by McCall, Mary
“I forgot you had no dagger to eat from, my dear. You may use mine,” he said in a patient tone, handing her his pearl-handled blade.
Accepting the dagger, she gave him a tremulous smile. “Thank you, milord,” she whispered. “My father always kept me hidden away when important visitors came to Strangclyf. I will try not to forget any other manners.”
Bernon frowned at her words. What kind of monster had her father been? After she ate a few bites of the eel and turnips in wine sauce, she grimaced and rubbed her hand over her middle. She stopped eating and took another swallow of wine.
“Where did you stay when guests came to Strangclyf?” he asked, ignoring Lucretia’s latest lid flutter.
“Places,” she answered vaguely with a shrug. Her grip tightened on the dagger and fire shimmered in her eyes as she glanced at the redhead. Stabbing a piece of eel, his bride raised the morsel and shoved it into his mouth.
Bernon calmly chewed and swallowed the bite then found another mouthful forced upon him. What was he supposed to make of this latest maneuver? He grabbed Barwolf’s wrist before she could spear any more food, chewed her latest offering, and swallowed. “You do not have to feed me, ma petite.”
“I do too.”
God’s bones, she looked unsettled. “Why?”
“’Tis my duty to pamper you, so you will be in the mood to perform magic tricks later.”
What kind of asinine notion had she come up with now? “I do not perform magic tricks.”
Her green eyes widened and she clutched his arm with her free hand. “But you must. The most important duty of a Lady Strangclyf is to provide her lord with a male heir.”
God help him if he ever began to understand her mind. “And what does this have to do with feeding me and magic tricks?”
“’Tis where babies come from. I asked Cora. She is Leof’s wife. He is our stable master. They have seven children, so she must know what she is talking about.” She cocked her head and looked at him as if worry had rooted in her mind. “Have you never done magic, milord? Cora said most men know all about it as soon as they can walk or there about. They crave it and want to do it all the time.”
Good God, the woman didn’t know! She probably thought to find a babe in the forest under a toadstool. He let go of her wrist and put his hand over the one she had placed on his arm. “Exactly what did this Cora tell you?”
“Surely you know this?” she asked, pressing a hand to her flushed cheek. “Is the room getting hot or is it just me?”
“I would still like to hear it from you,” he said, noticing the pretty pink shade glowing on the tip of her nose.
“All men have magic wands. A woman gets a babe after a man raises his wand and pokes her with it. If she feeds him first, she gets a boy, and, if she licks his wand first, she gets a girl.” Barwolf waved a hand in front of her, fanning her neck. “You do want babies, do you not?”
A vision of her on her knees before him came to mind and his wand perked up. He couldn’t find the words to answer her. Who could focus on babies at a time like this? Absolutely nothing he heard for the rest of his life could stun him after this conversation.
Geno grinned. “If I were you, my friend, after one boy, I would have a whole slew of girls.”
“I have to warn you, milord, magic may not work on me,” Barwolf said with a pathetic shake of her head. “I got poked last year and didn’t get a babe from it.”
“What!” He would kill with his bare hands the lecher who had touched her.
“I got a pearl, though.” Barwolf took another swallow of wine and caught a drop from the corner of her mouth with her finger. Then her pink tongue darted out, claiming the dark red liquid. “It fell from my ear after the magician poked me. Then my father made me leave the hall because I made him queasy.”
Bernon clenched his jaw, trying to control the desire that sizzled through him at the sight of her glistening tongue. His wand was primed and ready for magic. “My dear, we will discuss this further when we are alone,” he whispered.
“Bernon, your face is a mite red. Am I making you queasy?”
Lucretia laughed and arched a brow. “You may have to empty the cradle before you fill it, milord.”
Barwolf clenched the dagger in her grip and narrowed her eyes, staring at the blade. “I have just remembered something I do well, husband.”
Thank the Almighty, she was changing the subject and he was rather shocked to hear himself addressed as husband. “And what would that be?”
“Daggers.” Barwolf looked at the weapon in her hand. She wiped the blade on her napkin then began flipping the weapon over, around, and between her fingers.
