Her gaze moved over his shoulders and she grimaced as she thought it surely a fancy to see him as vulnerable. Muscle rippled beneath the bronze of his flesh even as he slept. He was solidly toned. Tight and sleek and sinewed. The golden king of the wolves.… And I am leaving him. I must, she thought painfully, then suddenly wondered if he intended to keep his bargain this morning. It was possible that he had merely played with her, that he would laugh this morning and tell her he owed her nothing.
Fuming with the shame of her own eager behavior, she hastily began to slide from beneath his casually splayed limbs, trying to caution herself to take care. But this morning he was deeply asleep. Not a muscle flickered within his face.
Erin stood and stretched, staggering slightly at the soreness in her muscles, then looked hurriedly for the linen gown she had discarded the night before. She was congratulating herself upon her easy escape when she froze with horror, hearing a monotonous but firm tapping begin at the door. She flew to it, hoping to answer the summons before Olaf awoke.
Rig stood before her, a bit taken aback as the door was flung open with fury and Erin stared at him in wide-eyed dishevelment. He carried a tin of wash water, which sloshed precariously over his own hands as he took a step backward.
“Your pardon, my lady,” he murmured quickly. “I did not know if you wished a bath or no, but I brought this as your brother says he wishes to leave within two hours. He asks that you have your things ready—”
“What?” Erin interrupted, shaking her head with confusion as her brow furrowed. How could Brice know that she had finally received permission to travel with him? Olaf had not been out of the chamber since she had agreed to his bargain.
“My lord Olaf announced last night that you would be accompanying Brice and Gregory home to Tara,” Rig said cheerfully, certain he was bearing glad tidings. His smile faded as he saw Erin’s face pale and her lips compress. “Is something wrong? Shall I tell your brother that you are not well enough to undertake the journey?”
“Oh, no, Rig. No, no, no. I do certainly intend to undertake this journey.” Erin smiled through gritted teeth. “Please tell my brother I will have my things ready shortly and that I will be ready to leave at his convenience.” Erin reached for the tin of water and kept smiling as she closed the door. She turned and looked at the figure of the man on the bed, still peacefully sleeping, his lips still curled in a pleasant half smile. She had never seen him appear more comfortable. Even in his sleep it seemed that he was smugly, arrogantly, content.
A bolt of fury whipped through her, and it was all that she could do not to scream her rage aloud. Somehow she controlled herself, and took steps toward the bed with cool purpose. She paused again, her eyes narrowing as she surveyed the relaxed contours of his ruggedly handsome face. Then she raised the tin of water above his head and chest and twisted it with a swift movement, sending a cold deluge on him.
His eyes flew open with instant alarm and he jerked upward so quickly that she was forced to take a step back. His voice thundered out after his initial sputter with incredulous anger, “What in the name of the gods—”
He cut off as he saw her standing before him, her eyes narrowed and flashing dangerously, her delicate features tense and strained with rigid fury. He clashed his teeth together and his Nordic gaze narrowed in return. His voice, when he spoke again, was crisp and cold, filled with glacial warning and control as he removed himself from the puddle of water within the bedding. “I am hoping, Erin, that you can prove to me you have gone daft to make you behave so foolishly.”
He moved toward her, but she did not step back from him. Erin tossed the empty water tin at him in a furious motion that caught him unaware, causing him to grunt and bend with the unexpected pain as the receptacle hit him cleanly in his belly.
“Barter!” Erin raged, planting her hands on her hips with heedless fury. “You scurvy, devious, lying Viking bastard! Heathen dirt! Rat, worm, snake of the earth—”
She was cut off as he gripped her wrist and spun her about so that she fell against the bed, into the sodden coverings. But Erin was wild with her anger. She rose to her knees and began hurtling oaths at him again. “You had already said that I might go. Son of a Norwegian bitch!”
At that he stepped towards the bed, leaning against it with one knee as he caught her chin in a firm clasp from which she could not escape nor fight without punishing pain. “Take heed of your reckless tongue, Erin,” he said in a quiet but threatening warning, shaking his golden head of the water that dampened it. “Aye—I had decided last night that I would allow you to go. I never allow my decisions to be influenced by a woman.”
