by Karin Tabke
“Arian! Wake up!” the voice shouted. The hands shook her so violently she thought her head would snap from her neck. “ ’Tis a dream, you are safe!”
A dream? Nay, a nightmare. Wildly she looked about her, not knowing where she was. Gasping for breath, she began to settle as the hands that grasped her loosened, giving her room to collect herself.
“Stefan?” she whispered.
“Aye, I am here.”
She turned and threw her arms around his neck, pressing into him, and sobbed. She cried as if the ills of the world were hers alone to bear. She was not accustomed to such things as rape and being captive. But her captor was the only thing keeping her alive at the moment. And, she sniffed hard, he did not force himself upon her. Her spine stiffened. But he did not free her either!
Pulling away from him, Arian narrowed her eyes. “Did, you—did you touch me?”
His savage face darkened. “Nay.”
She let out a long breath as muddled thoughts swirled about her. Her body no longer burned, but she felt as weak as a lamb. “I—thought …” Her gaze rose to his. “Would you cast your wife away if she were not pure?” she blurted out.
She could see the question caught him completely off guard. When he did not answer, she pressed him. “If she were raped and could do nothing to prevent it, would you hold her accountable?”
“I have no intention of taking a wife.”
She grabbed his rough hands. “But if you were, would you refuse her for a deed she was powerless to prevent?”
Slowly he shook his head. “Nay, I would not set her from me. I would kill the man who violated her.”
Arian slumped against him and nodded, swiping tears from her cheeks. “If you were a prince and your daughter was violated, would you set her aside in shame?”
He brought her chin up with two fingers and looked hard at her. Again, he shook his head. “Nay, I would never condemn her for that over which she had no control. I would bring her closer for comfort, after I killed the scourge who shamed her.”
A hard lump gathered in her throat. Arian tried to swallow it down, but it would not move. “Thank you,” she said softly, then moved back into the bed and pulled the sheets up to her chin. “Thank you,” she murmured again, then closed her eyes and let exhaustion claim her.
Stefan stood for a long time in stunned silence. A wash of emotions he did not welcome welled up inside his chest. But more than that, the thought of a child, of a daughter, his daughter so abused as what Dag had intended, soured the wine and food in his belly. He had witnessed many inhumane acts. Jubb had been the crudest testament to what a man could do to a man. The day he and his brothers escaped was the day they were condemned to die—to be plunged into a cistern of flesh-eating bats, to be eaten alive, only their bones left as a gravestone. Aye, he had nearly died at the hands of a maniacal Saracen in Iberia, and, he was ashamed to admit, he had on more than one occasion promised a maid more than what he intended to give if she were to but lie with him.
Never once after a coupling had he given thought to a child born of his seed. He had no doubt there were bastards with his unusual blue eyes littering Iberia, France, Wales, and mayhap this ungrateful island, but he had never felt the stirring of emotion for a child. He looked down at the troubled princess and something more stirred in his gut. In her fitful slumber, the sheet had fallen to her waist. Her high breasts rose and fell with each breath. The blush-colored nipples puckered as if they knew they were being watched. His gaze swept lower, to the indentation of her smooth belly, to her softly flaring hips. He swallowed hard and pressed his hand to her belly, a fingertip sweeping the soft down that shielded her. Would she die giving birth? For as tall as she was, she was slender, and though softly flared, her hips were not as wide as he thought they should be, to hold, then pass, a child.
She moaned softly and pressed her hips against his hand. He froze. She moaned again and swept her hand down to rest upon his. Stefan’s gaze raked her taut body, and he fought the urge to press his lips to her downy mound and kiss her there. He wanted to touch her breasts, to taste them, to make them plumpen. He wanted to hear her cry out to him for more. His cock filled and lengthened.
“Jesu!” he swore, standing up, then pulling the linen up to her chin.
