Master of Craving

by Karin Tabke

  Silently she helped him untack the horse. When he turned to rub down the destrier, she scurried off into the wood. He let out a long sigh. They would need to eat. He built a small fire to heat the leftover haunch of the pig. ’Twould have to suffice.

  After some time he glanced into the darkened wood, his concern growing when the princess failed to return. Mayhap she needed time to herself. God only knew he did. A solitary man even with his brothers, he did not do well in forced social situations. He knew not words of love and humor, as did Warner and other swains. He was quiet and serious, always watching the goings-on around him rather than partaking in them.

  Just as he stood to fetch her, she emerged, holding the hem of her tunic to her belly, and, in so doing, exposing her long shapely legs. Heat flared in his groin. “Berries!” she announced, spreading her bounty on a big supple leaf before him. “Lots and lots of berries!”

  Stefan shook his head and turned from her. He removed his mail hauberk and sword belt, but kept his mail chauses on. Mostly to keep as much metal as possible between his cock and the vixen sitting down on a rock before the fire.

  He fitted the leg of pig onto the spit he had carved and propped it over the meager fire. Arian walked to the nearby stream and washed her hands, then wandered back toward him and stood staring at him. He returned her gaze, but did not speak. She raised her chin and set it—a look he was beginning to know meant trouble.

  “When we arrive at this safe place you speak of, I demand to immediately send word to my father and to Moorwood that I am alive.”

  He spoke carefully. “Word will be sent to those who need to know you are alive and in my care.”

  Her face drained of color. “Must you say I am your hostage? Assumptions will be made! Does this Draceadon have a lady? Say ’tis she who holds me. My reputation is blighted as it is. Cadoc and Ivar will flap their jaws; indeed, my father is probably already aware of my shame.”

  His muscles tensed. To occupy them, he turned the spit above the low fire. “You insult me with your words, princess.”

  She knelt down beside him. “My apologies, but ’tis the truth.”

  He scowled. “Would your reputation be less blighted if you had been found naked in the arms of a magnate?”

  Her head snapped back and her eyes narrowed. “You misunderstand me, sir. My shame is the same regardless of the man.”

  Her explanation took some of the sting from his pride. He nodded. “ ’Tis most unfortunate for a woman. A man abed with a bevy of beauties is applauded for his prowess. But if a woman, most especially a royal such as yourself, finds herself in a compromising position not of her own making, she is scorned.”

  “Nay, ’tis not fair. And for that reason alone I must get to Magnus before Ivar and his steward Sir Sar do. I cannot go back to Dinefwr!”

  Her adamant tone caused him to wonder aloud. “What happened there?” Her cheeks flushed and she looked away. The urge to reach out to her and comfort was strong, but he resisted it. “Who hurt you?”

  Without looking at him, she said, “No one.” She turned to face him and some of the despair fled her eyes. “Not like you think. ’Tis just better for everyone in my family that I no longer reside amongst them.”

  “Tell me of your family.” His question surprised him. Since he took up the sword, he had never been interested enough to ask a woman of her life.

  She poked at the embers with a stick casting them from the rock enclosure like fireflies. “My mother died giving birth. Each year on the anniversary of her death, my father walks the castle grounds, calling for her. These last few years, his bouts of sadness have taken longer to go away. Too many times, he has called out to me thinking I am her. It sends my stepmother Morwena into fits of madness, and my brother Rhodri into fits of rage.”

  “I have met your sire. He struck me as a walking dead man.”

  Her head snapped back in surprise. “When did you meet him?”

  “My liege sent me several years ago to breed his mares to that devil of a blood bay stallion. He nearly killed them!”

  Arian threw her head back and laughed. “That is Bell Mawr. He has lived up to his reputation. He is the greatest stud at Dinefwr, and my father’s constant companion. His son Belenus, out of my mare Fahadda, will prove to be even more potent. ’Tis my gift to my husband,” she said softly.

  “Where are the horses?”

