“How is it you find me handsome? Do you not see this scar on my cheek?”
She blinked. “Aye.”
“I must wonder what purpose you hope to gain with such false flattery, then, for no one can think this face handsome.”
His eyes had that haunted look again, and though she should have been daunted by this sudden flare of temper, she was more annoyed that it was spoiling the moment. “Well, I hardly think that you should be an authority on your own handsomeness,” she snapped. “If I say I find you handsome, then ’tis so, though now I myself am seeing why I never noticed before. Since you favor this churlish behavior, it does tend to mar one’s perception.”
He stared at her for a moment, then, unexpectedly, his face relaxed. His hand resumed its motion and he drew her close to be kissed, murmuring, “Why can you never simply agree with me?”
She was about to say something as to his never being in the right, but the retort died on her lips. She lost her breath as the fiery kisses trailed to her breast, and then her thoughts deserted her, too.
They rose some time later and Lucien left to hunt some game for their dinner.
The fire in the small room was warm, so she dressed only in her shift. She busied herself with trying to salvage her crushed and soiled clothing, brushing off each item and hanging it on pegs to air.
She had time to sweep a bit with a crude broom she found propped in a corner. The place seemed much cozier for her efforts.
Lucien came in carrying several animals, already skinned and ready for the fire. “Put these on the spit,” he directed. “Do you have enough wood for the fire?”
“I think so. Maybe we could use a bit more. Is anything dry out there?”
“The storm is letting up, though it is hard to say what is happening with the forest being so thick. I’ll fetch more wood.”
Though no cook, she put herself to the task of roasting the meat. Lucien returned with fuel for their fire and several large boughs thick with leaves. He stripped the leaves into a large pile, covering the mound with John’s cloak.
Delighted with his cleverness, Alayna laughed and clapped her hands together. “Bravo, my lord baron!” she exclaimed. “You are quite ingenious.”
“Ingenuity is natural when one has a strong motivation,” he teased. “I plan to made good use of this bed.”
“You are indeed a lazy lout,” she said, and giggled, pretending to resist as he pulled her into his arms. “Is it that all you can think of doing is lying abed?”
He raised a brow. “Let me show you, madam, of what I am thinking of doing.”
She melted against him as he kissed her, and she would have soon been lost had not the succulent smell of the game set her stomach to rolling. They had not eaten in a day.
“My lord, the game is done.”
“Huh?” he grunted, applying himself to tasting the sweet curve of her neck.
“Our food,” she insisted, followed immediately by a ragged gasp as he found a spot that sent shivers through her.
“It will burn,” she said weakly.
Straightening reluctantly, he scolded, “Is that all you can think of, lady, your stomach?”
She giggled at his jest, a turnabout of her own. “‘Twould seem foolish for us to die of starvation with this meat charring on its stick.”
“Ah, but what sweet death.”
She skirted away from him as he lunged for her again, and they laughed. They sat on their soft bed of leaves and ate the simple meal.
Watching her nibble the meat, Lucien was amazed, at her and at himself. Was that truly his timbered voice that had laughed so unabashedly a moment ago?
His life had been a series of events, some more painful than others, but none of them holding any happiness, not for a long time. He never smiled, without any mockery or ire. He never laughed unless it was a taunt. He had not, since he was a lad, been easy with another, allowing his guard to rest. It felt terrifying and exhilarating all at once.
Alayna caught his eye and smiled at him, and he felt a surge in his breast. She was lovely, more so with the flush of happiness. Aye, he believed she was as happy as he with this slice of time and space they had carved here in the wood. But could he trust that anything in this enchanted place could last? What of her desperate desire to return to London? Would she still leave him if given a chance?
He would be a fool to turn away from this woman for the sake of his fears. But he also knew that those old haunts would not release him this easily.
Seized by a sudden uncertainty, he held out his hand to her. She came into his arms and he lost himself again in the sweetness of his wife.
The following morning, they awoke to the silence of the forest.
“The rain has stopped,” he said.
Alayna nodded. It meant that they would be returning to the castle as soon as the floodwaters receded. His grip tightened, drawing her closer. “Are you hungry?” he asked.
“A little.”
“I should go find more game. I will not be long.” He made to rise, but she tugged at him.
“Stay with me,” she said, blushing with her own forwardness. His response, however, erased any hesitancy she had, for he immediately complied, lying back down and wrapping her in his arms again.
She wanted more, for she was also feeling the fragility of this wondrous alliance they had forged. He was like a different man, and she…she was able to speak and move without the stubbornness and pride that had dogged her since their first confrontation. Would these things remain once they were back at Gastonbury, or fade like a dream when the first rays of dawn split the night?
She needed him again, wanting his touch to banish the doubts and worries that all of a sudden seemed more real than the rock-hard feel of his body against hers. Urging him toward what she wanted, she slid her legs around his hips, moving against him provocatively. Her boldness inflamed him and she reveled in the impassioned response he gave her, coming into her all at once. She cried out, groaning softly. He answered her with another thrust and she moved with him, matching his movements against her so that they came together to their fulfillment in a wild, exhaustive end. Breathless, they lay together, reluctant to part.
