by McCall, Mary
“My thanks, Your Grace,” Brianna said, accepting his offered hand as she rose. She cast an anxious glance toward Aurick. “I appreciate the honor you do me.”
“Come, Aurick,” the king ordered. “You shall escort Lady Brianna.”
“Gladly, Sire.” Aurick moved to Brianna’s side and slipped a possessive arm about her waist.
“Everyone go to the tables now, so we may dine,” Barwolf ordered in a voice that carried throughout the hall. She slipped her arm around Bernon’s and tugged him toward the high table.
The invitation didn’t have to be issued twice. Everyone rushed to the tables before something else could delay the meal yet again. Arriving at the head table, Barwolf was about to sit down when Bernon moved her to the left side of the bench they shared. She cast stricken eyes toward him then swiftly lowered her gaze and sat in the seat he indicated.
Bernon saw her expression and knew she misunderstood his reason. He sat beside her and whispered in her good ear, “Are you comfortable?”
Barwolf sighed and nodded then raised contrite eyes. “I am sorry my eagerness upsets you. I’m trying not to let it show.”
“I am not upset with you.” Her expression said she didn’t believe him. “Do you know why I put you on my left side?”
She nodded and bowed her head. “I am not worthy.”
Bernon released an exasperated sigh. “I put you on my left side because you do not like being on my right side where you have trouble hearing my whispers.”
She looked up surprised. “You mean you put me here just so I could hear you better and not because you are upset with me?”
“If I have to repeat myself, then my plan must not have worked,” he said, flashing her a roguish grin.
“Thank you,” she said and patted his arm.
“For what?”
“For being nice to me again.” Barwolf speared a piece of meat from their trencher with her dagger and shoved the morsel into his mouth before he could reply. While he chewed, she moved closer to him and speared another bite. He grabbed her wrist and raised the meat to her mouth. She couldn’t do anything except eat the bite without causing a scene.
He swallowed as she chewed. “The trencher and goblet are to be shared. I’ll not have you making yourself sick on wine by not eating again, else you will be too drunk for magic later.”
Her eyes grew huge and she swallowed. “Thank you.”
He would never figure her out. “Why are you thanking me now?”
“For not letting me get drunk. I do not want to miss our magic.” She held another bite up to his mouth.
He raised an amused brow. “I take it we are going for a boy.”
“Unless you would rather have a girl?”
If only she meant that...He let a slow seductive grin tilt his lips. “What if I want both?”
She contemplated the matter, nodded to herself, then gazed back up at him. “Then I shall feed you and lick your wand and whatever comes first, comes first.”
He locked his eyes on hers, took hold of her wrist, and guided the bite into his mouth, slowly chewing and never allowing his eyes to waver.
Barwolf gulped and ran her tongue over her lips. “Bernon, I wish you would not look at me like that right now.”
He raised a brow.
“I am already achy and tingly,” she confided. “When you look at me like that, I feel feverish too.”
With a devilish grin, he took her dagger and offered her a bite, slipping his other arm around her waist. She accepted the morsel and lowered her right hand to rest on his thigh. After she swallowed, she reached for the goblet and took a drink of wine. Bernon placed his fingers over hers on the goblet then leaned over and drank from the same spot. Her pupils dilated and her breathing grew shallow. She wasn’t subtle at all. His lips quirked. She was just so adorable when she blushed and got flustered.
“Ma petite, you have fed me and pampered me and we have drunk from the same cup. Now you will be a calm good girl while I attend our guests. I shall give you what you crave soon enough.” Bernon turned and struck up a conversation with Druce and Hugo about possible candidates for Barwolf’s century.
She frowned, obviously frustrated by his dismissal. He ate from their trencher and ignored her to all practical appearances. She glanced toward the other end of the table. Her father nuzzled her mother’s neck. The queen said something to the king then lightly stroked his cheek.
