Patricia Bates

by Patricia Bates

  Of their own accord, Amoda’s arms wrapped around his shoulders, her nails raking his back with each thrust of his hips as she undulated beneath him. Tighter and tighter, the coiling tension pulled at her, drawing her deeper and deeper into the maelstrom of her climax.

  Amoda barely heard the soft whisper against her temple, her mind more aware of his movements as they become less fluid, harder, and tightened her grip around him. The muscles of his arms bunched and flexed, trembled as he struggled to keep the majority of his weight off her. His breath washed over her shoulder and neck as he buried his face at her throat.

  With a guttural roar, muffled only by her shoulder, Amoda felt the tremble that raced through him, the rough jerk of his last thrusts, and the scalding wash of his seed within her. Gasping she arched into his movements, her own body trembling.

  Long after the last tremors faded, Amoda held tightly to him. His weight on her welcome, treasured. She listened to his steady breathing. She whimpered a soft protest when he shifted, easing from her. Without his heat against her, Amoda shivered, suddenly aware of the chill that hung in the room.

  Amoda cast a glance at Mykyl as he rolled over and tugged on the blankets. He covered her and stood to reach for his discarded clothing.

  “You remain here, within this room, within my bed, Amoda.” Mykyl’s soft tone did little to ease the meaning behind his statement. “You are mine and nothing changes that.”

  “Aye, my lord.” Amoda licked her dry lips, her fingers tightening on the furs. She flinched at the soft thud of the door closing.

  Refusing to lay within the tangle of covers, Amoda rose and began gathering her clothes. The laces of her chemise blurred from the tears in her eyes. Fingers that trembled struggled with them. The euphoria from moments earlier vanished, replaced by a deep, bone-chilling ache. No matter how many times she lay with him, she could never breach the wall around his heart.

  Like a fool, she always allowed his touch to weaken her will. She had been naive to believe him now. Now she would have to deal with the consequences.

  She sank back onto the bed, her hand tracing idly over the covers. He had not noticed, she thought. He had seen nothing of the subtle signs of the babe within her. The fullness of her breasts, the small bump of her stomach, the sensitivity of her skin, he’d chosen to ignore them all. Would he ignore the babe once it drew its first breath? Would his wife’s child outrank her own?

  “He will never give me my freedom, never release me,” Amoda whispered to the babe. “As a thrall, I have no rights, no claim against him. You will come into this life as a thrall, and I cannot let that happen.”

  Inhaling a shaky breath, Amoda forced herself to think. The bastard of a slave held no more worth than the dame. If Mykyl’s new wife grew tired of her presence, she could simply sell her and her child. The realization chilled her to the bone.

  Amoda stood and moved to poke at the embers of the fire. She would find a sanctuary for her and her child. She would not wait for Mykyl or his bride to decide that she no longer needed to be within the walls of the manor house.

  Firstly, she needed to find an ally, someone who would be willing to help her. Byrne would be a good choice, but in his old age, he could not do all that would need doing. Perhaps Erin would have a suggestion. She would ask her while they worked together.

  ~ * ~

  Amoda ignored the small groups of Lady Mallon’s guard and Mykyl’s soldiers that lined the corridor. She hurried down the steps toward the weaving room. Stepping through the door, she paused. Several women sat around large looms, already working the wool into cloth. They all greeted her warmly, barely breaking from their work.

  Amoda saw Erin by a window, her head bowed, and hurried toward her. Sinking into the seat next to her friend, Amoda reached for Erin’s arm.

  Erin teased her gently. “Amoda, did you forget to rise this morning?”

  “Nay.” It had taken every ounce of energy she had to get here without Mykyl seeing her. Here, in this place, where more than the looms to card the wool rested, it held safety. No man would risk entering a ‘woman’s’ room such as this one.

  “You look terrible. Did you not rest last night? I know Mykyl was up late.” Erin frowned, her eyes sweeping over Amoda’s features carefully.

  Amoda shook her head, “What do you think of his betrothed?”

