were the best entertainment they’d ever seen.
But suddenly Brude couldn’t remember why he was fighting her. There were other things he’d much rather be doing with the hot-blooded shieldmaiden, especially now that he knew she belonged to him by rights. And the sooner he put an end to this nonsense, the sooner he could start doing those other things.
In the midst of that thought, she surged toward him with a loud battle cry, and as her dagger swept near his face, he seized her wrist. Dropping his sword and letting it clatter down the steps, he used his free hand to pry the weapon from her fingers. Then he stabbed her dagger forcefully into the wall, sinking it deep, where it could do no harm.
For a moment, at a stalemate, they stared at each other, panting.
Whose idea it was, he would never know. But somehow they collided in a violent, passionate, earthshaking kiss.
He was vaguely aware of the cheers and laughter coming from the men downstairs. But his mind was on more pressing things.
Their mouths battled with bruising force. Like hungry hounds, they gorged on each other with mindless rapture. With their lips still locked, he lifted her. She clung to him, moaning softly as he turned and mounted the rest of the stairs.
He kicked the door open, cradling her in his arms as he continued to feast on her delicious flesh, moving from her tender lips to her flushed cheek to her throbbing throat. He nuzzled her ear, and she gasped and threw her head back, driving her claws into his neck.
He paused only to lay her out on the bed. Gazing at her beautiful, womanly body, he felt temptation usurp his loins, hardening him and filling him with keen desire. He could wait no longer. He unbuckled his armor, casting it aside. He wrenched his shirt so violently from his shoulders that it tore. He kicked off his boots and pulled off his trousers.
She was only one step behind him. And her eagerness—tugging off her own boots, tossing off her apron, and slipping out of her kirtle—was even more intoxicating than the vision of her naked body.
The sight of him—glorious, bare, unashamed—filled Kimbery with awe and intense craving. And now that she knew he was her betrothed, that they belonged together, that he wanted her as much as she wanted him, there was nothing to stop her from satisfying that urge. She longed to join with him—now—to become one with the man who was to be her husband.
Still, as dark and menacing and proud as he looked—his fists clenched, his eyes smoldering, looming like a conquering warrior over her—he mastered his needs enough to croak out, “May I, my bride?”
She rose on her elbows and nearly sobbed out in reply. “Oh, aye!”
He came to her with great care, tempering his passions for fear of hurting her. Hovering over her, he wove his fingers through hers. With cautious tenderness, he kissed her brow, her eyelids, her cheek. His beard grazed her flesh as he dared to venture lower.
She arched up as his tongue brushed lightly down her throat and across her bosom. And when he covered her breast with his mouth, suckling softly, she drew a breath between her clenched teeth at the divine sensation, squeezing his fingers between her own.
He released one hand to let his fingers explore her. The callused tips glided over her collar bone, along her breast, over her ribs, and lower.
She held her breath in anticipation, knowing his path would eventually lead to the place where she felt the most powerful ache. And when his fingers finally slipped into that burning crevice, she cried out with joy.
He immediately withdrew his hand. “Did I hurt you?”
“Nay!” She almost laughed at that. But then she glimpsed genuine concern in his eyes. How anyone could call him brutal, she didn’t know. “Nay,” she repeated. Then she lowered her eyes. He was rigid with need. “May I, my husband?”
He gulped, then nodded.
She barely touched him, and yet his nostrils flared, and his jaw tensed as if her touch was flame. “Did I hurt you?”
He shook his head and moved his hand over hers, urging her to hold him in her palm. He was as hard as iron, yet as soft as velvet. And when she moved her fingers around him, a groan welled up from deep in his throat, from a primitive place that beckoned to her as surely as a wolf calling to its mate.
She wanted him.
She wanted him now.
With artless grace, she wrapped her legs around him, arching toward him, begging wordlessly to be besieged.
His brow glistened with a lusty glow, and yet he hesitated, afraid he might do her injury.
Finally, fearless with yearning and impatient with his restraint, Kimbery rose to him, impaling herself upon his fleshly blade.
