Blow

by Demelza Carlton

  THIRTY-THREE

  "I wish you both well. You may...you may use my house for the consummation. I shall return in the morning," Father Fintan said, ducking out the door and into the rain before Rudolf could stop him.

  Rudolf and Portia stared at each other for a moment. His heart sank at the fear in her expression. He'd dreamed of this night for half his life, but never had he imagined his first night with her would be in a tiny, cold cottage with a straw pallet so thin and narrow they may as well be making love on the floor like animals. He'd imagined a roaring fire, a room so warm she'd want to take her clothes off, and a big, carved bed like the one he'd slept in in Viken.

  "We don't have to do this if you do not wish to," Rudolf said.

  She tossed her head. "We do. My father, Mason and this bloody king of his will dissolve a marriage that hasn't been consummated as quickly as salt in a stew pot." She hoisted her skirts up to her waist. "Where would you have me, husband?"

  Husband. The word sounded so good on her lips, and yet...there was no love in the way she said it. Like his firebrand of a wife had died inside by marrying him.

  Rudolf dismissed the priest's pallet, but that left him little more to choose from. He wanted to hold her close, to kiss her, to make her comfortable when he made love to her for the first time.

  Reidar had made his bride scream for joy on their wedding night. They'd known each other for barely two days, and the whole castle had known just how much the queen loved her king. Rudolf had loved Portia for half his life, and he vowed he would show her that tonight.

  Women enjoyed lovemaking more when they were on top, he'd heard, so Portia must mount him. That mean..."There," he said, pointing at a bench by the wall. He sat down on the broad seat, and patted his knees. "Sit here, my lady."

  With some difficulty, owing to her bundled up skirts, Portia climbed into his lap. Gently, Rudolf guided her around to face him, so she straddled him.

  "This is not how my sisters did it," she protested. "Their husbands made them lie down and..." She paled and didn't finish.

  "When we have a bed worthy of you, I shall lay you down upon it, and show you every pleasure a man can give a woman," Rudolf promised. "But tonight, it is here or the floor, I'm afraid."

  He could feel the heat of her, now, burning through his tunic. With her skirts so high, she was naked to the waist, and he longed to stroke her lovely legs right until he reached the apex where they met and then...

  She squirmed in his lap. "Why are you so hard?"

  His cock only hardened further in response. He freed it from the folds of his clothes and laid it beside her leg. "Because you are so beautiful," he said.

  She didn't seem to hear him. Her alarmed gaze was fixed on his cock. "You're going to stick that huge thing into me?"

  He wanted to laugh, but he feared that wouldn't help. He'd never seen his fearless Portia look so frightened. "Actually, the way we're sitting, you'll be in control of that. I'll just position it right, and all you have to do is sink down on it, as slowly as you like."

  "Very well."

  She rose. If she hadn't been wearing her clothes, Rudolf could have kissed her breasts. Next time they made love, he vowed, they'd be naked and he'd kiss them for twice as long to make up for it. Maybe even suck on her nipples a bit, too, if she liked that.

  His cock was rock hard now, jutting toward her so eagerly it took all his willpower not to grab her hips and slam her down upon it. They had all night, he reminded himself. All night to take this as slowly as she needed.

  Portia set her hands on his shoulders and glanced down. "It looks even bigger now. Are you sure it will fit?"

  "Of course," he soothed, cupping one hand around her bottom to bring her closer. He wrapped his other hand around his shaft, positioning the head of his cock right against her sweet spot. One small push and the irresistible heat of her engulfed the tip. He sucked in a breath, fighting down the urge to thrust hard and deep into her. "Now, just sink down and I'll slide right in."

  He closed his eyes, savouring the feel of her. Her nails dug into his shoulders as her molten heat embraced him, inch by inch, so tight he wanted to moan in bliss. He had to let her control this. He had to. Because if he did...in two or three thrusts he'd be done, she felt so incredibly good.

  He cupped her bottom in both hands now, squeezing her soft flesh to stop himself from pushing her all the way down in one mighty shove.

