Wolf's Embrace

by Gail Link

  Yet what of that which he could not see? What figured in her mind? What depths lay hidden beneath hair and skull? Was there complexity to the pride, or was haughtiness only a surface emotion, empty of concern? Did she possess real courage, or was her antagonism only a shield easily taken on and off?

  Rolf dismissed his deeper thoughts as his loins rose to the need. Take. Capture. Defeat. Enjoy. Vanquish. Surrender. Aye, all those words and more tumbled quickly through his brain as he swept her warm body into his powerful arms. Depositing her on the bed, he reacted quickly when she tried to cover the beauty of her form from him.

  He observed that Sybelle was planning a strategic retreat from the act as her curling eyelashes dropped, shielding her eyes from the sight of Rolf joining her on the bed. He saw the small fists clenched tightly to endure what was to comea virgin sacrifice to the altar of lust and vengeance.

  His smile deepened the grooves alongside his rugged jaw. Ah, sweetling, Rolf thought, the sacrifice will be welcomed most eagerly if I've anything to do about it. To make you succumb to pleasure's promise will be a task I shall enjoy deeply.

  Brushing her thick curtain of hair aside, Rolf placed his mouth to her face, touching her lightly with swift kisses tenderly placed, making a sensual exploration of her neck and shoulders. How pale was her full breast against his tanned hand. How well the curve of her flesh filled his palm. He continued to cup and weigh, judging the flesh superb as his thumb stroked the soft bud into flower. When his mouth took possession of his hand's treasure, he could feel the instantaneous reaction of her body. No one before him had access to this territory; the wench was unschooled, unaware of the sweet temptations that caused her flesh to burn, to tremble. The gentle quakes that shook her breast pleased him greatly.

  Catching the startled look that took hold of her stormy eyes, Rolf could read amazement, bewilderment, the vision of the unknown making itself known.

  The tantalizing allurement of lust was upon her now, weaving its wiles about her.

  Sliding his hand along her waist, he skimmed the rich promise of her hips, gliding the rough skin of his palm across the taut, slim-muscled, down-covered thighs closed tightly against him.

  His mouth levied a tax on her flesh, which responded, against her formerly resolute will.

  Finally, he couldn't avoid the portal that he sought. His fingers stroked the curls guarding her inner treasure.

  Her reaction was swift as she pushed furiously against his broad shoulders.

  Rolf was not about to be dissuaded from his pursuit. One of his large hands seized both of hers, his long leg stilled her writhing motions, bringing his swollen flesh into contact with her soft skin.

  Never fear, lass, Rolf thought at that moment, I'll make it good for you. He'd decided to spare her as much pain as he could, showing her skills perfected, over many years and countless women.

  An unbidden thought entered his mind. It was as if every other wench he'd lain with was merely a preparation, a rehearsal, for this particular woman.

  Then he heard the cutting, barbed words Sybelle threw at him.

  "Irish whoreson."

  Rolf felt a layer of coldness settle on his flesh, chilling the red-hot blood in his veins. He put aside his tender considerations, intent now on inflicting a measure of the unexplained hurt he felt. English bitch, he thought bitterly. You'll now know who's master. Aye, Rolf reminded himself, it was never politic to forget what the centuries had taught the Irish about the Englishdo not trust the bodach sacsanach, male or female. Aye, especially the female.

  Where RoWs earlier caresses had been soft, they were now bruising. His kisses scored her flesh in their intensity, as he roughly pushed apart her legs, bringing his long-limbed body to rest in the cradle of her soft thighs. Thrusting his hips forward, he began his attack on her defenses, which yielded to the swift motion of his body. She fought as much as she could. He could hear the gasp of pain she let slip through her swollen lips. Her maidenhead was breached; he rode her strongly, exorcising the demons that now drove him, spilling his seed into her waiting body, slumping for a brief moment on the tender curves of her breasts.

  Instead of the momentary exaltation he usually felt upon release, Rolf experienced instead the bitter tang of disappointment.

  That sense of frustration remained keenly with him even now, as he fondled the head of one of his dogs. The vivid memory of eyes wide with cold fury, the bruises already showing against her slender wrists, the blood and semen mixed upon her thighs and the bed linen burdened his mind. Why this was so, he knew not.