The small pinch of pain was nothing compared to the ecstasy of feeling him inside her. She melted like snow against the flame of his body. And his erotic shudder as she sheathed him sent a thrill of power through her that was more intoxicating and empowering than winning a battle.
When he began to move within her, she met him, stroke for stroke. What they lacked in experience, they made up for in instinct. Like well-matched champions, they warred together. He gl
ided with feverish intensity over her throbbing core. She rapidly lost her capacity for thought.
They mated with mindless abandon, honing passion to a finer and finer point, until he stiffened and she felt a sudden release. Like a spear soaring through the air, simultaneously weightless and powerful, she sailed and hit her mark with lethal force, crying out in wonder and shivering from the impact.
Later, Brude’s brothers would tease him, saying the folk in the next village had heard his glorious bellow. But at the moment, all he knew was that his cry of victory didn’t express half the triumph he felt ringing in every bone of his body.
He’d been wrong. Making love was much better than waging war. Grappling with a woman was far more rewarding than fighting a foe. Feeling the shudder of her release was more satisfying than breaking an enemy sword. And the explosion of his own climax was more exhilarating than defeating the Roman army.
She’d laid waste to him, drained him of every bit of his strength. He’d surrendered to her. But she’d surrendered to him as well.
They gasped together in breathless exhaustion. Their skin was slick with sweat. Their eyes smoked with spent desire.
Finally, lest he smother the poor lass, he carefully rolled off of her and collapsed back on the pallet.
She wasted no time, snuggling up against him again. She claimed his chest with her arm and wrapped a possessive leg over his hips. And as they lay entwined—his body splayed across the covers, her lithe limbs tangled with his—he thought he’d never felt so complete or so at peace.
For a long time, the only sound in the room was the soughing of their breath, and after a while, he wondered if she might have drifted off to sleep.
Then she drowsily murmured, “You’re not so brutal.”
He grinned. “Don’t tell my enemies.”
Her low chuckle warmed his chest.
He wrapped one of her tiny braids around his finger and tugged her closer to kiss her. He thought he could get used to having this sweet shieldmaiden in his bed.
She nestled in the crook of his arm and let out a dreamy sigh. “I wish we could stay here all Yuletide.”
“I would, but I fear I have a runaway bride to chase down.”
She gave him a playful swat on the chest, and he caught her hand, weaving his fingers through hers.
“Damn,” she muttered.
“What?”
“I dread going downstairs. There’s nothing as infuriating as a pack of smug Vikings.”
“Unless it’s my gloating MeqqUvan brothers.”
Kimbery gave him a sympathetic smile. Mostly, she wasn’t looking forward to facing her parents. They’d clearly see this as their conquest. They’d won. They were marrying off their stubborn daughter to the man of their choice.
Then she drew her brows together.
She blinked.
Something wasn’t right. This had all happened too easily. It couldn’t have been mere coincidence that they’d met at the alehouse. It was all too suspect.
After a moment, she sat up with a gasp of realization.
Brude rose up on an elbow. “What is it?”
“They knew all along.”
“Who?”
“My da’s men. Your brothers. This is not by chance.”
The more she thought about it, the more obvious it became. It was absurd that the Vikings she’d known for twenty years hadn’t recognized her on sight when they burst into the room, even with her face hidden. They’d been tracking her. If nothing else, they would have known her by her cloak.
And if they’d somehow not recognized her and believed they had the wrong woman, wouldn’t they have left at once to continue their frantic search?
Instead, they’d remained at the alehouse, drinking with Brude’s brothers.
“They’re downstairs, toasting their success,” she realized. “My parents plotted this whole thing. They knew I would run away. They sent the Vikings after me to make sure I’d come here.”
“But how could they know I’d be…” Brude began. Then he sat up beside her. “My brothers. Galan insisted we stop at this particular alehouse.”
“See?” She closed her eyes to angry slits. “Bloody conniving knaves. They were all part of it.”
“But what about the harlot my brothers hired?”