Bernon raised a brow, surprised by her remarkable dexterity. “You do that well.”
“My grandfather insisted I acquire skills with weapons. I was too weak with mace, axe, and sword. My aim always went too high with an arrow and too low with a spear. Daggers are perfect for someone my size. I can hit my mark from one end of the hall at Strangclyf to the other. I can pin the clothing on a body to a chair without marring the flesh. I have juggled up to six blades at one time without cutting myself. And if someone throws one at me,” she tossed the dagger into the air, “I can catch it.”
She caught the dagger by the blade and stared at the grip. “Even my father, who hated me, acknowledged my skill with a dagger was superior to his. I wonder, husband, do you think Lady Lucretia could catch a blade?”
The dagger suddenly whizzed across the table and pinned the right shoulder of Lucretia’s kirtle to the slat of her bench. Everyone froze as Barwolf stood, planted both palms flat on the table, and sent a venomous glare toward the older woman. “The first rule of war is never underestimate your opponent. Had my husband not ordered me to restrain myself, you would be dead.”
Barwolf resumed her seat beside Bernon, drank the rest of her wine, then gestured toward Geno with the empty goblet. “Geno, would you please return my husband’s blade to him? ‘Tis unwise to trust me with the weapon right now.”
Bernon watched his irate bride with hands fisted and teeth clenched. God’s teeth, she had no manners. She actually threw a lethal weapon across King William’s table as if it were a toy. He couldn’t remember ever feeling this furious. Was she jealous? Did she honestly think he cared about Lucretia’s lurid invitation? If he weren’t so pleased to learn his bride possessed a little spirit, he would throttle her.
She hiccupped and he wiped a hand over his face. Hell, she was well on her way to a drunken state.
At the head of the table, King William stood up, red-faced. He scowled at Barwolf and bellowed, “Bernon, your bride threw a dagger at a guest at my table!”
Barwolf continued glaring at Lucretia. “I beg your pardon, Your Grace is mistaken. I threw the dagger at the tart’s kirtle as a courtesy to warn her. If she continues flirting with my husband, I would probably throw it at her, but out of deference to Your Grace’s presence, I have asked that the blade not be returned to me. If you wish to be mad at someone, be mad at her. I’m trying to do my duty and give my husband a baby, but that harpy is spoiling his mood for magic.” She ended on a hiccup.
King William, stunned speechless, stared at the passionate, seething, little Saxon lady. Bernon was heartened to discover he wasn’t the only one his bride could render mute. Word would surely go out now that he couldn’t control a slip of a woman. His earlier plan to toss her over his shoulder might have merit. A dignified exit was beyond possibility now.
Matilda stood and beckoned William until he leaned downward. After whispering in his ear, she resumed her seat. He smiled down at his queen and she nodded. Straightening to his full height, William locked his gaze on Barwolf. “Geno, hand the dagger to Lady Strangclyf and she will return it to her lord.”
Geno pulled the dagger from the wood, freeing Lucretia, and held the hilt toward Barwolf. She hesitated then accepted the weapon and turned to Bernon, looking no higher than the corded muscles in his neck. Her eyes widened then she su
bmissively bowed her head, hiccupped, and offered him the dagger. “I apologize for displeasing you, milord. However, I did try to warn you about my unfortunate temper.”
Bernon noticed the tremor in her hand holding the blade. Was her left hand creeping up to cover her injured ear a reflexive action? It had to be. She wouldn’t insult him by believing he would strike her. He would definitely discuss her behavior with her in private later, but he’d be damned if he’d let Lucretia get the best of his bride. “My liege, I would make a gift of this blade to my lady.”
Barwolf raised astonished eyes, hiccupped, and quickly bowed her head again.
“’Tis your pleasure, Bernon,” William said, resuming his seat with a wink to his queen.
“’Tis truly unwise to trust me with the weapon right now, milord. ‘Tis the truth, my blood is still boiling mad,” Barwolf whispered.
If this were mad, he would hate to see terrified. “Did you not pledge me your protection, ma petite?”