He knew it was coming. Barwolf casually leaned against his side. He adjusted his hold about her waist and his hand slid directly below her left breast. He heard a muttered zut leave her lips. Then she clenched her jaw and casually massaged his left thigh where her hand rested.
Bernon rolled his eyes and glanced down at the top of her head. He wanted to laugh. The little vixen was set upon getting her way tonight. He could appreciate her uninhibited anticipation and desire, especially because he had hurt her the first time. Just thinking their bathroom encounter sent fiery pulses throbbing through his groin until he hardened with need. Much more of her foreplay and he would push their trencher aside and take her on the head table in view of the court. However, his wife needed to learn once and for all that taunting bears could prove dangerous.
He placed his right hand over the dainty fingers caressing his thigh, stilling their movement. His fingers under her breast began a subtle circular massage of her midriff. She went rigid and gasped, then her right hand began squeezing his thigh. He grinned and stopped the caress. In a casual move, he reached for their wine and allowed his knuckles to lightly stroke over her left nipple. Her peak felt pebble-hard through her gown. He placed the rim to her lips and tilted the drink, catching her moan.
Barwolf swallowed some wine then raised her longing gaze. He captured her eyes in a hypnotic pull as he turned the goblet and drank from the same spot. Her tongue flitted along her lips.
Amusement sparkled in his eyes and he grinned at her fidgeting. “Ma petite,” he whispered. “Are you all right? You appear a bit flushed.”
She tugged on his shoulder until he leaned his ear down to her mouth. “I need you and I am desperate.”
“You will have to wait, and let this be a lesson to you, so you’ll not have to suffer in the future.”
She gasped and turned an accusing gaze upon him. “You made me feel this way on purpose?”
“You are no more uncomfortable than I am,” he gritted out.
“But I am willing to accommodate you,” she huffed, wearing her ferocious face.
“I shall take care of you when the time and place are appropriate,” he promised. “Now eat your food.”
Barwolf looked down the table at the guests and groaned. Bernon knew no one was in any hurry to leave. He chuckled in her ear, then he took up a conversation with Geno who sat midway down the table.
He should have foreseen another assault and headed off any action, but who could have anticipated her actions? Barwolf hooked her right leg over his left thigh. She heaved herself over until she was straddling his leg. Then she squeezed her thighs with all her might. A long relieved sigh escaped her lips and she relaxed against his chest with her eyes closed.
“Feeling better, ma petite?” he asked in a tense voice.
“Aye, I think I’ll last through the rest of the meal.” She glanced up and caught every eye gaping at her. “There is a splinter on the other side of the bench,” she blurted. “I had to move so it wouldn’t poke me.”
Geno’s eyes glittered with mischief. “Ah, little wolf, your jeopardy—”
“Do not finish it, Geno,” Bernon ordered in an iron voice.
“But, my friend, ‘tis too good to pass up,” Geno goaded.
“What is too good to pass up?” Barwolf asked.
Bernon shook his head. “I shall explain later.” He cast his you-just-wait glare at his friend, who couldn’t control his mirth. “Geno, drink some more wine.”
“King William, you look tired,” Barwolf called down the length of the table.
&n
bsp; William paused with his goblet in mid-ascent and looked at her. “I feel wonderful.”
“Are you sure?” Concern knitted her brows. “You could go rest and we would all understand.”
Bernon frowned at the top of her head. “Do not insult our king by suggesting he is not fit.”
“You look fit, Your Grace,” she assured him. “Just tired.”
William shrugged and lowered his goblet to the table. “I am not in the least tired and I have a few things to discuss with Bernon.”
She gasped as if he had said he was taking Bernon away for an extra forty days of scutelege. “Can they not wait?”
“Ma petite, you are being rude,” Bernon hissed in her ear.
She half-turned and patted his cheek. “’Tis all right. I am a bastard and bastards can be rude. You explained this earlier.”
“You may not be rude. Now apologize to the king before I’m tempted to carry you into the ale room and spank your bottom.”
