by McCall, Mary
He released her, and she whimpered in protest until his mouth covered her other breast, exciting a pleasured moan from her. Her uninhibited response was making him crazed. And honest to God, scrumptious was a good word. He intended savoring this feast no matter how badly he throbbed with a need to claim her maidenhead as his own. He wanted to explore her passion.
“Bernon, do something. I am getting achy.”
He continued suckling her ripe fruit and lay her back upon the bed. Caressing downward, his fingers invaded the golden curls between her legs and massaged her delicate folds. She whimpered and writhed against the caress, soaking his hand with her desire.
“Something is happening, Bernon,” she said in a shaky awed voice. “I feel very achy now, but I like it. Rub me more.”
He slipped a finger into her slick sheath and her moist heat gripped his flesh. God’s teeth, she was tight and hot. He couldn’t wait for her to stretch around his pulsating flesh.
She bucked against his hand and tensed, clutching at his shoulders. “Bernon, what is happening to me?”
He wouldn’t wait. Bernon seized her mouth in a hot, demanding kiss. He thrust his tongue in rhythm with his fingers, stroking her heat. She moaned deep in her throat, and he reached with his free hand to pull the string on his braies.
Without warning the tenor of her moans changed. She jerked on his hair. He broke the kiss and gazed at her distressed features. “Bernon, I think I am truly getting sick.”
He barely got the basin under her head before she began vomiting. Her heaves lasted a good long while. Then she moaned, begging him to kill her and be done with the torture.
She would never know how much he wanted to accommodate her. He was stone hard and couldn’t think of another woman at court who could possibly satisfy him. He frowned at the thought. Who the woman was never mattered before and he didn’t want it to matter now. He knew better than to allow any woman such power.
Could this need to have only her stem from her response? ‘Twas probably the first genuine response he had ever witnessed. She told him everything her hot body did and felt in such an unsophisticated way that he couldn’t wait to hear what she would say next. Her woman’s core had felt so small and slick around his finger that he hurt with a need to bury himself within her. Damn if he didn’t feel his release draw near just thinking about it. He clenched his jaw.
He could go on and take her. She was his and ‘twas his right. He would be doing her a favor too. She was so tiny that her first time was bound to be painful no matter how careful he was. She probably wouldn’t even remember her discomfort if he took her now.
What was he thinking? Bernon took a deep breath and wiped a frustrated hand over his face. He had never taken a drunken woman before. He was not about to start with this young innocent who belonged to him. He didn’t want a complainer on his hands. Not only would he have to see her after tonight, she would be the mother of his children.
His thoughts turned to his own mother. Funny.. .he couldn’t even remember her name or what she looked like. He did recall the parade of men in and out of their small hovel, having a baby named Balen shoved into his seven-year-old arms, and waking to find her gone when he was nine.
What would have become of Balen and him if William hadn’t caught him stealing bread and taken the two brothers in? Seven-year-old Geno had already gone to live with William, removing the embarrassment of his birth and presence from immediate proximity to the Roman Curia. With William as a father figure, the three boys grew up as brothers and received the finest training in warfare available.
Unlike Geno and Balen who loved and enjoyed all women, Bernon saw his mother in every female who crossed his path...until Maurella. As a naïve youth, he gave his heart to the dark mysterious lady only for her to trample upon it and scorn him. The night of their betrothal, he found her in bed with another young warrior offering up her rosy body for perverted pleasure. His innocent fiancée turned out to have more carnal experience than all of William’s command combined. Two weeks after he had broken off the betrothal, Maurella had the gall to claim she carried his child. She had demanded justice from William. Thank the Almighty his liege believed him when he said he hadn’t taken her. Three weeks later he heard Maurella had died, trying to rid herself of the child.
