Warriors in Winter

by Michelle Willingham

  He moved her on to her stomach, still inside her, and the new position guided him deeper. She trembled with the erotic thrusts, her body revelling in the dark passion.

  Grasping her hips, he withdrew and filled her, panting hard. She backed against him, cries escaping her as he thrust. There was no choice but to surrender, letting him conquer her.

  ‘I want to see your face,’ she demanded, forcing him to withdraw again. She moved to her back in another position, lifting her knees in invitation. ‘I want to see you when you find your release.’

  Her encouragement was what he’d needed. He drove hard within her, doubling his pace in his own agonised frenzy. Her body arched violently as he invaded and withdrew.

  She couldn’t grasp another thought as her legs tightened around his waist. He pumped against her until finally, a growl ripped from him as he finished within her, his body spasming atop hers.

  Never, in all the years of her marriage, had she experienced lovemaking such as this. A heaviness built up within her, that Arturo had given her something so beautiful, a gift that made her shiver against him with aftershocks.

  And when her gaze drifted over to the spear in the corner, she closed her eyes, trying not to weep.

  * * *

  When he awakened the next morning, Brianna was gone. Arturo rose from the bed and stretched, feeling uncertain about what he’d done. It had been an impulse, to share a night with a beautiful woman. But he’d wanted to kiss her awake, to feel her warm skin against his. Instead, she’d fled.

  Did she regret what they’d done? It was possible. He got dressed and studied the interior of her home. Although most of the hut was clean and organised, one part of the room lay untouched. There was a man’s tunic resting upon the ground with a belt beside it. A cup stood upon a shelf, along with an eating knife. These must have belonged to her husband. Arturo reached for the cup, studying the simple carved wood.

  ‘What are you doing?’ came a voice from behind him. Brianna wore a shapeless dark gown with a length of wool wrapped around her head and shoulders.

  ‘I wondered where you’d gone,’ he said, but before he could say anything else, she took the cup from him and put it back.

  ‘Please,’ she said quietly. ‘Don’t touch anything. Leave his cup alone.’

  His gaze drifted back and he realised that she’d left them as they were on the day Murtagh had died. As if she could somehow hold on to him by keeping everything as it was. He couldn’t fault her for it. He’d done the same with Cristina’s belongings, until Adriana had quietly removed them one day.

  It had helped, strangely. Lifting the invisible burden, giving him the freedom to go on with his life. But he didn’t know if Brianna was ready to let go yet.

  He set down the cup and faced her. ‘Before we eat, I’ve something to ask you.’ In his mind, he’d already imagined what he was going to say. But Brianna’s mood had altered, and now that he’d dared to touch the altar of her husband’s belongings, he questioned the wisdom of speaking at all.

  She lowered her hood, and her cheeks were rosy from the cold outdoors. Raising her green eyes to his, she waited for him to speak.

  ‘In another month I’ll be returning to Navarre,’ he said, taking her hand.

  She nodded. ‘You needn’t worry about me. What happened last night was...’

  He stilled when her voice drifted off. She was going to say it had been a mistake, wasn’t she? She was going to make excuses, that she’d never planned to share the night with him.

  For him, it had been wondrous. It had been so long since he’d touched another woman, and Brianna’s unrestrained responses had made him want to drag her back to bed and make thorough love to her again. The last thing he wanted was to hear that she regretted the time they’d shared together.

  She wouldn’t come back to Navarre with him, if he asked. He knew it instinctively, but held his silence, watching her. Hoping for some sign that he was wrong.

  And when she stole another look at her husband’s cup, he knew.

  ‘Thank you for last night’ was all he could say. He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed the outer edge of her thumb.

  She nodded, tightening her lips, her eyes blurred with tears. A tightness locked up in his chest as he opened the door and walked away. But he had his pride. He wasn’t going to beg like a dog, hoping for a sign of affection.

  Frustration darkened his mood as he strode toward the stables. He considered going out for a ride, when he saw a group of a dozen men arriving. Dressed in armour with weapons, they had the look of Norsemen, from their height and stature. Arturo reached for the sword hilt at his side, prepared to alert the king. But then, as he drew closer, he saw that they came bearing gifts. The tall bard from last night came to welcome the visitors with enthusiasm.

