by Georgia Fox
Why, he wondered, had the pixie rejected this man? He’d been led to believe there was no real, viable alternative nearby for Gudderth’s daughter. But he had not realized Bloodaxe was a young man, strong, healthy—and clearly smitten with Elsinora. According to Alf, the steward, Bloodaxe had wanted Lyndower ever since Gudderth’s son died. It was possible that Count Robert might side with Dominic’s rival. Bloodaxe’s lands were extensive already and he was by no means poor. He could buy his way into the Count’s good graces and Dominic was, after all, merely a humble cavalry soldier who won a wager with crooked dice. Dominic owed his loyalty to Robert Mortain, the king’s representative in the region. He could be made to give up Lyndower if the Count insisted.
Giving up Elsinora was another matter.
They faced one another across a narrow brook, a vein that bled from the main stream across the moor.
“Greetings, Norman. I am honored by your visit and had not expected one so soon in return of my own.”
Dominic smiled grimly. He dismounted, as did Bloodaxe, and they both walked down into the brook, water bubbling over their feet. “Now to the matter of my wife.”
“She who will be my wife.”
Bloodaxe swung his sword first, but too wildly. Dominic’s sword in the returning parry took more controlled aim and scraped the flesh of the other man’s bared arm. They both slipped in the water, but steadied, pacing in a circle around one another. The second thrust of Bloodaxe’s sword missed by only a gnat’s wing and that was the one that started the fight in earnest. Grunting, the two men clashed swords, each strike vibrating down the steel blade, splicing a ray of sun that came close to blinding them both. Bloodaxe’s men watched from his gate, solemn-faced. Dominic had no supporters to cheer for him. He almost wished, in that moment, that Elsinora was there to watch. Let her see the trouble she’d caused an honest man—the honest man being Stryker Bloodaxe, of course. A man who clearly had been mislead by her attentions and her wavering. Typical damn woman!
But wherever the fault lay, and despite the crooked dice that laid heavily on his conscience, he didn’t want to give her up. Fury raged through him like a wildfire through dry forest and he did not know where to direct it. With a roar he flew forward, sword swinging. Stryker’s weapon was knocked from his hand and he stumbled back, looking surprised. Dominic tossed his own sword aside likewise, rather than be accused of an unfair advantage. Now they fought hand to hand, splashing through the brook. A solid punch to the jaw sent Bloodaxe falling and Dominic followed him down, one knee in the other man’s back, pinning him in the water, his face just held above it.
But Stryker was not ready to concede defeat. Regaining a sudden burst of strength, bucking and kicking like a wild boar, he threw Dominic off his back and dove at him again. They rolled over in the water, a tangle of arms and legs. Dominic tasted rust in his mouth and spat. A stream of thin blood landed on Stryker’s ear. He hoped he hadn’t lost a tooth—that would do his looks no favors, he thought. Here came a fist, hard to his mouth. He went down. Muddy water filled his ears in a rush and his head narrowly missed a sharp rock about the size of a pear.
Is this how he’d meet his end, he wondered? Brawling in a muddy ditch and all because of one disobedient, proud wench? He’d once sworn he would never fight for a woman again. Now look at him!
He reached for Stryker’s ankles. The big Dane’s feet were sucked down into the muddy bed and he couldn’t move fast enough. Dominic was no stranger to fighting dirty. He tore at the laces and the worn leather of the other man’s boot and then he sank his teeth into his leg. He bit down hard.
Stryker squealed like a pig with its throat cut. He stooped, reaching to pluck Dominic out of the stream by his tunic and that was the moment when the pear-shaped rock came to good use. Dominic gripped it on one hand and struck his opponent hard between the legs with the pointed rock. The only place more tender than a man’s pride. Stryker doubled over, coughing. Dominic reached for his belt and pulled hard, until he was off balance, falling to his knees in the bloodied water. The belt broke, snapping apart at the buckle. Not wasting a moment, Dominic wrapped the leather belt around the other man’s broad neck and twisted it. Stryker wheezed, gasping for air, fingers scrabbling at the belt.