Bernon frowned. Would Barwolf so easily abandon or discard a child? He would not allow it. The only truly decent woman he knew was Queen Matilda, and she would probably gladly raise any child he sent to her. Now that was a sound plan. Any children he had with Barwolf could be raised in royal style then returned to Strangclyf when diligent care and observation were no longer required. He would inform his bride when the time came. She was submissive and she obviously trusted him or she would not have come to him for help. She would obey him and see the rightness in his decision.
If he had to have a wife, she wasn’t so bad. She was definitely raw material. He would train her to be a good wife. He should not have any trouble molding her into a dutiful handmaid who didn’t interfere with his well-ordered life.
Bernon stared down at his sleeping bride and his lips quirked. She had really cast off her oars. She lay flat on her back with one arm flung over her and the other lying limply by her head. A small slobber of drool trickled from the corner of her mouth, which opened slightly with each breath.
Tomorrow would be the worst day of her young life. Thank the Almighty, he would not have to watch her suffer.
~ * ~
Zut! Why would God not be merciful and let her die?
Maybe she had. ‘Twas it! She was dead and her eternal punishment was little men with a catapult flinging tiny boulders inside her skull and an eternal need to relieve herself. And if she moved, her head would splatter from a ricochet shot.
Barwolf opened one eye. Searing light laid siege to her brain. An anguished moan rolled off her lips as the little men started using bigger rocks. Now she had another urgent need. Do they have chamber pots in hell, or should she just toss up on herself and add that to the punishment?
She’d best find out fast! Holding her head with both hands, she sat up and swayed. By good fortune, the basin sat conveniently on the bed beside her. After several moments of heaves, she carefully lay back down and sighed. The little men had quit throwing stones. Now her whole head just ached from the residual bruises. She still needed to relieve herself too. ‘Twould have to wait. She was exhausted.
Opening her eyes, she blinked at the bright light then glanced from side to side. Thank the Lord, she was not in hell. She was back in Bernon’s chamber. She scrunched her face into a frown that made her head hurt worse. She remembered giving Bernon the title, then she embarrassed Bernon in front of the king. Then Cedd showed up and she penned a note to Aurick. Then what?
Ah, then Bernon kissed her. A light sigh escaped her lips as they curved into a dreamy smile. The man could definitely make her body act strange. She felt all fluttery and tingly just thinking about his delectable taste. And the way his big, strong hands stroked her tender flesh. He even said she pleased him.
Worry settled on her brow. Did he mean it? After all, she possessed no experience and he was a man of the world. He had probably kissed many women.
She would not think of his kiss anymore. He had said ‘twas his duty to teach her, so ‘twas his duty to make sure she learned well enough to please him.
What happened next? She couldn’t seem to get her mind working today. Wait. Geno came and they went to dine at the king’s table. She could not eat, because she was so nervous. She was also furious at some tart for casting lures at Bernon. Her mind went blank.
Zut! Why could she not remember? And why did she feel so wretched?
Her eyes flew open. Had they consummated their marriage? She fervently wracked her brain. A vague recollection of two strong arms pulling her backside against a warm granite wall came to mind, then something poked her bottom. Aye, because she wiggled and a giant hand settled on her belly and a gruff voice ordered her to hold still.
“Well rot,” she grumbled. “Bernon poked me and I missed the magic.”
At least he had slept with her, so their marriage was consummated. Once she gave Bernon the secret, he could reclaim Strangclyf. Soon life could get back to normal—or whatever normal was going to become.
She couldn’t stay in bed forever. From the light in the sky, the time must be past the nooning. Why had Bernon let her sleep so late? She needed to find him, so she could take care of the last part of her duty in the transfer of the holding.
Barwolf rose on wavering legs and relieved her urgent need. After donning Bernon’s under tunic, which lay on the foot of the bed, she staggered over to the ablution table and splashed cold water on her face. Merciful heavens, a bath would feel good right now. As she rinsed the foul taste from her mouth, someone knocked on the door.
“Enter,” she called then grimaced as the little men threw a few more stones.