After a time, he said, “Are you still hungry?”
She laughed into his shoulder. “Aye, famished.”
“Good, so am I.” He rose and pulled on his leggings. When he was dressed, he leaned down to kiss her and left.
After he had gone, she decided to do a bit of foraging herself, thinking that she could hunt for some berries, nuts or wild fruits the forest could provide. She dressed quickly and headed off in the opposite direction from Lucien, not wanting to inadvertently disturb his hunting.
She found some hazelnuts without too much trouble, and was excited to spy a thatch of blackberries, as well. She held her skirt out to cradle the foods, loading them in until she could fit no more.
She had started back to the hut when Lucien came barreling at a full run out of the brush. At the last moment, he captured her in his arms to keep from knocking her down.
She was whirled around, coming face-to-face with the thunderous visage of her husband. “What are you doing?” he barked. “Is someone after you?”
Alayna stared at him in dismay. “No.”
“What the devil are you doing out of the hut?”
“I went looking for nuts and berries,” she stammered.
“I will provide the food!” he bellowed. “What could you have been thinking—wandering around the forest like this? Do you not realize the dangers?”
“Nothing happened!”
“What if you had come upon another like John? What if you had come upon some animal looking for its breakfast?”
“I hardly think I was in danger from the rabbits and squirrels about, or did you think that some crazed deer would find me?”
He gritted his teeth. “I never found your jests amusing, Alayna. Take yourself back to the hut and stay there.”
Tilting her chi
n in that way he found infuriating, she said loftily, “Aye, I shall go back, but only after I have gotten what I came for.”
“You will do as I say!” he roared.
“I told you, Lucien, I will not. Now you may help me or you can stand there and berate me, but I have my heart set on berries and nuts for breakfast, and so berries and nuts I shall have.”
She was behaving like an insolent child, causing him to work his jaw in irritation. Good Lord, she could try him! While they were standing here out in the open, arguing about the damnable berries, they could very well be set upon if his enemies were about.
“It is not safe here, Alayna. Get back to the hut!”
Her eyes filled with tears, though Lucien knew it was not over the ridiculous issue of the berries, but the hurt of his harsh manner. He groaned at the sight of her distress.
“Very well,” he growled at last. “Gather your fill while you are here, for you will not be allowed to leave the hut again.”
She gave him a sullen pout before stooping to pick up the scattered food. He stayed over her, keeping a steady eye on the darkness of the forest.
They walked back to the small dwelling in morose silence. Once inside, Lucien brooded, watching her as she unloaded her burden and began to pick the stems from the berries and eat them.
What could he say to her? Should he try to make her understand? Nay, he decided testily, he did not explain himself to anyone! She would have to learn that despite the fact they had reconciled in many ways, he was still her husband and must be obeyed without question or complaint.
Another glance showed her looking as miserable as he felt. With her eyes downcast and that lovely mouth turned down at the corners, she nibbled on her lonely breakfast, so deflated when only an hour ago she had been laughing and happy and loving.
All at once he felt the anger seep out of him. The whole incident suddenly seemed trivial.
As Alayna made to walk by him, he seized her without preamble and pinned her up against the wall. Struggling at first, she stopped to glare into his face. She raised her brows expectantly, as if awaiting some explanation.
He wished he had the words to tell her his regret. They stayed locked in silent challenge for a long moment.
Then, all at once, the tension dissolved and she relaxed against him, a slow smile spreading across her face. He was utterly amazed when she threw back her head and laughed. He laughed, too, his grasp becoming an embrace when she wound her arms around his neck. He brought his mouth down on hers, and she responded with full vigor.
He tumbled her down onto their bed, rolling her under him. He broke the kiss to look down at her. “Do not venture out alone again. If some harm came to you, I could not bear it.”
She looked stunned at his vehement command.
“Promise!” he demanded.
Bringing her hand up to his cheek, she lovingly ran her thumb down, touching his lips. “Aye, my lord. I will do as you wish.”
He grabbed her hand and pressed a kiss to the palm, his eyes closed. When he again looked at her, he saw a gleam in her eyes as if they were wet with unshed tears. She reached for him and he kissed her again, savoring the smooth feel of her lips, then nibbled on the fullness of that flesh. The need arose up within them both, fierce and pressing, and they melded together once more in the artful way of love.
They lay tangled in each other’s arms afterward, listening to the dying fire, still fascinated with each other’s bodies enough to keep their hands roaming lazily. Lucien watched her, noticing the way her heavy fringe of ebony lashes looked in contrast to the rosy flush of her cheeks. Her nose was straight, with a sensuous flare to the nostrils that he liked. And her mouth, so full and lush, curved with a pouting shape. Yet when her lips were spread into a smile, she looked youthful and guileless, and her green eyes danced like chips of emeralds in firelight. He suddenly knew he would never tire of kissing that mouth.
She laid her hand on his chest, running a finger down the shallow crevice that divided his breast. Her fingers splayed, and she tested how the light fringe of hair moved under her hand. Her touch felt feather light, innocent, sensuous.
She fingered a long strip of puckered flesh on his back. “A battle scar?” she queried.
Lucien only shrugged. “A battle scar.”