He hurried from the chamber, fearful he might not be able to control his craving. He strode out to the cookhouse and filled another skin with wine, then limped down to the stable where he told Apollo, in great detail, of his frustration. The stallion snorted and tossed his head in understanding.
The skin was empty and Stefan exhausted, and though he did not want to return to the chamber, he needed rest, and he was not going to sleep on the ground again.
The bed was big enough for the two of them, and after all that had transpired between them, if the princess had issue with him sharing the space, she could sleep on the floor.
When he returned, he was glad to see her cheeks were only slightly flushed, and that her breathing had settled into a deep, even pattern. He let out a long breath. The fever had broken, and she would no doubt be a handful when she awoke. His bleary eyes rose to the high window. The sky was just barely gray now, the sun making its way up across the forest. He moved around to the other side of the bed and lay down fully clothed and armed upon the sheets.
Closing his eyes, Stefan told himself ’twould be only until the sun fully broke. He was young, and though not at his best, he was used to days with no sleep. But it eluded him. For a long time he stared up at the mud-cracked ceiling. The body beside his tossed and turned, her soft moans keeping his body on high alert. Each time she kicked the sheet from her naked body, he hastened to cover her. Finally, when he could no longer endure her thrashing about, he rolled over and took her into his arms. She fought him, but he shushed her with soft words as he stroked her long silky hair. As her body settled against his, a new tension flared within him. He was damned either way with her.
Lying on his back, as rigid as his sword, her soft breath against his cheek, Stefan was nearly at his breaking point. His hands fisted and unfisted. He was tired, hungry, irritated and so full of lust for the woman in his arms that he felt as if he would come apart at every seam. Carefully, so that she would not touch a part of him that would set him off, Stefan rolled her over onto her back. Her arms slid up around his neck. “Nay,” she breathed, “do not leave me.”
His blood raced like quicksilver through him, his body tightened, and he rose to capacity against her. Her naked body pressed to his, her soft lips were parted, and her breathing had increased, causing her full breasts to move in a most erotic fashion. He could not help himself when he lowered his lips to one taut, tempting nipple. Her body arched in a slow undulation beneath him. He opened his lips wider to take more of her soft succulent flesh into his mouth, his fingers dug deep into her thick hair. Fire consumed him.
His lips trailed across her chest, to her throat, up to her waiting lips, he molded into her as his tongue swirled in her mouth, tasting the sweet surrender. He knew the moment she realized she was not dreaming. Her body stiffened, her hands upon his back tightened. Gasping for breath, she pleaded, “Please, leave me.”
Most reluctantly he did, putting a wide space between himself and her warmth. He lay on his side and watched her collect herself, pleased to see it was not so easy for her. She lay on her back, her firm, rosy breasts trembling, her nipples dewy from his kisses. She brushed back her hair from her face and gulped for a breath. He watched her hand trail down her belly to her mons. When she pressed the palm of her hand there, she gasped and arched. The tension in Stefan’s groin tightened at the wanton sight. She turned her head and stared at him, her lips full and pouty from his assault on them, her eyes a deep smoky gray.
“What did you do to me?” she breathed.
“Gave you what your body asked for.”
She turned to look up at the ceiling and closed her eyes, then licked her lips. She did not remove her hand from herself, nor did she attempt
to cover her nakedness from him. Fascinated by her boldness, he moved closer to her. “Does it ache still?” he queried softly.
She licked her lips again and slowly nodded. “In a terrible way.”
He kissed her bare shoulder. Her body stirred. “I can make it go away,” he cajoled, wanting nothing more than to take her there.
She turned then and faced him, the intensity of her eyes jarring him from his quest to show her all the ways possible to quell the ache. She looked upon him with frank openness, and a naïve wonder that snared his hard heart. “I have no doubt. But I am promised to another.”
Stefan smiled. “He does not have to know.”
“I would know, and if there is no blood on the marriage sheets then he has sworn to annul the marriage but keep my dowry.” She pulled the sheet up to cover herself. “I fear I am at a most vulnerable place, sir, and you have me at a severe disadvantage. Please do not take advantage of me again.” She pulled the sheet over her shoulders and rolled away from him.