  Strange. The man looked as if he belonged among the Vikings, but he spoke Irish well enough.

  When the king came forward and greeted the Vikings, Arturo overheard the name Trahern. He realised the tall bard was one of the king’s brothers. While the men were distracted, talking with the visitors, Arturo’s attention was drawn to a woman slipping inside the gates. It was Rhiannon MacEgan, and from her secretive manner, he could only guess that she’d travelled with the men.

  She caught his gaze and sent him a pleading look, not to tell anyone. Arturo kept his expression neutral, making no promises. But neither did he alert the others to her presence.

  He walked forward and joined the men. It was Ewan MacEgan who explained why the men had arrived. ‘They’ve come to share Christmas with us. It was Trahern’s idea, after the fighting last year.’ He pointed toward the tall Irishman, adding, ‘He has a bit of Lochlannach blood in him, and he’s spent time living among them with his wife and son.’

  It was then that Arturo spied a young boy with his father’s features, a solemn expression on his face. When he saw Trahern bring the boy forward, resting his hands on the lad’s shoulders, the sting of regret lashed through Arturo. He wanted children of his own and a wife. His thoughts drifted back to Brianna, and the feeling of sleeping beside her at night.

  She’d been passionate and loving—everything he’d hoped for. And though he wanted to spend more time with her, he’d been fully aware of what last night was...a shared moment of pleasure. Nothing else. He couldn’t allow himself to soften, for she wasn’t at all ready to be with him. It was too soon for that.

  As if in answer to his thoughts, Brianna emerged from the hut. A stricken expression came over her face as she stared at the Norsemen. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that among them she’d seen the man who had killed Murtagh. A renewed vengeance sparked in her eyes, and she started to move toward them.

  The men had come here for a celebration, to renew the peace between them. But Arturo strongly suspected Brianna had other ideas.

  Chapter Five

  She’d nearly reached the men, when her cousin Rhiannon cut her off. ‘Don’t,’ she pleaded.

  ‘Don’t what?’ Brianna countered. ‘Don’t face the Lochlannach who murdered my husband?’ Fury seethed through her, that the man had dared to show himself again. She wanted to seize a weapon and end his life. To watch him suffer in death as Murtagh had suffered.

  Her grasp upon rational thought was slipping away, and she tried to break free of her cousin’s hand.

  ‘It’s not what you think,’ Rhiannon said. ‘He came to make amends.’

  ‘There’s nothing he could ever say or do to make amends. He killed my husband, and that, I’ll never forgive.’

  ‘They didn’t come here to fight.’

  ‘Do you think I care why they came?’ She was blinded by anger, even as she struggled to regain control of her senses.

  Rhiannon looked as if she wanted to say more, but in the end, she held back her words. Misery darkened her face, and she could only squeeze Brianna’s hand before she left.

  Brianna returned to her hut and walked over to the corner and seized the spear, staring back at the door. Wi
ld thoughts of vengeance flew through her mind, though she could not give in to impulse. Instead, her fingers curled upon the spear in a fierce grip.

  Worse, she spied the tangled sheets where she’d slept in Arturo’s arms last night. Was that not a greater betrayal? She’d let herself forget the love she’d felt for her husband, in order to experience pleasure with another.

  The spear clattered from her hand and she sank down to sit upon the low stool beside the fire. He’d thanked her for last night, and it had made her feel so small, so angry with herself. The night she’d spent with him, touching his muscled skin, had been wonderful.

  Moreover, it had been her choice. Arturo hadn’t forced her into anything. But his reminder, that he would be returning to Navarre, had been the caveat she’d needed. He wasn’t a man who would stay in Éireann indefinitely. He’d come for his sister’s wedding, and afterward, he would leave. Likely he didn’t want her to form any feelings for him, since it would only hurt her in the end.

  She took a deep breath, then another. From the ground, she retrieved the spear and vowed that she would spend the remainder of the day practising. If Fortune smiled upon her, she would have her chance for revenge. And when it came, she would be ready.