Erin jerked herself from his grasp with the strength of her fury. “Damn you!” she hissed, her fists knotting and pummeling against his chest. “Damn you to a thousand hells—”
To her credit, it took several moments of keen concentration for him to secure her wrists and subdue her wild fury. “Watch it, Irish!” he snapped. “You are here still, and I can easily change my mind.”
Erin tossed back her head and her hair streamed behind her in ebony disarray, highlighting the emerald fire in her eyes. “Nay, dog of the North, give me no more of your barters, bribes, or warnings! Never again will I heed your words—”
“Never have you given any heed to my words,” he retorted, grappling for a wrist once more as she broke free. “Were you ever to do so—”
“You tricked me! You deceived me! You used me—”
Olaf suddenly broke into laughter. “Nay, Irish witch, I but gave you leave to vent your own needs and desires. I believe that I shall miss you greatly.”
Erin struggled furiously to elude his hold, panting as she spoke. “That is difficult to fathom, Lord Wolf, as you choose to sleep elsewhere when I am present.”
“And does that bother you, Irish?”
Erin dodged to bite the hands that held her. This time he was quicker than she, releasing her so suddenly that she careened backward. Before she could regain her balance, he caught her ankles and jerked her to the edge of the bed, causing her gown to ride high up her waist and her legs to encircle his torso. Suddenly she was no longer seeking to hurt him, but desperately dragging at the linen of her shift.
He leaned low against her, pinioning her hands above her, wicked amusement lacing his eyes.
“I did not know, Irish, that you were feeling neglected. I would have returned to my own chamber sooner.”
“Let me go!” Erin hissed stubbornly, trying to ignore the intimate contact with his nudity.
Still he smiled. “Nay, witch, I cannot. I am a captive of all your moods, be they fair or foul. The seductress entices me to weakness, and yet the raving shrew also ignites the fires of my blood. And I cannot behave the gentleman, of course, because I am a Viking. And because I know that my haughty princess is also the most lusty of vixens.…”
“Damn you—you cannot do this to me!” Erin wailed, and something within her voice touched a chord within him. “You believe not a word that I say to you—”
“Erin,” he interrupted with a strange quality to his voice. “Perhaps you are mistaken. I cannot give you the blind trust that you ask—what happened was too severe. And yet you are a witch, for you do twist my mind with your righteous denials. But you continue to defy me.…”
She lay still suddenly, staring into his eyes, trying to fathom if he spoke truth, seeking whatever emotion lay within him. “I defied you only because I so craved the air and my freedom,” she murmured uneasily. Her eyes flared with anger once again. “But I am the one misused and abused, my lord. I tell you that it is my pardon you should be seeking.”
Suddenly he was laughing again, and the sound was husky, from his throat. “I do beg your forgiveness, wife, for neglecting you so long.…”
“OHHHH!” Erin grated out exasperated fury. But as she attempted to struggle against him again, she but shimmied herself against the aroused potency of his masculinity.
“Nay, Olaf—” she began, h
er eyes widening with realization of her position.
“I did not stray, my fiery wench!” He chuckled, his eyes and voice touching her with an unexpected warmth. “I but slept by the heat of my hearth since I could receive none in my chamber. Does that make you happy, wife?”
“Ecstatic,” she muttered sarcastically, shielding her eyes swiftly with her lashes.
“Aye, witch, I will miss you sorely,” he murmured, and again she was so stunned by the tender warmth in his voice that she noticed not his quick release of her wrists, and could only gasp as he shifted with smooth and expert ease to bring himself within her. His mouth lowered over her parted lips, seizing the advantage. His kiss filled her with his being. He broke it to whisper against her mouth. “Aye, witch, I will miss you as air to breathe, as water to drink. Deny me not this last remembrance of you, for it is not palatable to me that I allow you to go.”