  Etain's offer of that morning was a way to dispel these haunting visions, yet he couldn't bring himself to seek solace in her arms. It wouldn't have been fair to the lovely woman, for he would have used her as a convenient receptable. For the sake of their years of knowing each other, for their past relationship as lovers, Rolf couldn't use her now like a slut. Besides, Sybelle Fitzgerald's was a face not easily dismissed, even in the casual bedding of another.

  The darkening of the afternoon sky warned him that the weather would soon be rougher. Angry gray clouds pushed aside the soft mists.

  He whistled to the dog racing along the sand in pursuit of something and, grabbing Fergal's reins, Rolf mounted. The horse snorted, eager for another hard gallop. He turned the stallion towards his castle, sensing that the day would prove as stormy within the walls of his home as without.

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  ''She will not answer my knock, Siobhan," spoke the young servant girl, who carried a tray of food and wine, her eyes downcast as Siobhan and her daughter stood before the huge oak door. "Truly, 'tis the second time that I've been here this morn, with no reply."

  "'Tis noted that you have tried, Maire. Leave the tray. Etain and I will see to the lady."

  Maire nodded her head in acknowledgment, handing the tray to Siobhan, Who in turn gave it to Etain.

  Siobhan knocked upon the door. "My Lady Sybelle, are you awake?"

  No response came from within, so Siobhah decided to enter anyway, worry creasing her face.

  She unlocked the thick door, entering the room. All was in darkness. The shutters were drawn against the light. No fire burned in the hearth; no candles were lit.

  "My lady?" Siobhan moved to the window, throwing aside the faded wood panels to allow what light was available to come into the room. She quickly secured a flint to light the brace of candles that stood on the small table, where she motioned Etain to place the tray.

  When the room was properly lit, Siobhah eyed the torn and tossed bed linens upon the floor. In a hard hide chair before the dead fire sat Sybelle, wearing only the velvet robe.

  Siobhan saw to the rebuilding of the fire, a curt toss of her head in her daughter's direction indicating that Etain should try to get Sybelle to respond.

  Etain obeyed her mother, her own blue eyes surveying the tangle of clothes that lay strewn haphazardly on the floor. 'Twas not hard, she thought, to surmise what had happened to this room. She bent, picking up a piece of ripped linen, examining the telltale signs of a maiden's lost innocence, combined with a man's sexual release.

  "Burn it," came the cold pronouncement from Sybelle, who finally noticed Siobhan was not alone in the chamber.

  Siobhan turned towards Sybelle, a quizzical look on her face until she saw the cloth held in Etain's hands.

  "Destroy it," Sybelle said, her hands gripping the chair so tightly that her knuckles stood out.

  "As you wish, my lady," Etain said, gathering the linen into a bundle, making to deposit it outside the door.

  Sybelle spoke again, this time her voice was not so harsh; it was pleading, the words uttered through great effort. "Do not allow it to be displayed, please." Sybelle reached out her hand, grabbing Siobhan's wrist. "It must be destroyed before anyone can see it. Do not, I beg you, let it find its way to my father. Put it to the flames."

  Siobhan nodded solemnly, taking the linen from Etain's hands and leaving the room, al
lowing the two younger women to be alone.

  Her voice barely above a husky whisper, Etain asked, "Why would you think the linen would be sent to your father?"

  Sybelle raised her head, staring at the tall, slender woman who stood in front of her. Sweet Jesu, who was this? Another witness to her humiliation? Yet Sybelle found no signs of either reproach or triumph in the gentle face. Instead, there was dignity, a singular calm that shone from the woman's visage.

  "For proof, of course," Sybelle said bitterly. "A badge to claim victory."

  "'Twould only serve," Etain answered softly, "if Derran was outside the castle walls. Then 'twould be politic to send proof of your lost virginity to your father. However, as your father has fled to England, 'twould serve no true purpose to send a bit of stained cloth to him. When he becomes aware of who holds you, he will know without a scrap of material that my lord has taken you," she finished matter-of-factly. ''Come, stand, so that I may examine you."

  Sybelle cocked her head to one side, her brows arching. "So you can what?"