A young brunette with a pleasant mien came inside the room, carrying a tray with a goblet upon it. “Good day, Lady Strangclyf. I am Ellette. Queen Matilda asked me to bring you this potion for your headache.”
“How does Queen Matilda know I have a headache?” Barwolf asked, surprised.
A smile played about Ellette’s lips, though she spoke in a kind tone. “Beggin’ your pardon, milady, but ‘twas probably all the wine you drank last night at dinner.”
“Thank you, Ellette.” She tried to give the woman a gracious smile, but oh zut! She must have disgraced herself by getting drunk if the queen knew how wretched she felt. Bernon was probably displeased with her too. “Have you seen my husband?”
“Not since he left this morning. He said we should let you sleep until you woke, because you had a rough journey here and needed the rest.”
Well, wasn’t that thoughtful? And now she felt like crying because he made her feel like she mattered. “Do you know where he went or when I should expect him?”
“Nay, milady. Would you like the potion?” Ellette asked, holding up the tray.
Barwolf wiped a hand across her brow. “You say ‘tis for this wretched headache?”
Ellette nodded. “The king swears by it.”
“I will drink it then.” Barwolf drained the contents, grimacing over the bitter taste, and returned the goblet. “My thanks to the Queen.”
“Her Majesty asked me to covey an invitation for you to dine with her in her solar this evening if you feel better after your nap.”
“I am not taking a nap. Does the queen think me a weakling?”
“Nay, milady, but you are going to sleep,” Ellette said in a tone that bespoke certainty. “’Tis an effect of the queen’s cure, but ‘twill be worth it.”
“But I cannot sleep.” Panic flowed over Barwolf. She raked her finger through her hair as her eyelids grew heavy. “I have an important duty that cannot be delayed.”
~ * ~
The sun set before she woke. With the room in complete darkness, Barwolf crept across the chamber. She would just peek outside, call out to a passing servant, and ask for a tallow. As she tugged on the heavy door, Balen and another soldier turned her way.
“Are you all right, little sister?” Balen asked, frowning at her with concern.
She gasped and hid behind the door, so her new brother wouldn’t see her garbed in only Bernon’s under tunic. “’Tis dark. Might you hand me a tallow please?”
“Would you prefer a torch?” he asked in a solicitous voice.
“I could not reach the wall bracket if you gave me one,” she muttered, holding the neck of Bernon’s tunic together at her throat.
“I can,” he offered. “Go slip under the covers. I will place the torch and leave.”
“All right.” Barwolf ran to the bed, climbed up, and pulled the covers over her head. “I am ready.”
Balen entered and placed a torch in a bracket by the bed and another in a bracket over the ablution table. “’Tis done.”
Barwolf heard the door shut and came out from under the covers. After a hasty toilette, she donned her black chemise, gold gown, and braided girdle, which she found thrown across the chair back. The pearl-handled dagger Bernon let her use to make him The Strangclyf rested on the seat of the chair in a sheath. She hesitated, looking at the beautiful hilt, then she secured the weapon to her girdle. Someone might steal this fine dagger if she left it lying around. Hers was gone after all. Now she would seek out Bernon and give him the secret.
Leaving the chamber, she found Balen and the young soldier still outside the door and smiled. “Good evening, Balen. Please introduce me to your friend.”
“This is Damon, little sister,” Balen said. “He serves Bernon.”
“I am glad to meet you, Damon,” she said, giving him a small curtsy.
Damon sucked in his breath as her eyes connected with his. He bowed. “I am honored that you are glad, milady.”
“’Tis lucky for me that I finished dressing before you left,” she said. “’Tis a confusing place and I might get lost without directions.”
“We would not have left you, sister,” Balen said in an offended tone.
Damon nodded. “Balen is right, milady. We are here to guard you.”
“You do not have to guard me,” she said, appalled. “I always take care of myself. I am sure Bernon has something more important for you to do.”
Balen shook his head. “’Tis by Bernon’s order that we guard you, so he must think this duty is important.”
