Erik paused a trio of steps away. He rested his weight upon his good leg, as she had seen him do before, and studied her. “You greeted me with enthusiasm last night,” he said quietly. “Will you readily do as much on this one?”
“Last night, I thought you were my destined lover,” Vivienne declared. “While now I know you to be a man determined to avenge himself upon his brother at any cost.”
She could have sworn a twinkle lit his eye. “A destined lover? Surely not. I thought you too sensible for such folly.”
Vivienne’s face felt aflame as she nodded, so embarrassed was she by what she had believed. “It was because of Alexander’s tale, of course.”
“What tale?”
“Do you not know what he said to encourage me to sleep in that chamber?”
Erik shook his head. “He pledged only that you would be there. He did not tell me how or why.” They stood in silence for a moment, then he eased his stance. “Tell me of it. How would such a destined lover have found you there, according to the tale?”
Vivienne eyed the rope and decided that recounting this tale was the less troubling possibility for her next few moments. “By spying me through some portal between the realms...”
“What realms?”
“The realms of fairies and of mortals.” What might have passed for a smile touched his lips and Vivienne took a shaking breath. “The tale Alexander recounted was of a maiden, seduced each of three nights in sequence by a fairy lover smitten with her charms, then captured as his wife for all eternity. One of the windows in that chamber is reputed to open unto the fairy realm, by his accounting, and the maiden, once she departed thus, was never seen again.”
“She was stolen then, as you were.”
“She was courted by her lover true,” Vivienne corrected firmly. “And was claimed for the bride price of a red red rose, a fairy rose which proved to be wrought of ice. The mark of its melting remains upon the floor of Kinfairlie’s hall, though the event occurred years past.”
“Ah, so this is the root of your demand for a three night courtship and a red red rose.”
Vivienne only flushed more deeply.
Erik regarded her with an amusement that softened his features in a most alluring way. Vivienne wished he would look stern again, for it was easier to distrust him fully then. “And you believed this tale, with solely the proof of a glimmer upon the floor?”
“It was true. It is true. I believe it yet.” Vivienne met his skeptical gaze. “It is not uncommon in these parts for mortals to find their way to the fairy realm, no less to be taken there. Not a hundred years ago, Thomas of Erceldoune did the very same, though he returned briefly to recount the tale of it.”
“Doubtless he but strayed away from home and concocted a finer tale upon his return than the truth.”
“He proved where he had been, by predicting future events with alacrity,” Vivienne argued. “Fairies can see the future, so he proved his visit there when his portents proved true.”
“But there is no fairy realm. There is naught in all creation save what a man can see and hold in his hands.”
“I know that to be less than the truth.”
“Yet you did not meet a fairy lover, much less a destined one.”
And Vivienne could summon no argument against that. All the same, their gazes locked and held for a long moment, a moment in which the wind seemed to still around them and the air grow warm. Vivienne recalled her instinctive desire to welcome this man, no less the magic they had wrought together in the tower chamber so easily. She stared into his eyes and remembered her curious sense that they loved as if they had loved a thousand times before and she wondered then if she had unwittingly uttered a truth.
What if Erik was her destined lover, albeit a mortal one? She wondered whether he thought much the same, for his eyes darkened to an unruly indigo. It was not the first time she had sensed that their thoughts were as one, which surely was a mark of those fated to be together.
The prospect fairly made her dizzy. What if she had been granted the chance to have her every desire fulfilled?
Erik cleared his throat and frowned, tearing his gaze from hers. His hand flexed upon the rope, as if he was keenly aware suddenly of its burden and its import. “So you slept in that chamber, seeking the same fate as this Thomas of Erceldoune or the maiden of Alexander’s tale?”
“And you came through the window, and you seduced me sweetly,” Vivienne said, for she knew she was no fool even if she had behaved impulsively. “Thus I believed that the same tale came true for me as for the lost maiden.”
Erik studied her with narrowed eyes. “The mortal truth of me must be a disappointment indeed for one who expected a fairy prince.”
“Your scheme for my future certainly is.” Vivienne saw uncertainty in his expression and dared to believe that he had been driven to do what was not in his nature. She took a chance, and met him toe to toe, then tapped a finger upon his chest. “What would your father think of this deed you insist upon? Would he be gladdened to know that you were prepared to truss a woman to get a child upon her?”
Erik’s eyes flashed. “My father and his opinions are of no import in this!”
Vivienne persisted despite his manner, for she suspected that he would not injure her. She needed to know which side of him was the truth of his nature. “Would your father be glad to know that you chose a woman simply because she had denied your brother?”
“Likely so! If there is but one person in Christendom who is not seduced by my brother’s charm, it is only good sense to ally with that person in wresting back what he has stolen from me.”
Vivienne regarded him in surprise. “You did not say as much before.”
Erik shoved a hand through his hair and turned away with a frown. “Why I make any decision is not of import to you.”
“Is it not, though it shapes my own fate?”
He granted her a piercing glance. “But one thing shapes your fate, and that is your ability to conceive my son.” He hefted the rope. “How the deed is achieved is your choice.”