  “She is Irish.” Erin shrugged. Her features twisted with disgust before she caught Amoda’s eye and smoothed her features into a mask of indifference. “From a very powerful family. One that already has an alliance with Mykyl, so this marriage seems a bit odd.”

  “I do not trust her. Tyr chose her, and I fear this union will cost Mykyl too much.”

  “You are his lordship’s thrall, his Karras. She has no cause to fear you,” Erin whispered as two of Lady Mallon’s women entered the room.

  “And my child?”

  “A child born of a slave is a slave, no matter the sire,” Erin whispered fiercely. “You know this, you cannot be thinking—”

  “I must leave, must go away. Somewhere my child will not know what I am. Somewhere my child can grow to be a free man.”

  “Are you mad? Mykyl will have you whipped for running from him. He has every right—” Erin muttered fiercely.

  “Rights? I care not for his rights. I seek only what is best for my child. I must find a way out of here. Can you help me?”

  “I know of nowhere you could go. I will check with the others I feel I can trust, but if we’re caught—”

  Amoda smiled softly. “Don’t worry, I will not risk discovery. No one will know anything until long after I am gone.”

  “I will do what I can. I will send word.”

  “Swear you will reveal nothing of this.” Amoda stared at her, fear and sorrow within her at the thought of leaving behind everything she cared for so deeply.

  “You have my oath. I shall not breathe a word of this to anyone.”

  “Thank you.” With a squeeze of Erin’s wrist, Amoda rose and wrapped herself within the confines of her cloak.

  “Amoda, take the greatest of care. He will want his child,” Erin whispered, stepping closer to her, a worried, thought-filled look on her face.

  “He does not even realize, not yet.”

  “Then pray he never realizes,” Erin whispered. “Pray that no one reveals to him exactly what he has been blind to.”

  Amoda smiled tearfully. “I pray these things every day.” She slipped from the weaving circle, her steps sure despite the tears blinding her. Pushing past the guard at the door, Amoda bowed her head. Her fists clenched, she started back for the great hall.

  ~ * ~

  Mykyl welcomed the dark as he sat alone in the great hall. Everyone had long since retired for the night, leaving him alone with his thoughts. His body ached with exhaustion but he refused to climb the stairs to his chamber. He loathed the thought of spending another night listening to the soft sobs of the woman beside him. She clung to him in her sleep, her breathing broken and uneven, leaving a soaked pillow beneath him come morning.

  He played with his goblet, twisting it carelessly, finally pushing it aside in frustration. He’d spent many a night longing for something he knew he could never possess, and now, when it looked like his dream may be within his reach, his father had snatched it from him.

  “My lord.”

  Mykyl glanced up sharply at the soft sound of a woman’s voice. Spotting Erin, he exhaled and waved her forward. “What news do you bring me?”

  “No news, my lord. There is a guest afoot.”

  “What foolishness do you speak? All our guests have retired for the night.”

  “This one requests an audience with you. She has come a long way to see you.” “What do you know of this guest? Who is she?”

  “I do not know, my lord. She’s an old woman who has come from an Irish lord’s house to speak with you. She does not appear to be dangerous.”

  “Show her in.” Mykyl stood. It is not as though I do anyt
hing important anyway. Just long for something I thought I already had.

  “My lord.” Bent over a crooked walking stick, an old woman with long, stringy, grey hair trundled into the room. “I wish to speak with you.”

  “Come forth, madam. Tell me what secrets you wish to impart.”

  “I come to beg for mercy.”

  “Beg for mercy?” Mykyl chuckled, “I am not at war with you.”

  “Nay, but your father has set on an alliance that goes against my master’s desires.”

  “Do tell.” Mykyl sank into his chair and leaned forward, his interest piqued.

  “You are to marry the Lady Mallon, my lord’s promised. They were to be wed at the next full moon.”

  “Tell me of your lord.”

  “My lord is the Ri, the chieftain, Fagen. He resides to the south of here. Her father promised her in exchange for his loyalty and his allegiance.”

  “I know nothing of this claim.”

  The old woman waved away his statement, her body leaning more heavily on the staff in her hand. “I know this. I come to beg you to sway your father’s mind. After all, why marry a noblewoman when you can marry a queen?”