“That didn’t matter,” she explained. “They knew all they had to do was to get us to meet, that I’d fall in love with you at first sight.”
“What?” He was staring at her as if she were mad.
She hated to admit it, but it was true. Her parents had picked the perfect man. He was strong and capable, passionate and caring, gentle and honorable. They knew she’d never be able to resist him.
“Oh, Brude, be serious. Who wouldn’t fall instantly in love with you?”
He was gazing at her now as if she were a goddess. It made her glow inside.
That adoring glance led to a kiss, which led to another, and soon they were writhing in the delightful throes of passion once again.
The second coupling was even better than the first. In fact, Kimbery had a feeling that if they continued with such pleasurable bed sport, it wouldn’t be long before they made a whole army of wee warriors for Rivenloch.
But even in the afterglow of lovemaking, they both knew they couldn’t linger in this paradise. With the short days of winter, it would grow dark soon. And Kimbery didn’t want to miss Yuletide.
She got up from the bed and gathered her clothing. “I suppose we’re going to have to tuck our tails between our legs and face the gloating rogues downstairs.”
He was watching her from the bed with his arms laced behind his head, displaying muscles that left her breathless. Then he gave her a sly grin that made his black eyes sparkle with mischief. “I’ve got a better idea.”
For one mad moment, she thought he meant to seduce her…again.
Then he sat forward with a warrior’s eagerness. “Are you up for revenge?”
She liked the sound of that. “Always.”
And so it was that the scheming pair of betrothed warriors-in-arms outwitted their traitor kin. They stole out of the window, dropped onto the snow, and made their own way back to Rivenloch, leaving their befuddled conspirators to wonder what had become of them.
When Kimbery and Brude MeqqUvan strode, arm in arm, through the gates of Rivenloch, it was in their own time and on their own terms. They were greeted by Avril and Brandr, who graciously resisted the urge to crow over their matchmaking success.
The bride and groom were handfasted the next morn, much to the chagrin of the late-arriving and shamefaced Vikings and MeqqUvan brothers.
Their marriage bed was decked with sprigs of mistletoe for love and fertility, and the Yule log burned bright into the night to bless their union.
And that very night, the magic of the Yuletide season rained down upon Kimbery the Shieldmaiden and Brude the Brutal, for the next heir of Rivenloch was born exactly nine months later.
THE END
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More Books by Glynnis C
ampbell
The Warrior Maids of Rivenloch
The Shipwreck (novella)
A Yuletide Kiss (short story)
Lady Danger
Captive Heart
Knight’s Prize
The Knights of de Ware
The Handfasting (novella)
My Champion
My Warrior
My Hero
Medieval Outlaws
The Reiver (novella)
Danger’s Kiss
Passion’s Exile
Desire’s Ransom
The Scottish Lasses
The Outcast (novella)
MacFarland’s Lass
MacAdam’s Lass
MacKenzie’s Lass
The California Legends
Native Gold
Native Wolf
Native Hawk
About Glynnis Campbell
I’m a USA Today bestselling author of swashbuckling action-adventure historical romances, mostly set in Scotland, with over a dozen award-winning books published in six languages.
But before my role as a medieval matchmaker, I sang in The Pinups, an all-girl band on CBS Records, and provided voices for the MTV animated series The Maxx, Blizzard’s Diablo and Starcraft video games, and Star Wars audiobooks.
I’m the wife of a rock star (if you want to know which one, contact me) and the mother of two young adults. I do my best writing on cruise ships, in Scottish castles, on my husband’s tour bus, and at home in my sunny southern California garden.
I love transporting readers to a place where the bold heroes have endearing flaws, the women are stronger than they look, the land is lush and untamed, and chivalry is alive and well!
I’m always delighted to hear from my readers, so please feel free to email me at [email protected]. And if you’re a super-fan who would like to join my inner circle, sign up to be part of Glynnis Campbell’s Readers Clan on Facebook, where you’ll get glimpses behind the scenes, sneak peeks of works-in-progress, and extra special surprises!
A Yuletide Kiss Page 4