  "I will not hurt you, my lady. My mother, Siobhan, wished me to examine you to see if I could perhaps ease your pain."

  Sybelle stiffened in her chair. "Why you?"

  "I am a healer, my lady," Etain said proudly, awaiting Sybelle's reaction.

  A sigh of resignation escaped Sybelle's lips. "'Tis no need. You cannot restore that which I have lost."

  Etain laid her hand on Sybelle's. "Are you sore ? Do you still bleed?" she inquired.

  Sybelle shook her head, a blush suffusing her cheeks. "No, no more blood has passed. My limbs, in truth, are sore."

  "Then you must relax in a tub of hot water and herbs. 'Twill soothe your aches; your body will return to its proper state in time."

  "What are you called?"

  "Etain," she replied, bringing the tray to Sybelle. "You should eat something. 'Tis no use to brood over that which is gone."

  Sybelle flashed her an angry glance. "What know you of what I've experienced?"

  Handing Sybelle a goblet of spiced wine and a slab of bread and cheese, Etain answered her. "When I was two-and-ten, my lady, raiders made bold to our shores. My lord's father was away, and 'twas thought 'twould be easy to take both food and women. They who came reckoned not on my lord's people fighting back, for a force of men were left on duty to protect the castle and its people. Yet, not everyone escaped unscathed. My brother was slain before my eyes. I and two other village girls were captured. 'Twas then I learnt about men, my lady, and what it means to be a captive. Only one man possessed you. We were not so fortunate."

  Sybelle observed that there were no traces of hurt or humiliation in Etain's eyes. Rather, they exhibited only a strength of purpose. She stole a glance at Etain's hands. She wore no rings. "Etain, are you wed?" Sybelle's curiosity overcame her normal reluctance to pry into another's life.

  "'Tis not for lack of offers, my lady. Think you that what happened when I was a girl renders me unfit for marriage?" Etain watched Sybelle's features carefully. "Aye, I can see that you do. Forsooth, it matters more to your sort, I'll wager. Here we do not hold what is not one's fault against one. My rape 'twas not of my choosing, my lady, so it is of no matter."

  "Yet you've not wanted to be married?" Sybelle asked.

  Her mouth softened in a smile. "Aye, I think one day I shall. But it will be my choice, my lady. No man will force his will upon me. If I choose a lover, it is by my consent that he shares my bed, or I his."

  Sybelle, although gently reared, was familiar with men and women sharing beds while not married to one another. Being raised in the shadow of Edward Plantagent's court was an education in itself. Yet it was indeed strange to hear a woman unwed freely admit 'twas she who chose, not the man. There was nothing coarse or cheap about this woman, Sybelle discerned.

  A curious notion buzzed in her brain like an angry insect. Had this woman shared Rolf O'Dalaigh's bed? Sybelle gave herself a mental shake. What did she care? 'Twas no concern of hers if he took all the women in this cursed keep to his licentious bed. She drew herself from the chair, her muscles cramping slightly. He had probably bedded every woman in western Ireland, and fathered half again as many bastards, peopling the land with black-haired, green-eyed infants with a hint of the pagan about them. Sweet Mary, no! Sybelle screamed silently, one hand spreading across her middle while Etain answered the knocking on the chamber door. A babe? Even now the seed of the Earl of Killroone could be taking root in her womb. No. No! Her breath caught painfully in her chest as she tried to force the aching thought from her mind. Not a child. Holy mother, not a child, please, Sybelle begged. Let me prove barren ere I bear a bastard, especially his bastard.

  Etain opened the door to the servants, who brought in wooden buckets of hot water. She directed the filling of the tub, producing a small container of herbs concealed within the deep pocket in the skirt of her woolen gown. She dropped a measure into the steaming water as she signalled for the Lady Sybelle.

  "Lady Sybelle."

  "Aye, Etain, I am coming."

  Sybelle cast a sideways glance at the older woman. She was a healer; would she aid Sybelle if Sybelle requested something to avoid conception? Such methods were not unknown to her, having heard servants gossiping about such matters.

  Should she broach the subject now, or wait till she could ascertain whether or not Etain would help her? Could she trust this woman?