She was silent for a while until her wandering hand brushed across another scar. “Another battle?” she asked. He nodded. Her brow creased in a frown as she contemplated the evidence of his life as a warrior.
“Aye, there were many. Many scars, many battles.”
“It speaks of a hard life,” Alayna said. Lucien shrugged. Giving him an assessing look, she ventured, “Would you tell me the tale and put an end to my curiosity?”
He was silent for a long time. Then he began, “When I was a slave, I was in the household of a Viking named Hendron. He was a jarl, which is like an earl here in England. He was very powerful and very rich, and he maintained his holdings by raiding his neighbors.”
The memories were fading, but the hate he harbored for Hendron was still fresh. He could hear the heaviness of emotion in his own voice. “By the age of ten and six, I was well versed in the use of a sword, and I seemed to have some talent for it. It was at this age that I was taken to the Norselands and Hendron bought me. He saw my size and skill and so I was made a warrior for his cause and went a-Viking.”
Lying very still, Alayna said nothing. He wondered remotely what she would think of his strange tale, and it occurred to him she might find it atrocious. But she had the right to hear it, he reasoned. And, surprisingly, he needed to tell it to her.
“The killing suited me, for I had a great deal of rage. I had been torn from my home, watched my father slain before my eyes. I barely survived the journey to the North Seas. And I hated Hendron, for he was a cruel and vicious barbarian. He despised the English and me most of all. I suppose it was because he needed me so badly. But all of that was good fuel for a warrior, and so I excelled. I fought many battles and won a king’s ransom in booty that filled Hendron’s coffers to near bursting. But I was always just a slave. No matter how well I did on the battlefield, I was hated.”
Alayna dared not breathe. She could behold the emotion in his face and suddenly she could understand his bitterness, his distrust, even his unyielding selfishness at times. He had endured trials she could have never imagined. She could see it caused him pain to speak of it and it brought an ache to her own breast. Yet, she listened to it all, closely watching those dark features she was coming to cherish.
Because she loved him.
Should that thought surprise her? It did not, nor did it frighten her. She loved him, fiercely, protectively, and she wanted none of what he was telling her to be true. She wished she could tell him to hush and never speak of these scars again, as if doing so could take away the past. But, of course, nothing ever could. And now every time they made love and her hand came across the scars, she would know what inner wounds they represented.
“I killed him, of course,” he continued. “In the end, I did it without a moment’s remorse. I waited for years for the right opportunity, just the right time, though I would never have succeeded without Agravar. I was allowed more and more freedoms, and one day the situation was perfect, and I just did it. Most of his treasure was mine, since I never received my share, so I stole it back, bought a ship, weapons, men to fight for me. I had sworn to myself that I would return to England and seek my revenge on du Berg.”
“How did you know ’twas Edgar who killed your father?”
“I knew,” he said simply, and she sensed that there was more here he was not ready to share.
She asked, “Then Agravar was with you in the north?”
Lucien nodded. “Agravar is a bastard, Hendron’s bastard, gotten on an English noblewoman during one of his Viking raids to the English coast. Agravar’s dame held no love for the issue of her rape, so he sought his fortune with his father when he was of an age. Hendron accepted him, but Agravar h
ad no stomach for his father’s savagery, and so he threw in his lot with me. We shared a bond, and as soon as we realized the kinship of like experiences, we became fast friends. If not for Agravar, I may never have made it out of Denmark.”
“I never knew any of this,” she said in wonder. So many had tried to tell her that Lucien was a man of secrets, a man with reasons for what he did. Now that she knew what they were, her feelings for him deepened.
“I never speak of it.”
“But you have told me,” she prompted, implying that she wished to know why.
She saw him hesitate, unwilling to meet her eye. “I thought you should know. ’Tis not something that should wait, for these things have a way of coming up at an unexpected time and causing trouble.”
Suddenly Alayna understood. Taking his face in her hands, she turned him to look at her. “So much pain,” she whispered. She could feel the muscles move under her hand as he clenched his jaw. She brought her fingers to the scar on his cheek, lovingly tracing the length of it with her fingertips. “So much hurt.”
He grasped her wrist, pulling her hand away from that wound. “Nay, ’tis not a remnant of some battle there, wife, but a token of another enemy.”
Stubbornly she pulled her hand out of his grasp and brought him down to her so she could press a tender kiss to the marred flesh. She drew away to look at his face once again, hoping the love in her heart would show in her face, for she lacked the courage to speak the words.
“So now you see me for what I am,” he said. “A barbarian, a savage. It fulfills your initial impression, does it not?”
“Aye, I agree, husband. I do see you for what you truly are. I see a man who is good and kind and gentle underneath a fierce mien. A man who would truly be different if fate had not decreed he endure trials undeserved and grievous. I see a face, open and clear and not at all bitter, that can look at me without the ugliness of resentment, and be the face of the man who would have been without the years of pain and misery.”
She pressed small kisses on his shoulder and chest, nuzzling his neck as he had done to her. Instinctively she did these things to comfort him, as if loving the outside of him would seep in to heal the wounds in his soul.
The Maiden and the Warrior Page 17