  And then, in one delicious eternity, she'd sheathed him completely, clenched down so hard on him that Rudolf feared his cock would blow then and there. He didn't dare move, she felt so exquisite. "God, Portia, that feels amazing."

  She let out a sound that sounded like a sob.

  Rudolf's eyes flew open.

  Tears streamed down Portia's cheeks. "Please, finish this quickly, Dolf. It hurts so!"

  He shifted and she cried out – definitely not in pleasure.

  "Please," she begged.

  He ripped his cock out of her as if he'd burned it, as well he might have. He tucked himself away, swearing at himself for being such a fool. Portia stumbled back, away from him, clutching her skirts to her face as she sobbed into them.

  A thin trickle of blood ran down her thigh. Maiden's blood, for Portia was a maiden no more. He'd seen to that, and pretty damn clumsily, too.

  Rudolf rose and sat Portia down on his seat. He found a bucket of water and a cloth, cleaning off the blood before she could see it. She cried out as he touched the cloth to her lower lips and Rudolf stopped. He'd dealt with most of the mess.

  He dropped the cloth in the bucket and smoothed down Portia's skirts before he took her in his arms. "Shh, it's all right. It's over, it's over. Everything's put away, so you just hold onto me and cry as much as you need to."

  God, she felt good in his arms, too. Not quite as good as she did with his cock buried balls deep in her, but nearly. Nearly. Maybe another night, when –

  "Please don't make me do that again, Dolf. It hurt so much!" Portia begged.

  Maybe never. Rudolf sighed. Who'd have thought he'd have such a clumsy cock? So much for giving his bride a blissful wedding night, or any night, for that matter.

  "I'll never do anything to hurt you, Portia. I swear it." He swallowed. "And there's no need for more. The marriage is consummated. You did it. You and everyone on your island are safe. No one can dissolve our marriage now."

  He held her as she cried herself out, murmuring endearments aloud even as he silently cursed himself. He had what he wanted – the wife of his dreams, and all the Southern Isles. So why did victory feel as cold and miserable as stroking his own cock in the rain?

  Because that's what he'd be doing, as soon as Portia fell asleep, he told himself, so he wouldn't frighten her with the sight of him again. But in the meantime, he could hold her close and love her, in whatever way she wanted. Because one thing was certain – Rudolf loved his wife, and he'd do anything for her.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  Portia awoke cold and stiff, like she'd slept on the stone. And with ache between her legs that reminded her...

  Rudolf. He'd returned, and she'd married him last night. She'd known he was too big, but she'd done it anyway. And now he was...

  Not here.

  But it couldn't have been a dream!

  She wouldn't have dreamed such a terrible wedding night. Not with Rudolf. Heaven help her, she'd cried herself to sleep in his arms.

  No wonder he was gone.

  "Good morning, my lady. Do you wish to break your fast?"

  Portia sat up. The middle aged priest who'd married them last night stood by the table with his head bowed, as if not daring to look at her.

  "Or perhaps you would like to wash?"

  Memories of Rudolf's hands on her thighs as he cleaned the most intimate parts of her made her blush. What must he think of her?

  She turned suspicious eyes on the priest. "Do you know who I am?"

  He smiled. "Of course, Lady Portia. Prince Rudolf was most adamant that I tak
e good care of you until he returns to collect you. He even sent a man with breakfast, so that you might not go hungry. This is more than a poor priest usually sees unless he is invited to a feast." He waved at the table. "I look forward to the feast when they make him High Lord of the Isles, as is his due."

  "What?" Her father was High Lord of the Isles, not Rudolf. Rudolf didn't hold lands here. He was a Viken prince. He probably owned an ice floe somewhere in Viken.

  "I remember the first council meeting Lord Angus brought him to. He was the first man ashore, at Lord Angus's behest. I knew it then, but it is even more clear now. Prince Rudolf will rule us well."

  Rule? Rudolf? She'd married him, but...