Barwolf turned back around and cast penitent eyes upon the king. “I apologize for trying to rush you, Your Grace, but Bernon will not retire to our chamber until you go to yours.”
“And you are anxious to retire with your husband?” William asked with a twinkle in his eyes.
“Aye, desperately anxious.” She nodded. “I was trying to seduce him, you see, but it worked better on me than on him, so now I am terribly uncomfortable.”
Bernon clenched his jaw. “We do not boast of our bodily feelings to our king.”
“I am sorry I told you I was uncomfortable, Your Grace.” She leaned her forehead against her palms and sounded miserable. “It must be my passions talking, because I’m usually very restrained.”
Bernon rolled his eyes. All heaven knew she had not been restrained since they met. “You will cease speaking, wife.”
Barwolf immediately bowed her head and clasped her hands in her lap.
Taking pity on the young lady’s plight, Queen Matilda knocked a half-eaten trencher onto William’s lap. “Oops. Do forgive me, dear. I believe you should retire to the bath. I shall come help you, and your conversation with Bernon can wait until the morrow.”
“Bested by a slip of a woman,” William said, raising his eyes to heaven.
“Saved by one,” Matilda retorted as they rose and walked away.
As soon as the royal couple left, Barwolf jumped from Bernon’s lap and turned expectant eyes on him.
The minx obviously hadn’t learned her lesson. He ignored her and took a bite of pork, slowly chewed, then chased it down with wine. She moved closer to him. Her hand reached for the trencher and he grabbed her wrist. “Do not even think about it.”
“Bernon is right, little wolf. A queen can get away with many things that a lady cannot.” Geno stood, walked over to her, and winked. “Allow me.”
Geno lifted the trencher, slammed it against Bernon’s chest, and rubbed the food into his tunic. “The wine is excellent tonight, Bernon. You must have some of that too.” He picked up a flagon and emptied the contents over Bernon’s head. “Now, my friend, you too appear in need of a bath. We all hope you will allow the little wolf to help, so you will be less surly on the morrow.”
Bernon casually lifted his napkin and wiped his face. After glaring at Geno, he eyed his wife, who was having a hard time controlling her mirth. The imp looked as pleased as if she had put Geno up to the deed.
He came off the bench with a growl and lunged at her. She lifted her skirts on a shriek, avoiding capture, and dashed for the lord’s tower.
Aurick hugged Brianna to his side and laughed, watching the new lord chase his lady from the hall. “Our lamb was right, love. We have a bear at Strangclyf again.”
Eighteen
Bernon dodged the many courtiers who tried to trip him and hinder his pursuit amid a cacophony of laughter. He finally caught up to his giggling wife on the landing outside their chamber, threw his arms around her, and pulled her back against him. “I have you now, little vixen. ‘Tis time you learned to show proper respect for your lord and master.”
He spun her around and lifted her from the floor. His lips crushed down on hers in a hungry kiss, slanting provocatively until she opened for him. He thrust his tongue inside, stroking the contours of her mouth and savoring her sweet taste. Honestly, she was a delicacy for a starving man to savor.
Barwolf clutched at his shoulders, arched against him, then released a groan filled with frustration. He noticed her skirts trapped her and prevented her from hugging him with her legs.
Bernon nudged open their chamber door, entered, and kicked it shut. Turning around, he pressed her back against the closed portal and continued his savage possession of her mouth. Her tongue boldly stroked against the length of his and he growled, letting her know he liked her response. With one hand supporting her bottom, he reached down and bunched up her skirts to her waist. He slipped his fingers between her feminine folds, eliciting a whimper from her as her legs came around him and she tried to buck against his hand.
He growled into her mouth. His hand left her and found the string holding his braies. After freeing his engorged flesh, he firmly gripped her hips and surged inside her then held her still, enjoying the feeling of her tight, moist heat clamping down on him.
A strangled cry caught in her throat and she momentarily stiffened.
Bernon broke the kiss, breathing hard. “Did I hurt you?”
She opened her eyes and he gazed into the passion-filled orbs. “Move, please.”
