by McCall, Mary
“But, ma petite,” he said in a husky whisper, fanning her ear with his hot breath. “You are so amusing to entice, and I receive great pleasure from doing so.”
Her nostrils flared and her eyes narrowed. “Well maybe ‘twould pleasure me to entice you too, milord, and ‘tis a game we both can play. Do not forget you have a control problem too.”
His grin broadened. The little minx was baiting him and appeared thoroughly disgruntled. She was having quite a struggle, trying to hold her temper in check. He probably shouldn’t goad her, should he? He shook his head. Some games were too interesting and he was curious to see how long she would play and how far she would go. “Ah, cheri, you must remember that my mastery over my body is stronger than yours. After all, I only have to look at you to entice you.”
She pursed her lips and glared at him. “Think I cannot entice you?”
“I know you can but not in a hall full of guests,” he whispered.
Without warning, she placed a hand on each side of his face, sucked on his lower lip then kissed him full on the mouth, slipping her tongue between his lips. Liquid fire coursed through him as her honey-sweet mouth and tantalizing scent stormed his senses, sending a pounding need through him. He slanted his mouth over hers and thrust his tongue inside, partaking of her splendor.
Cheers broke out around them, and he realized he was close to taking his wife in front of an audience. She apparently didn’t notice. Her arms slipped around his neck and she melted against him. Maybe his wife needed a lesson on the consequences of taunting a bear. Wrapping his arms around her, he drew her flush against him and stood up straight, lifting her feet from the ground. She quavered and he broke the kiss then stared at her, wearing a pompous grin.
Opening bemused eyes, Barwolf gazed at him. After a moment, she scowled. “Well zut, did I entice you at all, or did it only work on me?”
He suppressed a chuckle at her irritation, knowing he would hurt her feelings if he laughed at her now. “If you didn’t have a mighty ache, you would be so busy right now that you wouldn’t have to ask.”
“I do not have a mighty ache anymore,” she said, lifting her pert nose in the air.
He raised a dubious brow as desire thrilled through him.
“I have soaked three times. I am barely even a mite sore.” She saw fire kindle in his eyes and expelled a dramatic sigh. “But I suppose I will have to suffer the lack of your magic all evening. ‘Tis a mighty fine wand you have, milord. My memory of it is so keen that I fancy I can feel it trying to poke me now.”
His little temptress had roused him and she knew it. Bernon threw back his head and laughed, startling the guests in the hall who had never seen such conduct from the fierce warlord. He gave her a quick possessive kiss on her mouth. “Vixen, as red and swollen as your tender woman’s flesh was this morning, there is no way that your mighty ache could be gone with just three soaks.”
She gasped and her face drained of color. “How did you know I am red and swollen?”
“I looked this morning before you woke.”
“You what?” she shrieked as her face burst into flames.
“You will stand in front of me until I give you permission to move.” He chuckled at her shock and embarrassment coming so fast after her brazen flirtation. “’Tis best I set you down before I’m the one who is poked,” he said, lowering her to the ground. “How many daggers do you have?”
“Six.”
“Six!” Bernon released an exasperated sigh. “I do not know whether to be insulted because you think I need your protection or flattered because you appear to care.”
She patted his chest and beamed up at him. “Then I hope you will pick the latter, so we can have a pleasant evening. Besides, I wouldn’t want to have to eat off the same dagger that I carved a heart out with and you are too valuable, rare, and precious for me to risk losing. Why do I have to stand in front of you?”
“You do not have to anymore, and I will explain later.” He held out an arm to her. “Come, milady. We will mingle with our guests while we await William and Matilda. Hopefully they will get out of the bath before the boar burns.”
Fifteen
Bernon guided Barwolf through the throng, introducing her to their guests. He found himself enjoying her company and shy artless manners. He also liked the way she clung to his arm and instinctively turned to him if she felt unsure of a response or how she should behave.
The king and queen entered three quarters of an hour later and Barwolf graciously inquired whether they would care to mingle before they dined.