  The priest coughed. "Sorry, my lady. I forget that you are a new bride and perhaps have other things on your mind. Many new brides see their husband differently in the light of day after their wedding night. I often have to remind them that if they lay with their husband often enough, he will never stray, and may soon bless her with strong sons or beautiful daughters. I counsel – "

  "Where is Rudolf now?" Portia interrupted. She had no need for a lecture on her marital duties from a man who knew little about them.

  "I imagine he is with his army, preparing for battle."

  "No!"

  "I am sure he will return when it is all over. He asked that I keep you safe."

  "To blazes with safe. There should be no battle. Good men will die if he continues with this stupidity." She smoothed her dress, retying her laces though she did not need to. "Do you possess a comb?" Heaven help her, but she would not turn up at an army camp with straw in her hair.

  "Of course, my lady. No mirror, though, but sometimes I find the collection plate is shiny enough to see myself." He held up the bronze dish, and Portia peered at her reflection.

  She cursed as she saw the straw in her hair. Combing the mess would be more painful than coupling with Rudolf last night, but she must. She made short work of it, then thanked the priest for his help.

  "Eat, my lady." The priest pushed the bread toward her.

  She did not have time, yet she must. Portia seized a piece of bread in one hand and a chunk of cheese in the other. She could eat on the way.

  The priest helped her fasten her cloak, and she burst outside into the late morning sun. Nearly noon. She broke into a run.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  Just before noon, the gate opened to let out a boat bigger than the coracle Rudolf had sent across the loch yesterday. With three armoured men aboard, it was no surprise. Two red heads watched from the tower window, but he knew neither belonged to Portia. No, she was safe with Father Fintan.

  He'd ordered his men back from the lake shore, but they still stood to watch. Few wore weapons or armour as he did – this was supposed to be a peace negotiation. Yet the men in the boat looked ready for war.

  As the three stepped ashore, one emerged as a definite leader. The castellan who'd ordered the gates open yesterday, Rudolf guessed. Was this Portia's man, Grieve, or someone else?

  Rudolf removed his helm so that he might see them better. The men waited until they reached him before they did the same.

  "Wolf," the castellan said, with the slightest nod. No, Rudolf did not know this man.

  "Rudolf?" one of his companions said, nudging the third man. "We thought you'd buggered off back to Viken!"

  "Damhan, Dermot," Rudolf greeted them after a moment's thought. "As you can see, I have returned."

  Dermot grinned. "You never were one to run from a fight. I remember the day you arrived, I knocked you down once, but none of the other boys could touch you. You just got up and brushed it off. That's the day you found the Three Little Pigs!" His glee faded as quickly as it had come. "It seems we need your help again."

  The castellan hushed him with a glare. "We are not here to ask for help. We are here to negotiate better terms than the ones you offered yesterday." He planted his feet firmly. "We will not hand over Lady Portia."

  Won't, or can't? Rudolf wondered. Did they know she was missing?

  "Did you ask Lady Portia?" he asked.

  The three exchanged glances. Yes, they did, and yet they'd come to negotiate with him, knowing they had nothing he wanted. That took courage.

  "What the lady wants is of no consequence. We have sworn an oath to protect her, and we will."

  Rudolf snorted. He couldn't help it. "Have you even met Portia?"

  This could not be Grieve. No man she spoke of so highly would try to peddle such nonsense.

  He toyed with the idea of telling the man he was her husband. Then he'd have his answer, for no man who loved her could hide his pain at hearing that.

  The castellan drew his sword. "Have you?"

  A collective gasp rose from the men behind him. This was no way to conduct a peace negotiation.

  "Sheath that thing, you bloody fool!"

  The castellan's eyes widened and he nearly dropped his sword. "Rhona?"

  "You lay one finger on this man, Wolf Prince, and our alliance is over!" Rhona said, striding to the man's side.

  It seemed the alliance was over already.

  Rudolf narrowed his eyes. "Who are you?"

  The castellan opened his mouth, but it was Rhona who answered, "He's Grieve Lewisson, my betrothed, and the head of Lady Portia's personal guard." She turned on the man. "Why have the Albans sent you to negotiate?"