Warm waters began a quivering rush through her with the fevered hunger of his words and slow, enticing movement. “Could I deny you if I chose?” she whispered weakly in return, too easily losing herself to the flaming embers of desire.
“Nay, wife,” he murmured huskily, thrusting deep and seeming to touch her heart, her soul.
She gasped, parting her lips to capture his, surrendering to the beguiling winds of storm. He gave so little, and yet she grasped at every crumb. But she had no desire to deny him. Indeed, she mourned the fact now that she would leave him, for it seemed that they were destined to part each time they reached out and almost touched.
She responded to him ardently, loving him with a passionate intensity soaring and mingling with his own.
CHAPTER
22
It was snowing. Soft, light flakes whirled delightfully in the air, landing on Erin’s woolen mantle and ebony hair in exquisite and delicate patterns.
She had been tired of the weary ride, and cold, but the snow began just as they reached the last hill before the duns and valleys of Tara, and its gentle touch somehow combined with the excitement of nearing home, and her spirits lifted.
She stared across the terrain, and upon the earthworks that fringed Tara, she saw the silhouette of a man. Her eyes narrowed as her horse’s hoofbeats continued their monotonous tread. Coming ever closer, she watched the man, a poignant stirring beginning in her blood. He was tall and straight, and yet his hair and beard were very gray. His countenance was a proud one, but weathered and wrinkled with the cares and wisdom of the years. His face is so thin, Erin thought, a pain clutching her stomach.
Suddenly she dug her heels into her mare’s flanks, leaving the others behind in a burst of speed. Snow and ground spewed in her wake as she flew across the space that separated them.
Aed watched as she came to him, his old heart seeming to stop and then take flight in nervous reverberations. It amazed him again that she was his, this child of such infinite grace and exquisite beauty. So much a picture of silver dreams as she rode, one with her horse, the delicate snowflakes mingling like diamond drops with the midnight ebony of her hair.
Coming to him … coming to him. He watched her face so anxiously as she approached, fear riddling through him. He wanted so badly to embrace her in his arms as the child she was no longer, and the terror of rejection kept him from stretching out his arms. As if he were a drowning man, his past life became an illusion before him. Erin, taking first steps toward him on wobbly legs, Erin flying on her dainty feet to be the first to embrace him when he returned from the field.… And always the dazzle of the land within her eyes.
The horse stopped before him and she leaped from the mare’s back. Tentatively he met her eyes. He barely saw their brilliance before she was hurtling her slender body into his arms, and where he had stood straight, he suddenly shook.
“Father,” she whispered, and the tears that slid from his eyes to his cheeks blended with the delicate flakes of the light drifting snow. He knew he had been forgiven.
Eric surveyed the table and floor with dry amusement. Today Moira had presented Sigurd with a healthy, squalling baby girl, and the Vikings, ready to celebrate at any excuse, had spent the evening in revelry and song—and in a good bit of wenching and drinking. A goodly number of his men had staggered on out to stables or rooms, but a goodly number also lay where they had fallen on the floor. An arm was draped over the table near him. He picked it up and allowed it to drop once more. It fell like dead weight, as the man merely careened with a groan to a more assured resting spot. Eric chuckled softly and drained the last of his ale, thinking of his brother. The Wolf had drunk with his men, but no amount of ale seemed to ease his brooding tension. Eric grinned again. The Wolf had met his match in an Irish vixen and it seemed he didn’t quite understand that fact yet. The longer she was gone, the worse his temper became. We are all fools, he mused. We do not see when we are the conquered. But his brother Olaf had done quite well. Dubhlain thrived in peace and harmony with her Viking and Irish inhabitants. Olaf’s cellars were filled with meat and grain and mead and ale; his fields were planted by willing hands, his sheep and cattle well tended. He was a powerful man, and more. He was cunning. He knew when to wage war and when to seek peace. He earned the respect and loyalty of fuidar and king.
Eric glanced sharply to the heavy doors of the hall as they swung open. His brother entered, quite sobered, and looking like a host of thunderclouds loosed by the gods.