  * * *

  ‘Please. You have to stop her.’

  Arturo glanced over at Rhiannon MacEgan, whose face was pale with worry. The young woman nodded toward Brianna, who had seized a spear and was practising with Honora, stabbing a bag of straw with it.

  Though he had every intention of doing so, there was something more beneath the surface of Rhiannon’s plea. ‘Why does it matter to you?’

  ‘She’ll be hurt. She can’t possibly attack a trained warrior, especially a Lochlannach.’

  Though it was true, he saw the way the young woman’s eyes fell upon one of the men. Tall and strong, the man set himself apart from the others. He held a spear in his hand, and from the threatening expression on his face, only a fool would approach him.

  ‘That’s the one, isn’t it? The man who killed Brianna’s husband.’

  Rhiannon’s face coloured, but she nodded. ‘It was an accident.’ Her lips tightened and she added, ‘You don’t understand. He’s not like the others. He can’t—’

  ‘You’re in love with him.’

  From the terrified look of anguish on her face, Arturo saw that he was right. It was known to all that Rhiannon had gone missing a few nights ago. And this morn, she had slipped back into the ringfort with them.

  ‘Don’t tell my father,’ Rhiannon pleaded. ‘Please. He would never understand.’

  Arturo didn’t doubt that. Not only was she defying her father’s will, but she loved the man who had killed Brianna’s husband.

  ‘I’ll protect Brianna,’ he promised. ‘But if my silence interferes with her safety or yours, I won’t hesitate to tell Connor.’

  She looked stricken, her eyes filled with fear. ‘I’ll tell him myself. When the time is right.’

  After she’d gone, Arturo crossed the grounds to stand near Brianna. Her face was flushed with exertion, but she continued to practise with the spear. When he came nearer, he saw anguish in her eyes, as if she were physically hurting.

  ‘Brianna,’ he interrupted, ‘I want to speak with you alone.’

  She withdrew her spear and regarded him. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Not here. Meet me in the grove where you cut greenery the other day.’ He didn’t wait for her to argue, but walked toward the gates. He spoke with one of the guards and borrowed a spear. Though it didn’t bother him that she wanted to practise with weaponry, now that her enemy was here, he didn’t trust her not to seek vengeance. And there was one way to convince her not to fight—by showing her how ill prepared she was.

  * * *

  Arturo waited for her within the grove for half an hour before she finally appeared. She’d washed her face, and her hair was damp around the temples. In her palm she held the spear. ‘Why did you ask me to come?’

  ‘Because I wanted no one to see us.’ He adjusted his grip on his own spear. ‘I saw the way you were watching the Norseman.’

  ‘I’m not a fool, Arturo. I know how to bide my time and wait for the right moment.’

  ‘He’s far bigger than you are. If you attack him, he’ll kill you.’

  ‘He might.’ Her voice came out in a soft tone. ‘But then, what sort of coward would I be if I just let him go?’

  Arturo stood opposite her. ‘You’re not ready for that fight, cariño.’

  Her eyes glittered with anger. ‘I disagree.’

  Without warning, he lunged forward, pressing his spear against her throat. ‘You’d be dead within seconds. You weren’t fast enough to defend yourself.’

  She pushed the spear aside. ‘I wasn’t ready.’

  ‘And do you think he’ll simply wait until you are? If you attack him, you’ll find his spear buried in your flesh. And I’m not about to let that happen.’ He circled her, watching as she grew more alert, her own spear prepared. ‘Try to stab me,’ he ordered.

  ‘I don’t want to.’

  ‘I didn’t say you had to succeed.’ He held the spear with both hands, watching her. Waiting for her to make a move. When she thrust her spear forward, he seized it and twisted the shaft, forcing her to let go.

  ‘You can’t do this, belleza. Face the truth.’ He reached for her fallen spear and cracked the dry wood apart, splitting it over his knee. Tossing the pieces aside, he was unprepared for her attack.

  She threw herself at him in fury. ‘What have you done? I needed that spear.’