Stefan stared incredulous at her back. Most women would have spit, screamed, and fought him, claiming righteous indignation. Not so the princess. She did not run like a frightened milkmaid beset by the big bad lord; nay, she indulged herself in the wonder of her body and the sensations a man’s touch could evoke. Despite her innocence, she embraced the sensual part of her being. He had known she was a child of the senses as he had watched her bathe in the pond, the way she was so familiar with herself, and her body’s reaction to her own touch. He grinned like an idiot, thoroughly intrigued by her.
Whilst her captor slept, with one hard jerk Arian pulled the sword from the Saxon’s scabbard. Before she had full control of it, he popped up in the bed, grabbing for her. She heaved the blade up and cried out. The pull on her wound from the weight of the weapon shot with hard jabbing pain across her chest. He snatched the blade from her and pushed her back into the pillows, sprawling atop her much as he did three days ago, but this time he did not press the blade to her. He tossed it to the floor and grabbed her up to him and shook her. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”
“I would be happier dead than here with you!” she spat.
He shoved her away from him and rolled from the bed, and stood. He grabbed the sword from the floor and sheathed it. “Be careful what you wish for, princess. Out here in the wilds of Mercia anything can happen.”
“Are you threatening me?”
He shook his head. “I never threaten what I intend to stand and deliver.”
“I demand to be escorted to Yorkshire!”
He smiled, and through her anger and indignation, most especially at what she had allowed him to do to her in her delirium, she noticed that the wound on his face needed tending. ’Twas worse.
“In good time, princess. In good time.” His eyes swept her person in hot regard.
Arian grabbed the sheet from the bed and yanked it up to cover herself. Her hand swept her wounded breast and she gasped in pain. When she looked down upon it she gasped again. ’Twas a most ghastly sight. Her head snapped back and she narrowed her eyes at her attacker.
Holding the sheet to her body with one hand, Arian lashed out with the other at the Saxon. “You are the foulest of men! How dare you touch me as you did?”
“You did not complain.”
“You took advantage of my weakened state!” she shrieked, lunging at him, unwilling to hear the truth in his words.
He threw out a brawny arm and pushed her away. She flew backwards in a most unladylike position, landing flat on her back on the dirt floor. His eyes widened as he caught sight of all that lay between her thighs. She kicked at him and he laughed, moving farther away from her.
Wrapping the sheet tightly around her body, Arian stood. As she worked to cover her nakedness, a sudden terrible thought occurred to her. Had more happened to her before she awoke to his kisses? “Did you have your way with me in my delirium?”
He threw his head back and laughed heartily. “Had I, you would not be able to stand.”
She grabbed a pillow and hurled it at him. “Return my tunic!”
“I burned it.”
“Burned it! What am I to wear then?”
He smiled again, and his hot gaze swept her warm body. This time she did not pull up the sheet, which had dipped to hang from the tips of her breasts. Instead, she stood tall and regal, daring him to break his oath to her.
“I for one do not mind you walking about as you are.”
“Leave this room at once,” she commanded, “And do not enter again without my permission!”
Stefan’s blood quickened. He heard her words but his thoughts were nowhere close to complying with her command. Visions of her last night, the feel of her soft skin and the way she responded to him, were prominent on his mind. If she had any idea what she did to a man’s imagination she would not be so bold. Were he a lesser man, he’d toss her impertinent bottom back onto that bed, sink into her, and ride her into the next sunrise.
She threw another pillow at him, and dragging the sheet with her she stomped over to the large chest against the far wall and began yanking out one item after another, until finally she pulled out a long white garment. “I will wear this!” She held it up and flinched. “A man’s chemise, no doubt, but clean. Please leave the room so that I may dress.”
Visions of her naked and wanton filled his mind. Stefan slowly shook his head and said, “I think we are beyond modesty.”