She nodded and hiccupped.
“Then ‘tis your duty to save me from the flirting harpies of this court.”
Lucretia gasped at the direct insult, begged her leave of King William, and fled the hall.
A bloodthirsty sneer scrunched Barwolf’s elfin face. “Should I kill these women or merely scar them?”
Bernon surprised everyone at the table by laughing at his bride’s remark. “What do you think?”
“I think if they just flirt, then I will merely scar them. But if they touch you, then I will carve out their hearts.” She hiccupped and nodded. “And you should do the same for me.”
“I’ll kill any man who flirts with you in any way.” His mild tone rang with conviction.
She raised surprised eyes, swayed, and grabbed his arm to steady herself. “You mean you’re truly going to protect me and I’ll not have to stab men who try to paw me anymore?”
Bernon seethed over the implications of that remark. What kind of pig let his daughter go unprotected? “Aye, ma belle,” he said in a gentle voice and caressed her cheek. “You will not have to worry over any man except me touching you ever again.”
Flashing her dimple, she gazed at him through glazed, adoring eyes, hiccupped then swayed to the left. “Merciful heavens, ‘tis truly hot in here, Bernon.”
Bernon caught her arm and steadied her while she continued grinning. “You have had too much wine.”
Her eyes widened in amazement. “I have?”
He nodded, suppressing an unfamiliar urge to laugh.
“Well, zut! Here I thought I was feverish and lightheaded because my body was liking yours again.” She patted her chest and belched. “I never was allowed to drink the wine at Strangclyf, so I didn’t know.”
Geno chuckled and saluted Bernon with his goblet. “In vino veritas, my friend.”
“Did you know, Bernon, my Grandfather made me learn Latin, Greek, and Gaelic, but I learned French just to please you?”
Bernon rolled his eyes. “I know you learned at least one word.”
“You must mean zut. I don’t know what it means. I told my tutor not to tell me, because cursing is only a sin if I understand, you know.” She looked upward and the color drained from her complexion. “The ceiling is falling.”
He shook his head. His bride had only a few moments left before she either fell on her face or tossed up her nervous stomach. Either way, he wouldn’t be raising his wand and poking her tonight. “By your leave, Your Grace, I will take my lady to our chamber now.”
“’Twould seem the wise thing to do,” William said, his gruff voice rippling with suppressed laughter.
“Come, ma petite.” Bernon stood and helped Barwolf rise. She swayed and grabbed his arm. He hauled her against him, anchoring her at his side.
As he guided her beside King William, Barwolf impulsively leaned over and kissed the monarch’s royal cheek then hiccupped in his ear. “I am glad you are my king now. You got a bear to wed a lamb, so you can do anything. I bet you’ll go down in history as the greatest usurping bastard king of all times.”
Four
Bernon had guided Barwolf less than a fourth of the distance to their chamber when her staggering almost sent her crashing into the wall. The little imp would kill herself and deprive him of the pleasure if he wasn’t careful with her. Grabbing her by the waist, he slipped an arm beneath her knees and lifted her into the cradle of his arms.
She looped her arms around his neck, hiccupped then began sniffing his neck. “Merciful heavens, you smell spicy and manly and good enough to eat.” Her lips caught his earlobe and she sucked the sensitive flesh into her mouth, swirling her tongue over the tip. “Ummm.”
Shocked by the tingle shivering down his spine from her provocative ploy, he jerked his head away. “What do you think you are doing?”
“Finding out if you taste as good as you smell.” Obviously not in the least concerned with his surly tone, she sniffed more.
“Well, cut it out.”
“Know what?” She hiccupped and patted his cheek.
“What?” he grumbled.
“You are scrumptious.” She leaned back in his arms and tossed him a lopsided smile. “Both your mouth and your ear taste good. I could eat you up.”
Bernon raised a brow, suppressing unexpected amusement. How had she managed to overcome his irritation? “You think so?”
“Know what else?” she asked, crinkling her nose.
She had an adorable red-tipped nose. “I am sure you are going to tell me.”