“What a fine sentiment that is!” Vivienne retorted, stung again that he saw only one advantage in her presence and doubting more with every moment that he would use the rope. “Your father is dead, you have only just heard the tidings and you do not mourn him. Indeed, you think only of your pleasure.”
Anger prompted Vivienne to say more than she should have done, but she doubted that Erik would hurt her and she felt she had little left to lose. “My father has been dead almost a year, and I mourn him every moment of every day. The day the tidings came, I wept like a babe all the day and through the night. What merit is there in bearing the son of a man who does not mourn the loss of his own sire? Perhaps it is better for all if the treacherous Sinclair clan is no more!”
She tossed her hair over her shoulder and glared at him, telling herself not to be shaken by the bleak light that had claimed his eyes. “Do what you will to me,” she challenged. “You speak aright. I am your captive. I am no more than your chattel. I have been bought and sold, and I have no choice what my fate might be.”
Vivienne jabbed her finger at her own chest. “But I can believe whatsoever I will, and I choose to believe that each soul has a fate, that every soul has a destined lover, that injustice will be righted. And I know that a man who does not mourn the death of his father is of no merit whatsoever in any realm. You will scarce persuade me otherwise. Get your son upon me and you can nurse that viper at your own breast.”
Vivienne marched away from her astonished captor, not truly believing that she would get far. It was long before his footsteps echoed behind her, though, even longer before his hand closed over her elbow. His grasp was gentle and she closed her eyes against her own weakness, knowing that if he chose to try to seduce her with his touch, he would succeed.
“You speak fairly,” he said, his voice gruff. “Though no person can know what another suffers without seeing into that other’s heart.”
Vivienne knew she should not turn, knew she should not meet his gaze, but did as much anyway. He was silhouetted against the evening sky, so still and intent of manner that her unruly heart skipped.
The sky was smeared with orange and pink, a few dark clouds marring the splendid color. The stars had emerged above them, though the sun still burned red on the horizon. In the light of the dying sun, Erik’s hair looked more ruddy that she knew it to be and his scar was illuminated harshly.
But there was pain in his eyes, pain that she knew was not feigned. “Why a son?” she whispered.
He looked across the water, his expression somber. His words were soft when he spoke, an ache lurking beneath each of them. “Because my daughters are lost unless I can produce a son, mine beyond dispute, to reclaim Blackleith.” He looked down at her. “And he must be older than any son my brother begets. These are the conditions of the Earl of Sutherland, that there is a line of succession assured afore he aids me to reclaim Blackleith.”
“Daughters?” Vivienne whispered, feeling her anger fade as surely as the sun’s light.
“Two,” he admitted, bowing his head with a grief that made Vivienne yearn to console him. “I have not seen them in a year, I cannot know their fate. I dare not believe that Nicholas will treat my daughters more kindly than he did my wife.”
“He killed her?”
He shook his head and turned away, overwhelmed by the tidings he shared. Indeed, a lone tear made its course down his tanned cheek and though he did not wipe it away, his expression turned fierce.
That single tear did more to challenge Vivienne’s conclusions than a torrent could. Indeed, she was reminded of a rock finally cracking beneath some pressure, of a fissure appearing where none had been before.
This was why Erik had sought her and her womb, because his dead wife could not produce the son that would see his daughters saved. And because those two lives hung in the balance, he dared not wed her, lest she could not conceive a son, lest he had to find another maiden to provide the son he so desperately needed.
Vivienne could not deny that his choice could not have been one readily made. She saw how it troubled him to confess to what he had done, and knew it was not in his nature to deceive. She could not fight against the appeal of a man who did what was against his very nature for the sake of his children.
“You should have told me sooner.”
His blue gaze fixed upon her. “Would you have taken my wager then? Would your brother have agreed to my terms? I think not. The sole way to pursue my goal was with deception.”
“You have risked my alliance in so doing.”
He shook his head. “There is far more at stake than that. Understand that I will not fail them, independent of the cost. I may have only one chance, but I will pursue it until my dying breath. Be it you or another, a maiden will bear my son. My daughters’ lives rely on no less. I chose you, but if you spurn me I will merely choose another.”
He stared down at her, his eyes a vivid blue, and his words softened. “I would prefer that you not do so, though I recognize that is the risk of confessing the truth to you.”
He would not have felt compelled to be honest, unless he felt some regard for her, and Vivienne knew it well.
On impulse, she reached up and caught Erik’s face in her hands. She stretched and touched her lips fleetingly to his, wanting only to console him. She tasted his astonishment, then drew back slightly. she found herself wanting to aid him, wanting to aid those two little girls, though she knew she should not have done so without the benefit of a nuptial vow between them.
“What are their names?”
“Mairi,” he said gruffly. “And Astrid. Mairi is dark and has seen six summers, while fair Astrid has seen only three.” He measured their heights with one hand as he spoke, the harshness of his features seeming to melt when he spoke of them.
It was his undisguised affection that made Vivienne’s choice for her. After all, she was a maiden no longer, so that damage was done. But good could come of Vivienne’s loss, if she did not turn away from Erik now, if she still tried to conceive that son.