“We will dine now,” King William said, patting his sinewy flat abdomen. “Need to keep up my strength for whatever my queen has planned for me next.”
“If you can wait but a moment, Sire, I have a surprise for my lady,” Bernon said.
William nodded his approval, and Bernon called across the hall. “Geno, you can fetch the surprise now.”
Geno grinned and headed for the front door. Barwolf tugged on Bernon’s tunic. He glanced down and observed a troubled frown dimming her glow. “What is wrong, ma petite?” he whispered.
“You keep giving me things and I have nothing to give you.”
“You gave me yourself, cheri. Nothing I give you shall ever compare.”
Booming laughter rang out. “Damn if I’ll not have to catch me a few of them winged pigs flying about the holding! Normans at Strangclyf. Who would have ever thought this day would come?”
“Uncle Aurick!” Barwolf’s face transformed with joy, and she tried to pull free. When Bernon didn’t release her, she raised questioning eyes to his. “I wish to greet him, please?”
“You are Lady Strangclyf. ‘Tis his duty to come to you.” Bernon gestured to Aurick, and the clean-shaven Saxon came forward, stopping three feet in front of them.
“Can I greet him now, please?” she asked, tugging on Bernon’s tunic.
He smiled over her excitement and nodded once. Before he realized her intent, she snatched her hand from his and threw herself at the warrior, who caught her in a fierce embrace and kissed her cheek.
“I am so glad you are home, Uncle Aurick,” she said, placing a tiny hand against his cheek and resting her forehead against his.
“’Tis glad I am to be with you again, but I got your message. The little lamb is not mine anymore, is she?” Aurick asked, smiling into her eyes.
“Nay, but you are still family.” She patted his cheek. “Bernon is sharing the children with me, so he can share my uncle too.”
Aurick’s smile suddenly caught Bernon’s attention. The man had a dimple just to right of his mouth and the shape of his green eyes filled with tenderness. “God’s bones, you’re her—”
“Do not say what you are thinking aloud, milord,” Aurick warned with a stern expression. “I am sworn to kill any man who does, and I would hate to make you my enemy after I have just given you my pledge.”
“I would rather not drop the subject,” Bernon said in a mild tone, not wanting to upset Barwolf, who appeared worried over the conversation.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, glancing between the two men.
“Another time perhaps,” Aurick said, setting her on the floor.
“The morrow at the latest,” Bernon replied with a tenor of command.
Aurick nodded. “Aye, milord. On the morrow.”
“What happens then?” Barwolf asked, wringing her hands.
“Your uncle and I will get to know each other. Nothing more,” Bernon answered, still peering at Aurick.
“You are not going to be enemies, are you?” she asked as her eyes frantically darted between the two warriors.
“Nay, little lamb.” Aurick gave her a reassuring smile. “Your husband just wants to know how I fit into the family.”
“But I already told him that you are Grandfather’s bastard.” She raked her fingers through her hair.
“Do you trust me?” Bernon asked in a calm tone.
“Of course I trust you.”
She cast wounded eyes toward him that he should ask such a question.
“Then you will not worry over this matter further.”
Barwolf looked into his eyes and Bernon saw the tension eased away from her. She moved and stood in front of him, placing a hand on his arm, and he covered her hand with his. “I will not worry,” she promised.
“You are married to a good man, little lamb. I’ll not have to fear for your safety anymore.”
“Can Uncle Aurick dine with us and sit on my other side, please, Bernon?”
“He most certainly may not,” the king said. “He will dine beside his queen who has been most anxious to meet him.”
Barwolf blushed. “I am so sorry, Your Majesty. I became so excited that I forgot to introduce you. Please forgive me. I keep thinking of you as Bernon’s family and forgetting there are protocols to follow.”
“No need to distress yourself, Lady Strangclyf,” William assured her with a smile. “We take no offense and are proud to consider you family too.”
Bernon made the introductions. Aurick charmed William and Matilda with his brazen wit. Small talk swirled about them.