  “I will assume with Cadoc. My maid Jane, who is as ancient as these oaks, rides with the train. I fear for her health.” Taking up the stick, she poked at the embers again. “I could not bear to lose her, she is my only link to my mother. She brought me into this world. No one understands me as she does.” She crushed an errant ember beneath the stick. “I have lost much on this journey.”

  “But you did gain a few things, did you not?” He chuckled when her cheeks pinkened.

  “Last night was wrong.”

  He shook his head, not wanting this argument with her, but he could not resist reaching out to her. He lifted her chin with his fingers so that she could see he meant his words. “For me there are no regrets.”

  Her eyes searched his face, for what he was not sure. “Have you ever loved a woman?”

  His hand dropped from her. He laughed harshly. “I do not even understand the meaning of the word.”

  “Have you ever wanted a woman so badly that nothing else mattered? Wanted her so badly you would give up your life for her?”

  As she asked the questions, his heart suddenly did not feel so closed, because he realized that as much as he thought he had loved Lisette, he had never loved her enough to give up everything for her, least of all his life. ’Twas his pride that suffered the blow of her rejection, not his heart. And with that realization, some of the hardness left him. “There was a maid once. I thought I loved her.”

  “What happened?”

  His face tightened. “She had a better offer.”

  “Stefan, I am sorry.”

  “Do not be. ’Twas meant to be, and I am happy with my life.” He scooped up a handful of berries, popped them into his mouth, and thoughtfully chewed. “Have you ever loved a man?”

  “Nay. Nor do I wish to. I see the heartache my father lives with each day, and the misery of Morwena knowing his heart will never be hers to share.”

  “You do not love the Jarl then?”

  She shrugged and picked at a few berries. “Nay, but he pleases me. He is a good man and we are suited.”

  “No hopes for love?”

  Vigorously, she shook her head. “Nay! I do not want the heartache of eventual loss, or worse, rejection. I will be a dutiful wife, raising my children and seeing to my husband’s estates. For myself I will breed my horses.”

  Stefan grinned and grabbed more berries. They were sweet and juicy in his mouth. “Aye, one day I will have hides of land to do the same. But I will also train them for battle.”

  “At least we have that commonality.”

  He grinned over at her. “There is that other thing we have in common.”

  Her cheeks flushed crimson. “Do not remind me of it, Stefan.”

  His heart thudded hard against this chest. Aye, the thing between them was ever present, like the storm now brewing above. One day soon, if they were not careful, it would burst open and thunder down upon them, and there would be no stopping what the Goddess chose to give.

  Stefan nodded, and turned to the meat. “ ’Tis done.” He gave her the bulk of it and himself drank the bulk of the wineskin. He sat with his back against a large rock, his wounded leg straight out, his good leg bent at the knee with his elbow propped upon it, and watched her from beneath hooded eyelids. He watched the way her hips swayed and the way her full breasts pushed against the thin fabric of her garment. He watched the way her lips, glossy from the meat, pursed as she stoked the fire, and the way her slender fingers pushed back her thick, glorious hair. Aye, he watched everything about her, and his cock lengthened.

  When she returned from washing her hands in
the stream, she stopped short when she caught his brooding gaze upon her. He watched the spark of desire flare in her eyes’ deep silver depths. Her cheeks pinkened and she looked away, and hurried to a spot across the fire from him where she had laid down on Rhys’s wolf pelt. She rolled over, presenting her back to him.

  He watched her twitch and turn and move about, finding no position comfortable. He watched her roll over now, facing him, feigning sleep. In the low light of the flickering flames, he watched her cheeks pinken from the low heat. And the slow rise and fall of her bosom. Her nipples beaded beneath the fabric and he knew she thought of him. He refused to set the skin aside and go to her. He refused to go to the edge again. He refused to break his oath to her, and to himself. But more than that, he refused to destroy her life. For if he breached her, all would be lost for her, and he would hold himself solely responsible.

  When she moved again, this time to lie flat on her back, he called to her in his mind, and watched mesmerized as she turned onto her side and faced him, her eyes dark and filled with naked desire. “Do you understand now why we cannot continue?” he softly queried.

  Slowly she shook her head.

  “We can control this craving that is between us—now. But if we continue, the craving will control us.”