Impulse guided her tongue and even as she spoke, she wondered whether she erred, though truly it seemed that she had no choice.
“I do not know whether I can do what you desire of me,” Vivienne whispered, her heart pounding at her own audacity. “I cannot scry the future. But if you treat me with honor, then for the sake of your daughters, I will try to give you that son.”
Erik turned and cast the rope away. He met Vivienne’s gaze, determination in his eyes along with something else that made her heart leap. “Then we have a wager in truth, lady mine,” he said and claimed her lips with a possessive kiss.
And the joy in that kiss told Vivienne much of his measure. She tasted his relief and his fear, she tasted his sorrow and his desperate hope. She met the demand in his caress unflinchingly, knowing that she would offer her all to aid him now. She did not know if she had chosen rightly, she did not know if all would be resolved well, but she could regret nothing when he kissed her with such leisurely passion. She felt part of a great tale, of the righting of an enormous wrong, and surely that would be reward enough.
* * *
It had been so long since any soul had made a concession to Erik that Vivienne’s offer astounded him. He did not have the luxury of marveling in it, however, for he dared not grant her time to change her thinking. He had no intent of letting her rescind her offer, no intent of giving her cause for regret.
This mating must be as wondrous as the last had been.
He caught her close against him, savoring anew how willingly she met him, how readily she trusted him. The trust of another was a forgotten elixir for Erik and he was nigh intoxicated that Vivienne gave of it so generously.
Her kiss was both sweet and wild, unlike any he had tasted before, and it awakened an unexpected yearning within him. He wished that he would be the last man to savor her many charms, he wished that the way they met had been wrought of destiny, not his scheming. He wished that this venture might prove a success for both of them.
For this night, he put his worries aside. For this night, he chose to lose himself in both Vivienne and the enchanting tale she told.
He kissed her deeply, delighted that she was so unafraid. Her hand slid into his hair and she impatiently urged him closer. She arched her back and stretched to her toes, offering more of the feast of her kiss than he had had before. He shed his gloves with a measure of his own impatience, knowing that half measures would not serve either of them this night. He wanted her nude, he wanted to see her fully in the sun’s last light, he wanted to witness her pleasure.
His hands fell on the laces at the sides of her kirtle and he loosed them without breaking their kiss. Vivienne gasped, perhaps at the chill of the wind through her chemise, but he slipped his hands through the sides of her kirtle, letting his hands warm her. She was so slender that his hands almost closed around her waist.
Even with the barrier of cloth between them, he felt her pulse beneath his palms and its quick pace reminded him of how new she was to lovemaking. Not wanting to frighten her, he let his hands ease over her ribs to finally capture her breasts. When he touched her pert nipples, Vivienne broke their kiss with a cry.
Erik held her fast before him, one hand clasped in the small of her back, and stared into her eyes as he caressed her nipple again. She swallowed and her eyes widened to emerald pools, but she did not step away. He watched as his thumb eased over her nipple, felt it grow more taut, noted how she inhaled when the roughened edge of his thumb moved across the tender flesh.
She smiled and he was spellbound. “I like that,” she whispered and he could not help but smile himself.
“So I have noted.”
She flushed at his comment, but did not remove his hand. He repeated the caress, savoring how her eyes darkened. “Sorcery,” she whispered.
Erik shook his head. “It is a force far more reli
able than any witchery,” he said and she laughed. It was such a merry sound that he felt the weight of his burdens lighten.
He chose to forget his responsibilities for these few moments. He let one hand curve around the ripeness of her breast, and lifted the other to the clasp of her cloak. He unfastened it, letting the cloak fall to a pile around her ankles. She was garbed in a richness unfamiliar to him, the garments sliding over his hands in a silken caress.
He lifted her kirtle over her head and cast it aside with care, his hands returning to her breasts. Her chemise was so sheer a linen that he could see the darkness of her areolas through the cloth, and it was so finely woven that her nipples made peaks in the cloth.
He pulled her close and kissed her again, untying the lace that held the neck of her chemise closed while he did so. Even as he deepened his kiss, he let his hand slide over her flesh, pushing the cloth away from her neck. He lifted his head, discovered that both of them were breathless and was tempted again to smile.
He realized that he had not been so tempted for years, though it was not the first time he had felt his lips curving in Vivienne’s presence. She was a balm to his unhappiness, a sunbeam that shone into the darkest corners.
He looked down at the treasure in his arms and devoured the sight that darkness had denied to him the night before. She was indeed a beauty, more beauteous than he had begun to guess. Vivienne’s skin was softer than soft, its hue like that of a white rose’s petals. The charming freckles upon her nose were echoed by an artful scattering of lighter freckles across her collar bone. Her breasts were ripe enough to fill his palm, soft enough to tempt his touch. He lifted her breast in his palm then bent and kissed the nipple with no small reverence.
The scent of her skin turned his salute to a more burning desire. He found his lips closing around her with urgency, his tongue flicking the nipple, his teeth grazing the peak that his thumb had recently teased.
The Rose Red Bride JK2 Page 10