by Karin Tabke
She grabbed bunches of aromatic herbs from a cracked earthen pot. With no soap, she would cleanse herself with the sweet-smelling stuff. Arian turned to close the door but scowled when she remembered it was open-ended.
She chewed her bottom lip, fearful Stefan might come upon her. But to her horror, a warmth spread across her chest at the thought of the angry Saxon’s hot eyes upon her naked body. Though she was not naïve, he stirred her in a way she never imagined a man could stir a woman. She had never been shy about her body and its cravings. She was very aware of the beauty of nature. The sounds, the scents, the textures, and the tastes.
And she was curious. She had peeked on her brother more than once as he seduced a maid in the high straw beds of the vast stables, her body warming as they lustily mated. When Magnus had been so bold as to kiss her the day after they met, she had allowed him, wanting to experience the same thrill. She had been disappointed that his gentle touch had not elicited a more passionate response from her.
She knew from the stories Jane told her that her parents were a lusty pair who were prone to slip from the hall at all hours of the day and night to couple. She was not embarrassed when she stood to the side of the paddocks and watched the hot-blooded stallions mount the mares. She admired the way the mares played coy, swishing their tails beneath the stallion’s nose, teasing him into a sexual frenzy before finally allowing him to mount. Aye, it was nature, and her body was young and craved such a natural union.
And though she did not want to fall in love with her husband, she prayed that once wed he would prove to be as lusty as the stallions of Dinefwr. Or … her mind wandered … as lusty as the Saxon.
Arian pulled the bloody garment from her body and stepped into the barrel. It was not quite wide enough for her to sit, even with her knees to her chest, so reluctantly she stood. When she grasped the heavy bucket and tried to lift it over her head, she cried out. The wound to her breast was compromised by the raising of her arm. She looked around for a bowl to scoop the water out and could not locate one. The few there were, were on the trestle table. For a long moment, Arian debated on darting into the room and grabbing a bowl or just making do. She chose to make do. And that meant scooping handrails of water from the bucket and pouring them over her head, but still the raising of her arm pained her.
“Would you care for assistance, milady?” a deep voice asked from the open doorway.
NINE
Arian crossed her arms over her chest, half turning to Stefan. “You are too bold!”
“As are you,” he said, stepping into the small area. “As well as covered in blood, and also you are wounded. At the pace you are bathing you will see the full rise of the sun on the morrow before you are clean.” He grabbed up a full bucket, and slowly poured it over her head.
Arian gasped. The well water was cold but it felt good against her skin. She stood rigid, not wanting to give in to the erotic pleasure of this man pouring water down her body. ’Twas not right! But had not her reputation already been destroyed? Aye, it had, and the sluice of the water across her sensitive body was too tempting to say no to. Besides, he had given his oath to her, and would not force her to do anything she did not wish to.
She bowed her head and allowed the water to pour into her hair. With no soap on hand, all she could do was rinse it with the herbs. She grasped a handful and rolled them between her hands, then dug her fingers into her hair and lifted the thick strands so the water could infiltrate.
She tried to ignore the man behind her and the way the triangle between her thighs flared with heat, but ’twas a battle lost before it began. Her nipples pebbled hard and her breasts trembled. And it felt good and exciting, and she wished ’twas her betrothed who stood so close. Then she could give in to her carnal cravings.
The bucket empty, she did not dare turn and face him. When he put his hands upon her shoulders, she trembled violently. “Please—” she whispered.
He moved closer to her, so close she could feel the heat of his body. “It seems, princess, we are destined to repeatedly meet each time you bathe.”
He rubbed something hard across her damp shoulders. His large hands slid easily across her warm skin. Soap? She turned, and his hands in motion slid across the fullness of her breasts. Arian gasped and stiffened. So did Stefan. When he did not remove his hands from her breasts but instead gently kneaded them, Arian felt the earth move beneath her. She was a wanton to allow him to touch her so, yet she remained beneath his touch.
His lips lowered to her ear and he softly whispered, “I gave my word I would not breach you, milady, but I never promised I would not touch the rest of you.”
Warm shivers from his breath scattered across her skin, down her body, and yet she stayed motionless. She looked up into his dark blue eyes. They burned hot. She gazed hard at him, trying to read his thoughts. And Arian could not clarify her signals, for she was as confused as he. He reached down and lifted the rough tunic over his shoulders, letting it drop to the floor.
Mutely, she nodded her head, wanting more than she had a right to. Despite the ugly scar that marred him, his muscles were well defined, his belly flat, his hips narrow, his manhood—she swallowed—large, and growing larger beneath his braies. Before she got herself into deeper trouble, Arian whirled around, presenting her back to him.
Stefan lathered up the soap between his hands. When he dug his long fingers deep into her hair Arian sighed, the sensation so sublimely sensual that she felt as if her body was liquefying. He stepped closer to her so that his chest pressed against her shoulders. The thick lather trailed down her neck to her back, slickening their skin.