Again Dominic saw Elsinora’s face as she admitted allowing Stryker Bloodaxe certain liberties that should belong to a husband.
And he caught his own reflection in the shallow water. His scarred face—testament to his own mistakes.
Exhaling a deep groan, he stood, releasing the belt from around Stryker’s neck. He flung it to the bank side and then waded out, falling to sit in the long grasses, arms on his knees.
Bloodaxe knelt in the water, rubbing his neck and coughing.
Fast moving clouds briefly passed over the sun, streaking shadows across the moor. The horses, unimpressed, cropped at the grass, tails flicking idly. The men at the gate waited to see what would happen next.
The two rivals eyed one another thoughtfully, both having lost blood that day.
“We shall not talk of this again,” said Dominic.
After a moment, Stryker nodded. But it was not over, of course. Today they were done with the discussion, but it was a slight reprieve—like the welcome shade caused by thin clouds passing over the bright sun for those few seconds. The sun was always there still, and Dominic knew this matter would remain likewise, only temporarily hidden.
Count Robert’s decision would come eventually.
He had, however, made his point, taken his stand. Shown his rival where he stood.
* * * *
The sun was high, the air thick and still. Elsinora laid in the long grass on her belly, half-hidden, her chin resting on her folded arms. She’d been there a long time, listening to the sounds of the men at work on her husband’s project, drinking in the hot summer scents, watching a ladybird scramble upward along a blade of grass. The tiny insect’s steady amble slowly bent the strand of grass before her eyes and then it paused a moment. She imagined that it watched her with as much curiosity as she watched it. If Elsinora were not in such a drowsy mood, she could have found many other things to do, but for now she lay there, making the most of an idle moment alone. A rarity in her father’s manor. Besides, work could wait a few more minutes and someone would, doubtless, stumble upon her soon and accuse her of being a lazybones.
From this place she would see through the tall grasses to where Dominic worked under the bright sun, his torso shining with sweat, his muscles flexing. He was tireless at most things, she mused, except conversation. He still spoke little to her during the day and never answered any of her questions. But at night they shared that bed—repaired thrice already—and she had no cause to complain about that. He was duly attentive to her then.
More soldiers, sent by Count Robert, had arrived in Lyndower to help with the construction of a fortress. So far they blended well with her father’s villagers. The young women certainly were happy. But Elsinora worried that her world was changing, Lyndower being extracted from her hands, piece by piece. Soon her home would be an entirely new place, filled with too many strangers. It happened too fast, as if the ground was dug away beneath her feet while she stood there, frozen, unable to move. She felt forgotten.
Dominic Coeur-du-Loup had charmed her father and the people of Lyndower with his quiet, decisive manner. This annoyed her perhaps most of all. He was more highly respected already than she had ever been. Gudderth was delighted with his son-in-law, talking and laughing with him long into the night, while Elsinora waited in the bed, growing impatient. Even Bertha now went out of her way to plan meals around Dominic’s tastes.
“That young man has saved Lyndower,” the old cook was heard to say more than once. “He deserves to eat what he wants.”
The Norman could do no wrong, it seemed, where Elsinora could never do anything right.
Stryker had gone to plead his case before Count Robert, but a decision was yet to be made. Meanwhile their neighbor hovered, wa
tching, waiting for his chance. Dominic did not discuss the matter with her. Of course not. He discussed nothing important with her because she was merely a woman. She could not tell what he thought of her. There was a wall of distrust between them and it would take a strong storm to blow it down.
What did she know of her husband? Almost nothing but his name.
If not for that scar, she wondered, would he ever have ventured to Lyndower? Probably not. Only a desperate, lonely, scarred man with no life would have come to that distant place and taken her on—with all her prickles.