  He caught her wrists, watching the play of emotions over her face. ‘No, you didn’t. You’re not the sort of woman who could kill a man in cold blood.’

  ‘You don’t know that. After what he did—’ Her words turned from anger into grief. She released the outpouring of tears, and he pulled her into an embrace. Around them, the wind cut through the evergreen trees, the bitter cold sweeping through the air.

  ‘He took my husband from me, and I had to hold him while he suffered.’ Devastation filled up her voice. ‘Murtagh died in my arms.’

  Brianna clung to him as she wept. Arturo held her close, knowing her pain. He’d endured every second of it himself, knowing the helplessness and the grief that had stolen his soul. As her body merged against his, he felt the need to bring her comfort. To show her that the scar could heal, in time.

  Her arms gripped him tightly, and he bent down to kiss her as if he could mend the wounds within her heart.

  Against her lips, he voiced the words he’d been wanting to say. ‘Marry me, Brianna. Come back to Navarre as my bride.’

  She stiffened in his arms, drawing back to look at him with tear-stained eyes. ‘I can’t. You know that.’

  ‘Because you’d rather martyr yourself for your husband? Are you trying to die by the spear?’ He broke free of the embrace, watching the myriad of emotions on her face.

  ‘I have to finish this. I have to face him.’

  ‘Face him? Or kill him?’ he pressed.

  When she didn’t answer, he picked up the spear he’d borrowed, taking a step backward. ‘You’re not a murderer, Brianna. Talk to the Norseman if you must. But know your weaknesses.’

  ‘Arturo?’ she whispered, her eyes downcast upon the fallen spear. ‘Why would you want to marry me?’

  ‘Because I care for you. And I want a wife and a family.’ The thought of spending each night with her, loving her until she conceived a child, was a longing that filled up the loneliness inside him. Brianna would make a good mother; he had no doubt of it.

  He returned to stand before her and tilted her chin up to face him. ‘You must choose, Brianna. Between vengeance and death...or marriage and life.’

  * * *

  When she returned to the castle, it was late afternoon. Arturo’s words played over in her mind again and again. She watched as the men competed in sword fighting and foot races. Her brother won a match, using a quarterstaff, while she spie
d her youngest sister sitting with a group of Lochlannach women, staring intently as the women told fortunes over runes.

  Arturo’s proposal had taken her by surprise. She’d refused him without thinking, for she didn’t believe she could be a good wife for him. And yet, being in his arms had closed off the hurt. He’d showed her that there were feelings left inside her, though they were well buried.

  Across the inner bailey, she saw the Lochlannach murderer leaning against the wall, his expression empty. He didn’t appear to be watching any of the competitions, as if they bored him.

  Her feet began moving forward, as if directed by an invisible force. One after the other. Although she didn’t know what she would say to him, the need was too strong to ignore.

  When she reached the man, his posture altered when she came within a few feet. But he didn’t look at her. ‘What do you want?’

  His voice held a deadly air, as if he’d sooner kill her than speak to her. For a time, Brianna studied him, noting the bruises upon his face and arms. He looked as if he’d been in more than a few battles. Icy blue eyes stared past her and she wished she’d armed herself first.

  ‘You killed my husband a year ago,’ she accused.

  A tightness formed upon his mouth. ‘I’ve killed many men. Especially those who attack me first.’

  There was no regret or sympathy in his eyes—only the fierce stare of a man who didn’t care. It reopened the wounds inside her, and a dark tightness closed over her heart. ‘You were among those who raided Laochre. When my husband attacked you, he was trying to protect me.’

  A hardness came over his face. ‘And you’ve come here to kill me now. Is that it?’ He took a step closer and unsheathed his blade, offering it to her hilt-first. ‘Take your vengeance, if that is your will. But know this—’

  His eyes held emptiness, fury glittering upon his face as he turned to her. ‘I am already cursed and have been, since I was a child. If you kill me, it will end my suffering, granting me what I deserve.’

  * * *

  Arturo searched for Brianna among the crowd, and when he saw her, he broke into a run. She stood before the Norseman, a blade in her hand.