Warm breath caressed her shoulders, followed by large strong hands massaging the velvety lather into her neck and shoulders in slow circular motions. Arian rested her head against his right shoulder and arched her back wanting his hands to slide lower to her heavy breasts and touch her there. His hands slid down around her waist, swirling the lather into her feverish skin, bypassing her sensitive breasts. Biting her lip to keep a moan from escaping, Arian gasped when the tips of his thumbs brushed the edge of the down shielding her mons. A hunger pulsed deep from within her womb outward, radiating through her entire body. With each swirl of his hands, with each breath he breathed upon her neck, with each soft thrust of his hips against her back, her hunger grew.
Her body did liquefy, and had he not slid his right arm around her waist to steady her, Arian would have melted into the floor. Pressing his left hand to the left side of her face, he pushed her head toward his shoulder, exposing the tender flesh of her neck. His fingers slid hard against her skin, moving the lather away. Hot lips pressed to her vital vein there. Heat shot to the apex between her thighs and her skin flashed hot. Arian moaned and hung heavy in his arms. Her eyes half-closed, she let herself revel in the pure carnal experience of him bathing her.
He lathered her more, and this time his hands traveled in slow up-and-down motions, finally cupping her full breasts. She arched into his palms, his lips pressed to her neck. Hot desire speared down her flat belly. She arched more, wanting the buildup of pressure to ease.
He rubbed her nipples, pressing her harder into his hips. Voraciously he kissed and nibbled her neck. Breathless, she pressed her head into his shoulder, her lips parted, the air forced from her chest. She reached around and grasped his buttocks, digging her fingers into the linen of his braies.
Stefan moaned as his body tightened and his hips thrust against her back. Their bodies strained for one tense indefinable moment, knowing there was nowhere to go yet desperately wanting to go there.
He grasped the cradle of her hips, and she could feel him fight the tension in his body. She did not dare move lest she be the one to cause him to break his oath. He lathered her thighs, his big callused hands moving so wantonly slow along her smooth skin she wanted to scream. With one hand he drew her tighter against his bare chest, and holding her like that, he slowly poured water over her body, his hand sliding across her skin helpi
ng wash away the lather. He repeated several times, and with each rinse she felt him grow and tighten against her back. Arian arched back, and her right arm, wrapped around his neck, pulling him tighter against her. He sucked in a sharp breath.
“You are a wanton, Princess Arianrhod. You would tempt the saints with your touch.”
She half-turned and looked up at him, her breast pressed against his bare chest. The sensation sent jolts of hot desire through her. His eyes widened and she felt him surge against her. Swallowing hard, she closed her eyes for a long moment, composing herself. She was on fire and fought a tenuous battle with her body. Finally, she was able to speak. “But you are a demon.”
He turned her all the way around to face him, her breasts dragging across his skin in agonizing want. He dug his fingers into her hair, tilting her face up to his, and then lowered his lips to hers, and just before he kissed her he said, “I am.”
The contact was liquid fire, her body straining for something she could not have against his. His lips, hot, firm, and demanding, sent her senses reeling. He was all things manly, his leather and sandalwood scent, his hard muscles, his dominant possession of her wreaking havoc with everything that made her a woman.
Her hands pressed upon his chest, marveling at the hard play of his muscles beneath her fingertips. She slid her hands up his chest, then around his neck, the pain of her wound long forgotten. His arm tightened around her waist, his long fingers splayed upon the top swell of her buttocks, his other hand pulling her hair so that she arched harder into him. He tore his lips away, pressing his forehead against hers, his breath warm and hard against her cheeks. “Ari,” he breathed, “my body cannot stand more.”
She hung in his arms, wanting desperately to allow him to proceed, but knew she could not. Slowly she nodded, and lowered her arms from his neck, but she did not remove them from his body. Nay, she could not help but trail her palms and fingers down the hard planes of his chest and follow the line of the sword to the top of his raised braies. He grasped her hands.
“Do not torture me so.” He reached over and poured the last bucket of water over her, rinsing the last vestiges of lather from her body, then he drew the linen she had set on the rough counter and wrapped it around her. When she would not step from the tub, he scowled. “Go dress, before I cannot honor my oath.”
She opened her mouth to protest, suddenly feeling rejected, but he put two fingers to her lips. “Go.” His voice was tight, his face drawn, and she looked down at his braies. She knew what lay beneath and as much as her body burned for more of his touch, she knew if she were to remain chaste, she could not repeat what had just happened.
Arian hurried to the chamber and suddenly found herself very angry. Not at him but at herself. She had given in to her carnal craving with a man whom she did not know. A man who had kidnapped her! Why had she allowed him to touch her as he had? She was a princess, and he a self-proclaimed mercenary! A notch above a common churl. She was betrothed to a powerful jarl her uncles were kings, her aunts queens! And she had just allowed a commoner to touch her in a way only her noble husband should. Was she under some kind of spell? She had heard of captive Saxon women falling deeply in love with the Vikings who kidnapped them. Was this the same?