  Morning broke dark and ominous, thick moisture filling the air. ’Twas a bad omen. He tacked up Apollo, donned his mail and sword belt, then roused Arian. “Come, the sky is full. If we hurry we can make Draceadon before it unleashes.”

  Quickly she hurried into the forest. She returned as quickly, and just as he swung her up into the saddle the first big drops of rain plopped down upon them. He vaulted up behind her, grabbed the reins, and urged Apollo home. He held her tightly against him as the rain slickened the leather turning it treacherous. ’Twas torture holding her so close, but he did not want her to fall. The rain mixed with her natural scent created a most hypnotic potion.

  With each step closer to the old Roman fortress that was Wulfson’s home—and for a time had been his—Stefan felt his excitement mount. By the day’s end his messengers would be on the road delivering his demands, and soon he would be reunited with his brothers.

  Arian shivered hard in his arms, jerking his attention that had not really strayed to focus solely on her. With every gain there was a loss, and he could admit to himself he would miss her. Most women feared him. They did not understand what drove him, and he did not care enough to ever enlighten any one of them. But with Arian it was different. He had spoken more to her these last few days than he had to his brothers in a year’s time! He did not question the whys; he was not the philosophical type. He was more basic. If he liked a certain wine or horse or sword, he just accepted it; he did not delve into the reasons why. ’Twas the same with Arian.

  “We are almost there, Arian,” he said softly against her ear. As the words left his mouth, they rounded a sharp bend on the well-traveled road. Stefan’s heart stopped. Arian gasped and he felt her chest rise, then fall, as the scream left her mouth.

  ’Twas Ralph, his nobleborn cousin, and that sniveling fool Philip d’Argent. They were just as surprised to see him, and instinctively Stefan knew that should he approach them he would lose the princess.

  Whirling the black away from the Normans, Stefan spurred the steed, and prayed the tender hoof would hold until Draceadon was in sight. Grasping Arian tightly to his chest, they burst headlong into the thick forest. Shouts and thundering hooves followed close behind. God’s blood! He ran from his own countrymen! But he would not take even the slightest chance and risk losing the key to his brothers’ release. Arian ducked low in his arms, branches and brambles tearing at her arms and face. He pulled her closer, leaning over her to protect her, and found himself the recipient of the vicious lashes.

  Stefan knew if they kept their pace and direction they would come out on the main road to Dunloc, if they could make it that far. Then Draceadon was but two leagues south. He chanced a look over his shoulder and scowled in the thickening rain. Only a handful of Ralph’s men pursued. That meant the others had gone ahead. On the open road, they could come out before them. Stefan urged the horse faster, determined to break the road ahead of them and charge up the steep hill to Draceadon and to safety.

  Arian held on for her life, as her fear raced at the same breakneck speed as the mighty destrier. Fervently she prayed that the Normans would not catch them. Not only were they her enemy, but enemy to all of Wales. She had heard the terrible tales of how they raped and pillaged all who stood in their way. They were vicious, arrogant and not to be trusted. Gruesome images flashed in her mind’s eye, terrifying her. Holding on to the high pommel to keep from slipping off as the horse beneath her careened through the dense foliage. She kept her head low and tried to be as still as she could. One wrong move could send them both toppling to the ground below, ending the chase, and perhaps their lives.

  They broke into a small clearing, with a swift flowing river on the other side. The cold rain came harder now, soaking her tunic, prickling her face. Continually she pushed back her wet hair from her face. Arian chanced a look over her shoulder and nearly died on the spot. Through the gray driving rain, she saw at least a score of mailed knights hotly pursuing them. Stefan urged the horse faster. They plunged into the cold water. With strong sure strides, the black moved them across and toward the far bank. As they slipped up the muddy slope, Arian took another look behind them and thanked the Goddess and God for the small reprieve.

  “The Normans’ horses balk!” she cried to Stefan. He did not look but urged the horse once again into the forest, their reckless pace picking up. The race continued, and with each twist and turn in the wood, she clutched tighter to the pommel and prayed they were one more step from the gaping jaws of the terrible Normans. They broke through the forest edge onto a muddy well-worn road. Stefan reined the horse south and the mad pace continued.