~ * ~
Despite the festive atmosphere, Barwolf felt an evil presence hovering among the crowd. First unease, then pure trepidation seized her. She knew in her heart Bernon wasn’t safe. She clutched her pearl-hilted dagger and looked around the hall at the soldiers and people, trying to discern the source of the threat.
The voices around her seemed to muffle and magnify at the same time. Her sense of doom swelled, and she didn’t realize her feet moved with her visual quest until she was ten feet away behind Bernon. A movement in the gallery at Bernon’s back caught her eye.
She sent her blade soaring just as one flew from the balcony. Without a moment’s hesitation, she launched herself at Bernon’s back, wrapping her arms around him and screaming, “Nay!”
Just after her weight hit him, Bernon went rigid.
“Do not move, milord!” Aurick shouted in a voice graveled with emotion. “She is bound to you. Let me lift her.”
Barwolf held her eyes shut tight. A lone tear streaked down her cheek. Aurick grabbed hold of her waist and tried lifting her. “Come, little lamb. You need to let go.”
Her eyes slowly opened, but she held fast. “Is Bernon all right?”
“He is fine. ‘Tis you who took the blade. Now let go, so we can tend you.”
“Promise me you will be his backward eyes, Aurick,” she pleaded.
“Aye, little lamb,” Aurick said, blinking against the unusual moisture marring his vision. “’Tis a promise.”
Barwolf forced herself to relax her grip and Aurick lifted her.
~ * ~
The moment Bernon felt her weight and the tip of the dagger leave his back, he turned, took her into his arms, and strode across the hall. She moaned and opened her eyes.
“Why in perdition did you not catch the damn thing like you did for the king?” he gruffly asked, fighting the need to crush her against him, so he could feel her heart beat next to his own.
“Could not take the risk of missing,” she said, raising eyes clouded with pain to his. “I do not want to live without you anymore.”
Her declaration tugged at his heart. Almighty God, he didn’t want to live without her either. Bernon lifted her higher and kissed her brow. “Just be brave, ma petite. We will have the blade out as soon as we reach our chamber.”
She leaned her head upon his shoulder and groaned. “My beautiful gown is ruined now, isn’t it?”
“You are not to worry over such a thing.” How in perdition could she worry about a damn gown? Did she not realize she could die?
“But my other fine gown from the material you gave me is gone too. You will think I am careless now, and, truly, I’m not.” She sniffed back a tear.
“I will not think you careless.”
“I also lost the dagger you gave me, and ‘twas such a fine blade,” she lamented.
“How did you lose it?”
“I threw it at the person in the gallery who threw the blade at you.”
“I will get you another if the dagger is not recovered.” Bernon entered their chamber and sat Barwolf on the side of the bed. Grabbing the bed linen with his left hand, he pulled the dagger from her back with his right, and then applied pressure over the entrance and exit wounds by spanning his hand with the sheet over her shoulder.
A short whimper escaped her and she blanched as silent tears spilled from her eyes. Bernon watched the color leave her cheeks and felt his own drain away. “I know that hurt,” he said in a calm voice. “But ‘twould have been worse from tension had I warned you. Take a few deep breaths.”
She kept her lips tightly compressed and nodded, drawing in air through her nose.
Ardith entered, carrying a tray with fresh water, wine, and linen for bandages. Aurick followed, toting Ardith’s medicinal case. “Would that be the blade that pierced her?” Aurick asked in a dubious tone then glanced at Barwolf’s strained face.
“Aye,” Bernon said, fury seething through his tone. “When I discover the owner, this same blade will pierce his black heart.”
“’Twould be best if you would use it on the one who threw it rather than the owner, milord,” Aurick suggested, his worried frown on Barwolf.
Bernon turned a sharp gaze on the legion commander. “What in perdition does that mean?”
“’Tis your wife’s dagger. I carved the handle for her myself.” Aurick balled his fists and his nostrils flared. “Someone wants you dead and the blame on her.”