“Even if I have had too much to drink, my body is still liking yours,” hiccup, “’cause my bosom is getting all tingly and my belly is fluttering again. Will you kiss me and rub my bottom like you did before?”
His loin tightened and he increased his pace. “You may just get some magic tonight after all.”
“Thank you for not calling me Barwolf in front of our king.” She patted his cheek then raked her fingers through her hair and sighed. “I hate my name and I wish you did not hate me.”
“I do not hate you.”
“Aye, you do.” She nodded vigorously. “’Tis why my father picked you.”
Bernon rolled his eyes. “I said I do not hate you.”
“Well, you are supposed to. My father hated me too.” She hiccupped and frowned. “He said I was the bane of his existence and a punishment God inflicted on all of mankind. Then he knocked me upside my head.” She moved her face directly in front of his and squinted. “I hope when you instruct me that you are right-handed. I do not want to lose my hearing in my right ear too.”
If her father stood before him now, he would kill the dastard. ‘Twas nothing more dishonorable than abusing weak women and children, and his bride easily fit both categories. “I do not hit women and no one else will ever knock you upside your head again.”
She sniffed the hollow of his throat. “You smell good. Gr—r—r—r—r—r—r!”
“What are you doing now?” he asked, trying to keep a straight face. His little bride was truly sloshed.
“I am speaking bear.” She rubbed her nose against the whiskers on his chin then giggled. “That tickles.”
He raised an amused brow. “Why are you speaking bear?”
“Because I want a hug.” She tightened her arms, pressed her breasts against his chest, and rubbed against him.
Thank the Almighty, they had reached their chamber. She was heated and he was hard . Kicking open the door with his foot, Bernon stepped inside then shoved it closed with his shoulder. He crossed the room and sat her on the edge of the bed. She clung to him with an amazing strength for such a little woman. “Let go of my neck, so we can get your clothes off.”
She released his neck, reached down for her hem, and fell against his unyielding abdomen then started pressing on his stomach. “You are hard.”
“You would not believe how hard,” he muttered. He couldn’t believe how aroused her innocently brazen remarks and touch were making him.
“What did you say?�
� she asked, looking up at him through bleary eyes.
“I said I am supposed to be hard.”
She hiccupped, grabbed the hems of her kirtle and shift, and pulled them upon her knees. “These will not come off. My girdle is still on. How do you suppose I forgot something like that?”
She looked up at him like she expected him to fix her problem, so Bernon unfastened the agraffe securing the belt and removed the article.
She tugged on her hems then raised a bewildered face. “I still cannot take my gowns off. I am sitting on them. What do you suppose I should do about that?”
“Put your arms around my neck.” She smiled and threw her arms around his neck with eager abandon. He raised her and pulled the garments out from under her then set her back down. “You can let go now.”
She squeezed tighter. “Gr—r—r—r—r—r—r!”
“In a minute.” He chuckled. “Let us get your clothes off first.”
She let go, flung her arms wide, and appeared bemused. “If we do that, then I will be naked. What do you suppose about that?”
“I suppose hugs are better that way.” Bernon grabbed the hems, pulled the gown and shift over her head, then threw the garments on the floor. Standing straight, he stared down at his bride, sucking in his breath as Geno’s word came to mind—exquisite, and every inch a woman.
“You see what I mean.” She thrust her chest forward and held a pert breast in each hand. “Too big.” Then she set her hands on her tiny waist, which he could span with his hands. “Too small.”
“Just right,” he said, cupping a firm round lobe. He ran a callused thumb over her nipple, exciting it to a taut peak.
She gasped and looked at him with surprise. “When you did that, I got a tingle that went all the way down to my wet place.”
He grinned. “’Tis my turn to taste you.”
Bernon leaned down, flicked his tongue over her rosy nipple then drew the tight nub into his mouth. Good God Almighty, she tasted sweet.
She arched her back and moaned as he wrapped an arm around her waist and gently sucked her breast. Her fingers slid through his hair and she held him close. “Bernon, my body truly likes this a lot.”