  “We are almost there, Ari, hold on,” Stefan whispered in her ear. She pressed back into him. Small spatters of blood dripped on her cheek, she looked up to see that the bottom part of his wound had ripped open. Biting her lip, she kept silent, knowing that to speak would only distract him.

  It occurred to her then at that very second, despite their perilous flight, this man, this mercenary Saxon, had saved her from disaster not once but twice, and come what may she owed him more than her life. She also knew that this thing between them, whatever it was, bound her to him, and no matter what course their lives took, it could never be severed.

  It gave her great comfort to know that this man would, for reasons unknown to them both, lay down his life for her. The realization stunned her, but it also gave her great confidence. He would keep her safe from the Normans and he would see her safely returned to either her father or Magnus.

  “Jesu!” Stefan said under his breath, and kicked the lathered horse faster. Ahead, coming straight at them at a furious pace, more riders, two score at least, flying a standards she did not recognize. Arian steeled herself for the ultimate collision as she watched one of the knights break from the group and gallop toward them. Stefan grabbed her tighter to his chest, if that were possible, and as they approached Arian made out the sapphire-and-gold standard of a dragon on the end of the knight’s lance. She scowled. ’Twas a small knight, but he rode with the fury of one possessed.

  “Stefan!” A woman’s scream tore through the damp air. Arian stiffened. As the name reached them, the garrison of knights behind the small leader charged forward.

  Stefan did not slow the black, but kept the furious pace. “Tarian! Normans behind! To Draceadon!”

  “We shall hold them!” the knight returned. A woman knight? Dumbstruck, Arian watched the huge gray that the lady knight rode rear up as the sea of knights they rode into parted for them to pass. She looked over her shoulder, completely baffled by this sudden turn of events, and watched the lady’s knights regroup and charge toward the pressing Normans. Confused but keenly aware that the immediate danger of b
eing captured by Normans had lessened, Arian kept her silence as they continued their mad gallop. The landscape blurred behind them before they broke into a wide meadow. It spread out like a glistening green ocean before it swooped up, and at its peak, the high dark walls of a fortress rose up from the hill like a dragon of yore, wings raised, poised to strike his enemy. Arian gasped. “ ’Tis like a dragon’s wings!”

  “Draceadon,” Stefan whispered hoarsely above the thundering hooves.

  As they approached the wide studded doors, Stefan called up to the lookout, “ ’Tis Stefan, allow me entry!”

  Slowly the heavy gates swung back. A sudden thought hit Arian amidst all of the turmoil: was the lady knight Stefan’s lady love? ’Twas obvious by their quick exchange she held his word dear. And the lookout? Stefan was known to him; had he not been, the gates would have remained firmly closed. A prickle of some emotion she had no experience with jabbed at her belly.

  As they passed through the narrow opening, Arian dared another look over her shoulder, and saw that the entire Saxon garrison stood at the bottom of the steep hill, facing the Normans.

  She dared not breathe a sigh of relief. While she felt Stefan would protect her, now they were at the mercy of the lord of the manor. Would he help? Or would he too hold her for ransom?

  They rode through the forbidding gates of the menacing fortress and into a bailey, then farther on to a courtyard. Stefan grabbed her from the saddle and handed her off to a golden-haired girl who stood wide-eyed, out of the rain, just inside the wide doors to the hall. “Lady Brighid, see to her until I return with Lady Tarian.”

  He reined the horse around and to Arian’s utter astonishment; he rode back toward the Normans.

  Stefan charged down the hill to the standoff, pushing the destrier to the limit. When he reined his horse up beside Lady Tarian’s gray, he nodded to her, then to her stalwart captain, Gareth, who broke into a smile beneath his helm. Slowly he turned to his cousin, who, despite Stefan’s torn and bloodied face, immediately recognized him. He watched Ralph’s eyes, so much like his own, narrow behind his helm. Feeling at home with Tarian and Gareth and her loyal men at his back, Stefan grinned.