  “What treason do you speak?” Erin gasped, moving forward. “Hold your tongue, old woman before—”

  “Erin, ‘tis alright. You ask me for mercy, a release from these nuptials. I believe we both know my father’s answer. Tell your lord, if it is within my power, I will find a means out of this engagement. I have no desire to go to war over Lady Mallon.”

  “Will you go to war to satisfy your pride then, my lord?”

  “I am not at war with anyone. I will see what I can do about your master’s request.”

  The crone nodded slowly before turning and shuffling toward the door. “Thank you for your kindness.”

  “It is late. I offer you a comfortable place to sleep until the day breaks.”

  The wheezing of a harsh cough was her only response before the woman turned to him. “I thank you for your hospitality. It appears Eire has you firmly in her grasp.”

  Mykyl stared as the old woman shuffled out of sight. He glanced at Erin who flushed and slipped soundlessly out of the room. What did the old woman mean by marrying a queen? He did not want a queen. He wanted a real woman, a woman of fire and passion, a woman who was brave and reckless, who offered her loyalty when it would have served her better to run. He glanced upwards, to the chamber he shared with such a woman.

  ‘Tis more than a game. When did it go so far away from the path I had chosen? When did I lose more than I intended? I can no longer dispute what my heart tells me, what my mind, my very soul keeps whispering to me. She holds me in the palm of her hand. She has but to close her grasp and she could crush my heart! Nay, I cannot allow her to know. I cannot reveal this weakness to her, to anyone.

  Feeling the weight of his misery on his shoulders, Mykyl started for bed. Slowly, silently he climbed the stairs and moved through the darkened corridors until he came to the familiar door.

  An unhurried, seemingly impossible moment stretched out before he opened the door and stepped inside. A glance revealed the flickering of the flames within the fireplace, the glow of two torches, which spread out across the floor in a cascade of golden light.

  Mykyl leaned back against the closed door and watched the sleeping woman in their bed. Indeed, if he married, that bed would be rather crowded. If he followed through on his father’s wish and married Lady Fiona Mallon. If, such a simple word that had so much power.

  Sixteen

  Erin stared at Cahal’s stunned face for a moment before sighing dramatically. “Come, brother, it is not so difficult to understand. I wish for you to assist me in this.”

  “Her place is here!” Cahal protested loudly.

  “Shhh,” Erin hissed, her gaze darting around to see if anyone had noticed their secrecy. She relaxed marginally when no one paid them any attention. Desperation flooded her. Amoda needed all the help she could get, and her foolish brother remained as thick headed and blind as any man! “Typically, you do not understand the ways of a woman’s heart.” Erin slapped a hand on the nearby table. “She cannot remain here.”

  “I can no more go against Mykyl’s will than you.”

  “He is busy with talks of alliances and wedding details,” Erin whispered pointedly. “What does he care if his betrothed dislikes his mistress? Amoda deserves a chance to bring his child into this world as a free man.”

  Cahal’s face paled even further and he sank weak-kneed into a chair. “What is this you speak of?”

  Erin scoffed at his stunned expression and sank into a chair. “Come, you must have noticed that she is with child? There are certain changes that occur.”

  “I pay little attention to the matters of breeding beyond my own wife!” Cahal retorted.

  “If you were more observant then you would know more of what is happening around you! Brother, you must help us.”

  “Calm yourself. What is it that you want of me?”

  “Surely, you could slip out and speak to one of the druids or a druidess. Plead for a place to stay for Amoda until after the babe comes.”

  “You believe Amoda will stay so close? She has made no secret of her desire for freedom. Nay, she will be gone as far from here as possible.”

  “She will remain close to Mykyl, as her heart tells her.”

  “Hmph, you are a typical woman, a mind warped by thoughts of romance instead of facts.”

  “I am a fool?” Erin gaped at him. “You have not seen what is right before your eyes. Amoda loves him. Strong willed as she is, she would not submit to him if she had no desire to. Rognvaldr taught her to be disobedient. Olaf has no need of a submissive bedmate. These are things you should know already!”