She spied on him through the grass, trying to make sense of this man who had appeared out of the dark like some hero of Norse legend. He’d told her he had no family, but he kept secrets. She sensed it. A man so quiet and reserved must be capable of holding dark secrets, she thought, chewing slowly on a blade of grass.
He had, as far as she could tell, remained true to his promise and not touched any other woman since their marriage three months ago, but how long would that last? She knew the people of Lyndower speculated on that too. They didn’t think she would keep him content. Many of them, she suspected, waited to see him stray from her bed, just so they knew he was a normal man. She had begun to think he did not stray simply because he was guarding “his property” from Stryker Bloodaxe.
As she watched him, he paused a moment, resting his shovel, straightening out his back and shoulders. She felt that all too familiar skip in her pulse, the tension in her quinny. It was quite sickening really, this sinful yearning. It was unstoppable, remorseless. She only had to look at him—all sweaty and bronzed in the sun—to start thinking about what would happen between them later, when he eventually came to bed.
Only last night, when he’d stumbled through the tapestry bed curtain, weary after another hard day’s toil, her husband had remarked wryly upon his relief at not having to chase her around the bed anymore.
He never let her forget that, naturally. He liked to remind her of how quickly she was conquered.
She pursed her lips, eyes narrowed, staring through the grass. She hadn’t put up enough fight in the end, she thought peevishly. That was the trouble. She’d been confused, hounded into this marriage, backed into it. None of it was fair.
So what if Stryker Bloodaxe won his claim?
The possibility hovered over them all, hanging heavy in that over-heated July air.
Now she was restless, too hot, and could lay there no more.
* * * *
Dominic knew she was in the grass, a short distance away, hiding like a sly snake, thinking he couldn’t see her. She regarded him still as the enemy, he realized, frustrated. Partly it was his fault; he knew that. But how could he risk letting her closer, when she could be ripped away from him by Count Robert’s decision? He would not let himself be hurt like that again. A man had his pride to consider. He did not want to feel anything more than lust for her. Lust was a commodity he understood. Any pain it caused was physical and easily soothed.
A little squeeze in his chest, just under his ribs, caused him to stop again and take a deep breath. His back ached. He wiped his forearm across his sweat-dampened brow. It must be noon by now, but today he wasn’t hungry. Good thing too, since his wife hadn’t bothered to bring him any food. Other men’s sweethearts carried baskets of lunch and jugs of ale up the hill for them. But not Elsinora.
He turned his attention back to the hole they were digging. Soon the foundation would be complete. That was something to bring gladness to his heart. The work progressed well now that the weather was so fine and Count Robert had sent skilled men to help him with the build.As he scanned the horizon—fields of corn and wheat, rooftops emitting shallow puffs of smoke, and there, over his shoulder, the glistening sea, Dominic felt a warm, shy hope that he might be allowed to keep this place. Perhaps it could be forgotten again, left in his hands.
In the corner of his vision he saw Elsinora leap out of the grass and run, heading for the path down the cliffs, her golden braid flying behind her. She ran clumsily, he mused, watching her dart along. Where was she going in such haste?
He squinted up at the sky. Yes the sun was directly overhead now. Noon. It was blistering hot, but down in the bay, in the shadow of those rocky fingers that poked up out of the sand, it would be cooler. Is that where she went?
Calling to his men to take a rest, he dropped his shovel and followed his wife down to the sandy beach below.
Even when he lost sight of her at the path’s turn, he could hear her humming. It was a tune he’d heard from her lips often and at times it was stuck in his head, a lilting, pensive sound that sometimes soared, then dropped. Like a fallen leaf caught on a sudden updraft. Finally she appeared ahead of him, taking the last step down onto the sand and slowing her pace to a stroll.
Fearing she might see him follow, he hunkered down, hiding behind a fat sheaf of sea grass. The bay was deserted, the water as far up now as it would come today. He watched his wife walk into the water and make her way along the tide line toward the cliffs on the far end of the crescent. He stood and strolled after her.