Nay. She was not willing to give her heart over to any man, least of all a mercenary. Magnus would be her husband; of that she was sure. Even if he had doubts and thought her impure, she would convince him differently. She was born to the noble house of Dinefwr, the daughter of the great Prince Hylcon! Had not Magnus turned away the bluest blood in Norway, England, and Denmark, choosing her above all others? Aye, he had, and he did so because he found something in her the others did not possess, and he would not foolishly cast her aside because of rumors. She would explain to him that Dag had not been what Magnus had thought he was and that the Saxon had saved her from certain rape; then she would prove to him she was a virgin in front of all of Norway if he insisted! Arian cringed at the thought of spreading herself before an audience, but she could well understand the reason for it. Magnus would want irrefutable proof in front of those who would challenge him. So be it. Arian dressed with confidence, sure her betrothed would not cast her aside.
But as she drew the brush she had found in the drawer through her damp locks, her body thrummed with heat. Her skin felt hot, then cold, then hot again. Gooseflesh shimmered along her limbs when she thought of the bath and the sensual way Stefan had kissed her. The way his fingertips brushed her most sensitive spots. Her back straightened. Arian pressed her hand to her breasts and gasped when her thumb brushed across a turgid nipple. She closed her eyes and pressed more firmly against it. She warmed, and that spot between her thighs tightened.
What was wrong with her? What had he done to her? But more importantly, how could she stop it?
Stefan watched her glide into the room, a golden angel, a princess, a woman whom he craved above all others, and a woman who was out of his realm of ever possessing. She was a royal, and he a bastard. She was betrothed, and he a knight of William, she a lady who under normal circumstances would not give the likes of him a second glance. Indeed, she would look down that pert little nose of hers at him and demand he hang for desiring her.
His eyes narrowed as she approached. The green tunic she wore was too large and it hung down low over one shoulder, exposing the creamy smoothness of her skin. He wanted to press his lips to her there and feel her heat. Her body was firm and supple. His cock thickened in his braies at the sight of her. Her breasts were sweet and the treasure between her thighs burned for a man’s touch. He wanted to be that man.
“My hunger is ravenous, sir knight,” she said.
Stefan’s blood quickened. He was ravenous as well. “ ’Twill not be too long.”
She nodded, but made no move from him. He moved past her and slowly turned the spit, ignoring her soft fresh scent, and the way it lingered in the air, beckoning him to come closer.
She regarded him with a quiet gaze and he would have given his right arm to know her thoughts. “Do you desire me?” she asked.
Stefan choked and looked hard at her. “What kind of question is that?”
“One that requires an honest answer.”
He nodded. “Aye, I desire you.”
“Why? Because I am handy?”
Stefan let go of the handle and squarely faced her. “I would desire you under any circumstance.”
“Again, I ask why?”
He smiled and touched her hair. His blood, already heated, quickened. The soft thickness felt like spun silk beneath his callused fingertips. “Because you are brave, and passionate, and beautiful.”
“What if I were not brave, nor passionate?” She yanked her hair from his grasp. “What if my face were that of a hag but I had this body. Would you still desire me?”
“I would desire your body.”
“What is the difference?”
He smiled slowly. “A man can find release between any willing thighs.”
“Is it the same for women?”
“I can tell you that the whores I buy scream that I am their one true love and I know they lie. I know some women who soften only for one man’s touch and no other will do.”
She peered at him hard, and slowly said, “I am confused. Magnus’s kisses were warm and tender. I did not mind them. But you?” She pressed her hand to his chest, and his heart slammed against it. “You do something else to me entirely, and I do not understand why. It distresses me that your touch evokes wantonness from me when my betrothed’s does not.” She chewed her bottom lip. “Do you think it is because he feels only a friendly warmth for me as well?”
“Mayhap. I do not know.”
She moved closer to him, the soft floral scent of her turning lethal. Stefan steeled himself. More than anything he wanted to touch her again. “Do you think, sir, that in time I could make him want me the way I want you?”
Very little shocked Stefan, but the princess’s question, then her innocent declara
tion, did. “I—I do not know.”
“Can it be taught?”
His blood caught on fire. “What exactly are you asking me?”
“I wish to know if it is possible to teach the thing between us.”
Her big silver eyes, almost black in the low light, looked innocently up at him. Stefan fought hard to keep from grabbing her hard to him and showing her without delay just how much a man could crave a woman. Instead, he laughed, breaking the tension in his body. “One cannot teach what only Mother Nature can give.”
Her arched brows furrowed. “You speak in riddles. What can the Goddess give that one cannot learn?”
No longer able to resist, Stefan traced a fingertip along the full bloom of her bottom lip. “Natural attraction.”
“Natural attraction? Is that what is between us?”
He nodded, wanting to show her just how naturally attracted to her he was. “Aye. It cannot be denied.”
Her frown deepened. “But even so, ’tis possible to become attracted to someone else and hold that attraction. If one is diligent and willing, there is a chance a couple can learn to be attracted to the other. I have seen many arranged unions blossom into love. ’Twas the way it was with my mother and father. They first met on their wedding day, and twenty years after her death my father still mourns her as if he lost her yesterday.”
“Why do you ponder this?” Stefan asked softly.
Arian sat down on the bench and let out a long breath. She looked up at him and said, “If I am to be honest with you, then I would ask for your honesty as well. For what I am about to discuss causes me some embarrassment.”
“I will be as honest as I can.”
“First, I must know, when my father gives you what you ask for my release, will you release me?”