  “I care little about that poisonous old priest or Mykyl’s cur of a brother. My loyalty is to Mykyl and his house!”

  “Then you must be loyal to Amoda,” Erin paused as Lady Mallon passed through the great hall and into the narrow corridor leading to her chamber. “She has risked it all for his sake. Does that not matter to you?”

  “Still your tongue, woman.” Cahal shook his head. “I shall go talk to the old Druid. Mayhap he has a suggestion or two.”

  Erin beamed at him. “Thank you. Your kindness will not go unrewarded.”

  “Unpunished is more like it,” Cahal muttered as he stalked into the sunshine.

  The thought of losing her friend saddened her as Erin watched her brother stalk off. She knew there would be a great reckoning the day that Mykyl learned of this trickery, and she prayed that she managed to get far away when it came!

  ~ * ~

  Amoda glanced up expectantly as a long shadow fell over her. She impassively met the cold, grey stare of one of Lady Mallon’s guards. “You are standing thus for what reason?”

  “My lady bids you to come. She wishes your counsel.”

  “My advice?” Amoda snickered. “What could the daughter of a chieftain want with my guidance? Leave me to my work.” “She bids you come now,” he ground out, snatching the cloth from her and tossing it aside.

  “She is not lady of this manor yet, and I obey no one. You may return to your precious maiden, and tell her if she wishes my counsel, she will wait.”

  He grinned at her, his eyes filling with warmth. “Are you always so difficult?”

  “If your thought is to see if I am eager to know you, you will surely taste disappointment. I am not.”

  He laughed and shifted, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “Aye, I like a woman with fire.”

  “As does my lord, Prince of Woodstown,” Amoda returned sharply. “I am certain he will be swift in his punishment for any indiscretion you may be considering.”

  “Take the time to go see her.” He bent to pick her mending up. “It will go better for you if you do.” He handed her the dress with a barely perceptible nod.

  Amoda shook her head as he stalked out of her small nook without glancing back. With a dark
look at the dress he’d handed her, she threw it across the room and stomped out.

  She ignored everyone around her as she stalked to Lady Mallon’s chamber and raised a hand to knock quickly. Pompous, pampered little toad, she fumed as she waited for some form of acknowledgment.

  “Come.” Haughty, the order oozed through the door.

  Amoda walked into the chamber at the command, a heavy weight settling on her chest. She did not belong in this room, did not wish to watch another woman’s preparations to take the man she loved. Silent, bone-deep anger bubbled through her blood as she stood and watched as Lady Mallon’s women saw to the noblewoman.

  A ruthless jab at the crackling logs sent up a shower of sparks as Amoda tended the fire. Rubbing her stomach carefully, she sighed, the only bright spot in her world; the babe she feared to reveal. What could the other woman want with her? She held no sway in any matter, much less control over Mykyl’s decisions.

  Impatiently, Amoda waited for the other woman to speak. Ignoring the looks of pity from the Irish woman’s servants, she refused to swallow her pride. She waited for Lady Mallon to break the uncomfortable silence.

  “Are you not curious to know why I summoned you?”

  “Nay, not particularly.” Amoda watched Lady Mallon rise to her feet and pace over to stare out the window.

  “You are Lord Woodstown’s mistress?”

  “Aye, I am the lord’s Karras.”

  “Then tell me of your lord. I wish to know what he seeks in a bed partner. What he expects from a woman in the darkness of his chambers.”

  Amoda tensed at the question, aware of the startled gasps from the others in the room. She chose to ignore them as she shifted, her eyes remaining firmly on the woman standing with her back toward her. “That is hardly for me to say.”

  “I know you occupy his bed. Several of my men have seen you retire to the same chamber. I merely wish to know what it is that he will expect me to do. As his mistress, as his concubine, you are in possession of this knowledge.”

  Shocked, Amoda stared as Lady Mallon whirled to face her. Bitterness and jealousy twisted her features into a hard, ugly mask that made Amoda’s skin crawl with pity. “What is it you are asking of me, my lady? Has no one informed you of your wifely duties in the marriage bed? I am hardly—”