It was dangerous for a woman to wander off alone, yet apparently she was accustomed to taking walks unaccompanied. Dominic shook his head when he thought of her obstinacy. He’d mentioned to her father that Elsinora should not be left unchaperoned, allowed to traverse the countryside untended. Gudderth had agreed but then done nothing to curb his daughter.
She was now, of course, Dominic’s burden. Dominic’s trouble.
The woman stopped, bending over to pick a shell from a snaggle of seaweed. He slowed so he would not catch up with her. He wanted to see what she did when she thought herself alone. She might arrange to meet Bloodaxe one of these days. In which case, he would catch her and punish her. And take his sword to his rival’s throat, as he should have done already. Only guilt over the weighted dice kept him from ending the feud with violence, because in the back of his mind he knew he probably had less right to Elsinora than Stryker did.
The bottom of her gown was already wet, sticking to the curve of her legs when she moved on, stepping high over the seaweed. Dominic gazed at her swaying hips, unable to look away. Her motion charmed him into a strange, cloudy state, until his heart was beating to the tune she hummed. The gentle tide dragged on her gown as she paddled into deeper water and her buttocks were clearly outlined, the skirt pulled this way and that, water wicking up the material until it was darker almost all the way to her knees.
He felt the heaviness in his loins, the ache begin. Not that it was ever completely absent when she was near. The damnable pixie had his cock enthralled. Her pussy held the power of a fakir’s horn over a viper. At night, in that big bed behind the curtain, she was everything he could want, uninhibited, yielding and passionate. But in the daytime she kept her distance. Except when she felt the need to argue with him on some matter. As she’d once promised, she fought every change he tried to make. Her hot-temper needed outlet at least once a day, so he’d discovered, and always it was aimed at him. Would that ever change?
And why did it matter to him if it didn’t?
Dominic had never been the sort to want conversation with a female and since the fucking was beyond expectation he should be satisfied.
What else did he want from her? He’d won her with crooked dice. He had no right to ask for more than she gave now, especially when he could give her nothing more in return.
His wife left the water now, her feet padding across the sand. Frequently she stopped to gather shells, treating him, each time, to a glimpse of skin through the wet patches on her thin summer gown. She wore no shift beneath because of the heat. With one hand shading his eyes from the harsh sun, he stared, admiring her arse. Raw temptation. He shuddered. Vibrations tickled his balls and up along his swelling shaft.
She headed now for the mouth of a cave and he followed, steps quickening silently over the sand. What went in had only one way out. He had her trapped.
Her hair was a golden bea
con, leading him on with a siren’s promise. His back and shoulders no longer ached. He licked his lips and tasted sea salt. Soon the sound of the waves was a far whisper, obscured by the neediness of his own breath.
But there he saw another person, waiting in the shadows, just emerged from the curve of rock.
Sun caught on the figure’s hair and he knew it was Stryker.
The only thing that kept him from running down the sand and leaping upon the other man, was the fact that Elsinora stumbled to a surprised halt. Clearly she had not expected to see Stryker there.
Dominic dove behind a grassy dune and watched, his blood pumping.
The other man was so intent on Elsinora that he must not have noticed she was followed along the bay. He shouted to her, his voice cutting the still air like a scythe through wheat.
“You promised me, Elsinora. Your virginity was to be mine. I waited. God knows I waited! You owe me. And this Norman won’t want you once your father’s dead. He plays husband now to please Gudderth, but he only cares about the land. Surely you see that.”
He could not hear his wife’s reply, or even if there was one. Irritated, he tucked low and scrambled through the grasses to get closer.
“Do you remember how you moaned when I had my tongue on your quim once, Elsinora? How much you enjoyed it? Do you remember you promised me then that I’d have you one day? Does the Norman know the things we used to do together by that stream?”
Dominic felt his lip twitch, knew his anger was fast being pushed beyond safe boundaries.
His wife made no denial, but looked at the sand.