“Mayhap you, but never me.” She stood glaring angrily at him. “Do not think because of a weak moment of my own, it gives you the right to act less of a gentle-born man.”
“I never claimed to be gentle-born.”
“I am a princess! A royal! I am betrothed to a great jarl. You will not treat me as some whore on the street!”
“I will treat you as you treat me.”
“Then show me some respect.”
“As you have shown me?”
Frustrated, she huffed, “How do you expect me to show you respect when you have kidnapped me?”
He shrugged. She had a point.
“Would you, at least, turn around, then?”
He nodded, and did so. She moaned slightly in pain, then he heard the slight rustle of fabric. “You may turn around,” she said.
And when he did, he laughed again. The garment puddled at her feet. She would most definitely need a girdle but what amused him more was the way she stood holding his dagger, which he had set on the table, in her hand as if she could actually do him damage.
“Come near me and I’ll geld you.”
He strode toward her. She raised it. He strode closer and in one swift move, he slapped it from her and it clunked onto the dirt floor. He grabbed both of her hands and yanked her toward him. She cried out in pain, but his temper soared. “Do not try my patience. You have learned the hard way I am not a man to be denied. If you continue to thwart me, you may find more than your breast wounded.”
“Would you torture me then?”
“Nay, I would never do that, but if you continue to refuse my commands, the only recourse I have is to threaten violence, or”—he yanked her harder against him—“suffer through another of my kisses. ’Tis up to you if I carry out the threat or not.”
“You are a bully! A man who assaults women is no man at all!”
Stefan nodded. “There are shackles in the great room used to leash the hounds. Would you prefer to be chained to this bed?”
“You would not dare!”
“I would. And if you would like to test me, do it now so that I may take care of other chores without having to constantly look over my shoulder.”
“I demand you return me to my train! I am the daughter of a Welsh prince. He will not stand for me to be treated thusly!”
Stefan grinned. “Aye, I am counting on it.”
“You would hold me for ransom?”
He shrugged. “ ’Tis a common enough practice.”
“You are despicable.”
�
��Aye, and do not forget it.” He moved to the open door and turned to face her. “Take advantage of the bed whilst you can. We will be back ahorse as soon as possible.”
Stefan strode from the lodge out to the forest edge, where he’d reset the snare hoping to catch a hare or two. No hare, but two plump grouses. He was hungry and could devour a full boar. But hens and turnips would have to suffice. When he went back into the lodge, to find the lady lighting several floor sconces, he scowled. He tossed the birds onto the table. “I assume you can dress these and not burn them?”
She straightened, and though the chemise was large, it was thin, and standing in front of the candlelight as she was, her soft rounded curves were clearly outlined. He scowled as his desire awakened again.
“I do not cook!”
“What exactly does a princess do?” he asked sarcastically.
“A princess manages her husband’s estates and bears him sons.”
“But to manage sufficiently should you not know how to accomplish those things you manage?”
Arian frowned. “My stepmother saw to the running of the castle. I was more involved with the horses and archery.”
“Do you even embroider?” he mocked.
Her eyes narrowed. “I am skilled with a needle, I can best any man at the chessboard, and I can fashion a bridle from an ash sapling.”
Stefan strode toward her and grabbed up the birds. “Come, princess, I will teach you how to dress and season this fowl. The next time, I expect you to see to this chore without supervision. ’Tis not a man’s work.”
“I am not your servant!”
“Do you think I am yours?”
“Nay, but—”
“Then come learn so that we will not die of starvation.”
Grudgingly she followed him into the small kitchen just outside the lodge. Expertly he plucked the bird, chopped off its head, slit it down the belly, and removed the innards. He drew water from the well and poured it into a small bucket that he doused heavily with salt, then submerged the bird. He washed his hands, then handed her the table knife but before he released it he said, “Do not attempt to use this on me. You may get the first strike, but I will get the final one.”