“What?”
“I have a mighty ache and I need you to move like before. Please, Bernon.”
Her plea stoked his ardor and he drew in a ragged breath. “Cross your ankles and try to keep your legs around my waist.”
She followed the gruffly given command and more of him stretched inside her. A moan slipped from her lips and she clutched at his shoulders, trying to rise and start their rhythm.
Bernon felt about to explode, but he was teaching her a lesson, damn it, and he would give her no satisfaction till the lesson was done. He stilled her movements against the door then gripped her hands and held them against the wood above her head.
She arched her back, rubbed her taut nipples over his chest, and squeezed her legs tighter. “Bernon, please! I need you to put out the fire.”
The pulses in her feminine core stimulated his arousal. Fighting her husky plea was making him daft. Lesson be damned! He wanted this as much as she did. With a groan of defeat, he captured her mouth in a feral plundering, pulled his shaft out almost all the way, and then he slammed back inside her.
She moaned with pleasure and quickly joined his demanding thrusts, matching his rhythm as he surged inside her again and again. Her whole world consisted of only Bernon and the rapture of his power flowing into her. The pressure in her womb exploded and her senses reeled. Crying out his name in a guttural release, she clung to him as ecstasy became her only reality.
He relished her heat convulsing around his shaft and growled his satisfaction as his seed shot within her womb, culminating his own release.
Sagging against him, Barwolf marveled over the strength encased in his hard body. She smiled, marveling over the gentleness this huge, powerful warlord exerted whenever he touched her. He made her feel safe and cherished. Was it any wonder that she loved him?
She tensed and opened her eyes. Merciful heavens, she meant that! Barwolf pushed back, so she could look at his face. She couldn’t mask her horror as she studied his handsome chiseled features. What could she do now? She was in love with him and ‘twas forbidden. She shook her head, trying to deny the truth.
Bernon drew his brows together in concern. “What is wrong, cheri?”
Bursting into tears, she threw her arms around him and sobbed into his neck.
“Did I hurt you.” he asked while tenderly stroking her back. “My intention was to be gentle, but with you my intentions seem to desert me as soon as you moan.”
She hiccuped and tightened her embrace. �
�Please do not send me away. I didn’t mean to disappoint you.”
He tried to lift her chin to see her face but she stiffened too much. “What brought this on? You did not disappoint me and I am not sending you away. Why would you think such a thing?”
She sobbed harder then blurted out, “I disobeyed you.”
“How did you disobey me?”
She stilled and whispered, “I love you, Bernon.”
He tensed then shifted her in his arms. “Look at me.”
In the clear depths of her emerald gaze, he read the truth of her confession. A feeling of rightness settled about his heart, and he realized he had needed those words from her, needed to know that the heart she had given him in her wedding vows truly belonged to him. His heart, bound by betrayal for so many years, beat free of resentment. He had been lying to himself by saying he only cared for her. His feelings ran much deeper. He loved his valuable, rare, and precious wife with every fiber of his being.
Barwolf lowered her gaze and sniffed, raking her fingers through her hair and knocking the tiara to the floor. “I am sorry, Bernon. I didn’t know until just now and I cannot help it. You told me to always be honest with you, so I have to tell you that I shall probably get clingy too. Could I maybe live in the ruins instead of—”
Bernon nudged up her chin and silenced her with a kiss. “I do not blame you.”
“You don’t?” She sniffed and looked at him in surprise.
“Of course not.” Bernon arched an arrogant brow. “After all, I am looking fine and I have big muscles.”
Barwolf stiffened in his arms.
“I am also tall and I make you feel safe.” He nodded contemplatively. “Aye, I cannot blame you for loving me.”
“You mock me,” she accused in an anguished voice and bowed her head.
Bernon put his mouth beside her good ear and whispered, “Your name is Melita.”
She gasped and looked up. “I know this name. ‘Tis Greek.”
“Do you know what it means?” he asked in a caressing tone.