Barwolf clutched Bernon’s tunic and raised anxious eyes. “I didn’t do it, Bernon. I promise. I lost my dagger in Londontown, remember?”
He tenderly caressed her cheek with a knuckle. “Shh. Calm down, cheri. I know ‘twas not you.”
“How is she?” Balen called from the doorway.
“I am fine, Balen. Nothing important got hit,” she said. “I am sorry about the purgative, and I—”
“You got hit and you are important, damn it!” Bernon clamped his mouth shut and inhaled deeply. God’s wounds, what was he doing? His anger could only upset her more at the moment, but damnation he would instruct her about her value as soon as she recovered. He looked toward his brother. “Is there any sign of who did this?”
“Nay. We recovered her dagger,” Balen replied in a hard voice. “’Twas covered with blood, so she hit her mark. Medwyn has organized some men, and they are scouring the keep now, looking for someone with a fresh wound.”
“Would you want me to be seeing to her injury now, milord?” Ardith asked in a tight voice.
Bernon noticed tears in the housekeeper’s eyes and knew she worried over his wife as a mother would. He eased his grip on Barwolf’s shoulder and peeked under the sheet. “Aye, Ardith,” he said, struggling for a steady tone. “The bleeding slows. Aurick, wait outside the chamber with Balen. I will speak to both of you in a few moments.”
Aurick nodded and turned toward the door.
“Aurick, do not forget your promise,” Barwolf called, desperation lacing her plea.
The old warrior faced her and nodded once. “I’ll remember, little lamb. You just remember that you are valuable, rare, and precious.”
The door closed behind Aurick, and Bernon moved to the foot of the bed. He crossed his arms over his chest as Ardith cut away his wife’s gown from her shoulder, exposing the injuries.
Barwolf clasped her hands in her lap and looked at her wound. “I think we can skip this part, Ardith. My shoulder does not feel too bad.”
“Now, milady. You know better,” Ardith replied, her voice calmer after seeing the damage.
Ardith turned away and Barwolf blanched. “I am sure ‘twill heal well if I just soak my shoulder in the bath.”
“’Twill heal better if I clean the wounds and stitch them shut.” Ardith faced her, holding a towel and the flagon.
“But I am sure you have other more important matters to tend t
o with all our guests,” Barwolf implored in a high-pitched utterance.
Bernon rolled his eyes. “Ma petite?”
“Aye, Bernon.” She raised the most dread-filled countance he had ever seen in his life.
“You are not going to talk her out of this,” he ordered in a firm yet gentle tone.
“I had to try.” Barwolf raked her fingers through her hair. “Bernon, would you do me a favor, do you suppose, please?”
“I might if you tell me what the favor is and I do not think ‘twould harm you.”
Barwolf released a shuddering sigh and bowed her head. “Would you sit on my right side, so I can lean against you? And mayhap help me hold my left arm still? I am afraid I may jerk away from the needle and fall off the bed, and ‘twill be easier for Ardith to get to both wounds if I am sitting up.”
Bernon sat beside her and slipped an arm around her waist, drawing her against his side. He placed his other hand over her left elbow, holding her arm in place. Barwolf slid her right arm around Bernon’s back and pressed her left hand against his abdomen. Then she buried her face in his shoulder.
Ardith set about her task, cleaning the wounds and carefully stitching the flesh closed. Bernon heard one muffled whimper the first time the needle pierced Barwolf’s flesh. She didn’t make another sound after that, though her tears soaked his tunic. Her only other concessions to the pain were her left hand fisting in the material of his tunic and a fine trembling of her entire body.
Ardith cut the last thread then coated both wounds with a salve. “There now, milady. The worst is over. Let’s get your gown off, so we can get you bandaged proper.”
Barwolf pushed away from Bernon then clutched at him . After a moment she sat upright, keeping her head bowed and clenching her hands into fists. “Thank you, Bernon.”
Bernon brushed his lips over her brow and whispered, “I’m not moving until Ardith finishes and you are ready to lie down.”