  Sybelle sank into the hot water, letting it flow around her, relieving her aching muscles. She closed her tired eyes, shutting out all but the feel of the soothing warmth, the smell of herbs. No, she could not trust this woman . . . yet. Etain was her lord's creature; she owed loyalty to Rolf O'Daliagh. His was the word she would heed, not Sybelle's plea for assistance. And, Sybelle thought, could she permit herself to . . . to what? Stop what might have already taken root?

  "Etain?"

  Etain stood in the doorway of the antechamber. "Aye, my lady?"

  "Another draught of spiced wine, please."

  She turned, complying with Sybelle's request.

  I must abandon this fanciful notion, Sybelle thought wearily. He's taken what he wished; now there's an end to it. I must put my thoughts to leaving this place as soon as I can. But how?

  Chapter 6

  "I needno, I demand to see him. Tell your lord that I want an audience, now."

  Siobhan observed the angry flags of color in the pale face. Sybelle's cheeks were bright, her eyes dark. "I am sorry, my lady, but my lord is not at Wolf's Den this day."

  Sybelle's nostrils quivered with the vexation she was feeling. Craven dog. "Where is he?"

  Siobhan debated whether or not to tell Sybelle the truth or fabricate a lie. She decided on the truth. "He rode to the estate of a friend of his, my lady."

  'To gloat, no doubt?"

  The bitter sting of her words gave Siobhan further proof that the lady's mood was tart. "Nay," she said, her voice edged with weariness. "He had a duty to perform." Spreading the word of his glorious conquest? Sybelle wondered.

  "He went to tell the man that the woman he was to wed is no longer available."

  "The Lady Duvessa?"

  "Aye, my lady."

  "The earl told me that she wasn't betrothed."

  "Nay, not formally," Siobhan said. "My Lord Rolf had approached this friend several years earlier. It was agreed that when the Lady Duvessa reached her eighteenth year, the formal papers of betrothal would be signed and soon after she would wed the man chosen for her by her cousin."

  "Was the Lady Duvessa aware of her cousin's plans?"

  "Indeed, my lady. My Lord Rolf would not pledge her without her knowledge. He loves her dearly, like a sister. His choice would have made her a good husband."

  "Mayhap he still can?"

  Siobhan shook her head. "'Tis doubt I have of that, my lady. Lord Lucan wanted a virgin to wife."

  Sybelle observed, "Then he is little different from any other man."

  Siobhan shrugged her thin shoulder
s. "That is not always the way of the world, my lady."

  "Think you not?"

  "Such is for each man to decide. Virginity is a Christian concept not all have embraced."

  Sybelle, her expression puzzled, asked, "Are you not a Christian, Siobhan?"

  She answered with a smile. "Aye, my lady, but I am also Irish. There are laws older than Christianity here, laws seasoned in the blood."

  "Pagan."

  "Nay. Celtic. We are a strong race, my lady. Our ways are time-honored and remembered. Lord Lucan is more Norman in his thinking, so it was important for him to be the first in his wife's bed."

  "Are you saying that my Lord Killroone does not share that philosophy?"

  "That I cannot honestly answer, my lady. I only know that it was not instilled in him as it seems to be in you English." Siobhan hesitated a moment before continuing. "Knowing my lord as I do, I would imagine that he would rather be the last."

  "Last?"

  "Aye. The woman he chooses for his countess must be his alone."

  "Would not his lady expect the same?" Sybelle probed. "I have my doubts that your lord earl understands the meaning of the word faithful."

  "He knows, my lady, for he had the best examplehis mother and his father." Siobhan set to work on braiding the right side of Sybelle's head now that she was finished with the left side.

  "When do you expect him to return?"

  "Not for several days."

  More waiting, Sybelle thought. Her confrontation with Rolf would be postponed. Was this his way of reminding her who held the dice in this game of chance? This situation must be resolved soon, else she would scream from uncertainty. Now that the revenge he sought was accomplished, he would be eager for her to be gone. Or would he? And what about the Lady Duvessa?

  Siobhan removed the supper tray, nodding her approval that the Lady Sybelle had again found her appetite. Her spirits were fractious, but Siobhan assumed that 'twas to be expected.