Olaf glanced Eric’s way sourly as he came to the hearth and stood before the fire, warming his hands. “What, brother? You still sit straight? And alone? It is my observance that few maids may be left in Dubhlain upon your departure.”
Eric chuckled, unruffled. “Brother, there are nights when I choose to be an observer. There has only been one with worth to capture my heart within this hall, and alas, I was condemned to call her sister.”
Olaf groaned with impatience, rubbing his temple with his fingers. “It appears she has taken your heart, brother.”
Eric shrugged. “And your own?”
“I do not give my heart. I did so once, and the pain of finding it shattered was worse than that of a Danish axe.”
“Grenilde is dead, Olaf. You live, and so does your Irish beauty.”
“Aye,” Olaf muttered bitterly. “Irish beauty. Cliffs are beautiful, my brother, as is the sea, and both are treacherous.”
Eric stood and stretched, nudging a man aside with his foot. “Olaf, you have proven yourself a great prince, the mightiest of warriors, and the most proficient of kings. You are powerful, and you know your strength, and yet you have always been merciful in that strength. You have a far-seeing capacity to pardon those who have wronged you, and the capability to give back where you have taken. You are careful and judicial. And yet it appears, brother, that you have condemned the greatest heart of all that you have conquered, without thought of justice. To build, to dream, you stand outside yourself. You have no fear in battle when you gamble your life, and yet in life itself, brother, I believe you are afraid. Take another gamble, brother. Judge again as the king of wolves might, not the husband. You are missing your wife. Go to her. Bring her back.”
Olaf stared at his brother with his temper barely held in check, and yet Eric did not fear his wrath. As he had spoken, Olaf was a man of justice; he would not seek revenge against the truth.
“Brother,” Olaf finally said coldly, “does not the sea beckon to you as yet? Hasn’t the time for you to go a-Viking come again?”
Eric grimaced ruefully. “That it has, Wolf. But I had thought perhaps you wanted my presence here were you to undertake a journey. Sigurd should have help if Dubhlain is assailed in your absence.”
Olaf opened his mouth to speak, shut it, and stared at the flames in the hearth once more. “Aye, brother, I intend to travel and to bring her home. My son will be born in the Viking stronghold of Dubhlain.”
Eric said nothing more, but he smiled as he quit the hall to leave his brother to his thoughts and images within the flame.
It was cold, but Erin was
warmly garbed against the fresh chill of the air. The chapel had been stifling, and this morning her prayers had wandered continually. On her knees with her back straight as the priest droned on and on, she was vastly discomfited, and endured it only for her mother’s sake. If there truly were a heaven, Leith and Fennen would abide there; their sins had been but those of youth. If God existed, he would welcome such men no matter what was said or done by others in their behalf.
She inhaled sharply of the morning air and smiled a little sadly as she stared at the houses in the valley before her. She did love Tara dearly. Under the light blanket of pure white snow, it appeared ever more regal and glittering, this place of kings. There would never be a time in Erin’s life when she would forget Tara, or cease to think of it as her beloved childhood home. The stream where she had played, the emerald-green slopes where she had fought and tangled with her brothers, the Grianan where she had sat so many times with Maeve, trying to learn neat little stitches with her toes tapping impatiently as she thought of the vast world outside.
She was glad she had come. She had craved to see her mother, and Maeve had seemed so old and haggard with her grief. Erin knew that her presence was like a healing potion for Maeve. She was able to loosen her grip on her pain and the past as she fretted over her daughter’s pregnancy. Erin smiled slightly. It was a wonderful time for them both. Maeve needed so badly to expend her love and energy and maternal instincts, and Erin could not help but enjoy the petting and pampering, so gentle and tender to her bruised soul.
But still, the greatest wonder of coming home had been seeing her father again. The rift between them had been unbearable to them both. Seeing his face lighten with a smile was a boon she would have trudged mountain and vale to achieve; knowing that she had unburdened his heart was pure balm to her own. She had spent uncounted hours with him since her arrival, times of great and touching love she could store within her memory for all the years of her life to come.
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