“You mean he wastes two good soldiers protecting me?” she asked stunned.
Both men nodded at her.
“But I am only a woman.”
“Nay, sister.” Balen grinned. “You are his woman, so we are not wasted.”
What was she supposed to think of that? The only one who ever offered her protection was Uncle Aurick, and he could protect her only when away from his duties as legion commander. Her father never cared about her facing danger and she hadn’t expected Bernon to care either. Of course if anything happened to her before she gave him the secret, then he couldn’t reclaim Strangclyf. Barwolf nodded to herself. That explained her guards. Bernon was protecting her knowledge until ‘twas his.
“I was told earlier that Queen Matilda expects me to dine with her in the solar. Am I too late, do you suppose?” she asked, a measure of anxiety threading her words.
“Nay, milady. Your timing is flawless,” Damon assured her. “We will be happy to escort you.”
“Do you know if Bernon is nearby? I would like to speak with him before I dine if ‘tis possible.”
Damon shifted and glanced away. Balen refused to meet her gaze and cleared his throat. “My brother should have told you.”
“What should he have told me?” she asked, as old fears came to haunt her.
Balen cast a sheepish expression at his friend. “Damon, tell her what Bernon should have told her.”
She didn’t give Damon a chance to reply. “Do we expect him back or did he decide not to keep me?” Both men appeared appalled by her question. “’Tis all right if he does not. I truly did not expect to live with him, though I did hope to return to Strangclyf one last time.”
Balen exchanged glances with Damon. “Do not be crushed by Bernon’s rudeness. He has not left you, sister,” Balen said in a gentle tone. “He will send for you in a few weeks.”
“You do not have to lie for my sake, Balen. ‘Tis a grave sin, though I appreciate your effort.” Her shoulders slumped and she rubbed her brow with her fingers.
“Balen does not lie to you, milady,” Damon said with a measure of censure in his tone. “Bernon and the king left this morning to claim Strangclyf. He will send for you when ‘tis safe.”
“He what?” she yelled as her heart thumped an erratic rhythm in her chest.
Damon eyed her with concern. “He has gone to—”
“I heard you.” She began wringing her hands and shaking her head. “I cannot believe he would do this to me.”
“What has he don
e?” Balen frowned at her agitation.
“He has gone off to get himself killed, so he will not have to remain married to me,” she replied with absolute certainty.
“Bernon always wins,” Damon boasted for his liege.
“I told him I would give him the secret, but he does not know it yet. He cannot take Strangclyf without the knowledge. My husband and my king are riding into a trap.” She sighed and shook her head. “Damon, you will please inform my queen that I cannot dine with her.”
“You are refusing the queen’s invitation?” Damon asked aghast and sent Balen an uneasy glance.
Did they think she would neglect her most important duty? She frowned and settled hands on her hips. “Of course I am. I have to save my husband and my king. Bernon will have to find another way to end our marriage. I will not allow his death. Besides, if he dies, then I will be The Strangclyf again and I do not want the responsibility.”
“Bernon will not appreciate your lack of trust, sister,” Balen chided.
“I trust him,” she replied, nodding once to emphasis her truthfulness.
Balen appeared stymied by her rapid reply. “Then why do you insist he needs you to save him?”
“I do not have time to explain.” She raised a resolute gaze to them. “Both of you are my seconds now, so get ready. We will leave for the dock in a quarter of an hour.”
“You cannot leave, milady,” Damon said. “Your husband left us to guard you.”
“Are you saying I am a prisoner?” she asked, narrowing her eyes and favoring them with her most ferocious glare.
The men looked at each other. Then Damon cleared his throat and hardened his tone. “Your husband wants you to stay here and ‘tis our duty to follow his orders.”
“But he needs me there.” Merciful heavens, they were going to thwart her. She glared at them and crossed her arms in front of her. “You do not believe me, do you? You think I am an over-reacting female with fodder for brains.”