  Damhan and Dermot burst out laughing. "What Albans? They've all fled, like the cowards they are. Even Mason, when we shut him out. Council Island and the castle belong to Lady Portia."

  "No. It belongs to my husband." Portia's voice rang out over the water as she strode along the shore. She wore no shoes and her gown was muddied to the knees, but she walked like a queen. No sign of last night's downpour of tears. Now, she was the storm.

  "Lady Portia! Thank the heavens!" Only now did Grieve sheathe his sword. "What happened to you? We thought...my lady, your boots!"

  If his men hadn't noticed before, they did now.

  But that's what he loved about Portia. Thousands of armed men watching, holding their collective breath, and she merely tossed her head and said, "I'm sure my husband will buy me new ones when he is done here." She laid a possessive hand on his arm, lining up beside him against Rhona and Grieve. She lifted her burning gaze to Rhona, something even Rudolf would have hesitated to do.

  Should he warn her? he wondered, but there was no time.

  "Lady Rhona," Portia said, offering the woman her cheek. "It is a pleasure. I have heard so much about you."

  The two women kissed. A little stiffly, to be sure, for they were strangers, but the power play between them was palpable. The witch who terrified his men capitulated to Portia.

  "I look forward to your wedding. You must sit beside me at the feast to celebrate mine," Portia said. She shot a pointed look at Rudolf. "Of course, you and Grieve must sit with us at the high table. I insist."

  "My lady," Grieve said weakly, looking from one woman to the other.

  "I hope you mean Rhona, for I'm not yours any more. Protecting me is Prince Rudolf's job now." Her fingers squeezed his arm. "Isla is ours!"

  Rudolf's men took up the cry until it echoed around the valley. He wanted to weep, but knew he could not.

  The war was over, and Portia was safe. His to protect.

  "But what will your father say?" Grieve asked.

  Portia didn't flinch. "We will find out when he returns home. In the meantime, my husband will take his place in council."

  And not a man among them dared argue. The Lady of Isla had spoken.

  THIRTY-SIX

  She smiled through her wedding feast and said all that needed to be said, but inside Portia felt empty. Rudolf would scarcely look at her, and every time she tried to get his attention, she'd find some lord or other already occupying it. He never even noticed when she bade him good night and headed up to her tower room, where she slept alone.

  Her days were as dull as when she'd lived in the loft, for she saw so
little of him, it was like she had no husband at all. At night, he did not come to her room, or summon her to his, as was his right. Why, she did not even know where he slept, or if he did. The lords never left him alone, and rumours circled, each wilder than the last.

  Her men were hers no longer – they'd been pressed into doing things for their lordly fathers. Grieve had been sent to fetch Lord Lewis from Myroy, and there was talk of her father returning. Talk was all it was, until she saw the party riding over the ridge.

  The men on lookout saw him, too. "Lord Angus! The banners of Isla!"

  Preparations were made to turn the great hall into a council chamber, for there were important matters to be decided. Matters that could only be discussed here on Council Island.

  Matters that she had no business being part of. So Portia sat alone in her tower, hoping her father might visit her when the meeting was over.

  "There you are!" Lord Angus had other ideas, evidently. He'd aged, and he was now missing part of his ear. "Why are you not at Rudolf's side, in the thick of things, like you used to be?"

  Portia managed a small smile. "Every time I see him, he has a lord on each arm, and a line of more men waiting to speak to him. He has no time for me. And there is talk of crowning him as King of the Southern Isles, an office we have never had. They wanted to do it right away, but Lord Lewis insisted we had to wait. For you, he said."

  Angus nodded. "Aye, I've heard. It's been a long time coming, but it's for the best. Lord Lewis knew I would not want to miss the coronation of our first king."

  "But you're the High Lord of the Isles! I thought he was your friend – why would he want you to answer such an insult in person?"

  Angus laughed. "'Tis not an insult. He is a better man than me, and younger, too. I put him forward years ago, before Donald's army came to Isla. Rudolf will make a good king. Do you not think so?" He peered at her. "You chose the man, so surely you must."