The Wolves of Brittany Collection: A Romance Bundle Books 1-3

by Victoria Vane

  She did not waste time with regrets, or with asking him for mercy, but raised both hands and raked her nails across Gregory’s face.

  “You Welsh whore!” He reared back and she managed to scoot away in the straw. She had almost gained her feet when his hand came down on her arm, dragging her back, and his open hand cracked against her jaw. She felt her lip swell and begin to bleed. Mati scrabbled in the straw and tried to kick him with her heel, but he caught her legs beneath his and forced them open, drawing her skirt up again.

  When he reared back to hit her once more, she screamed, and cursed both him and his parentage in Welsh. She heard the sound of booted feet then, and felt the weight of the world come off of her as someone dragged Gregory away.

  Mati gasped, scrabbling backward, as far from Gregory as she could get. A hulking shape had risen out of the shadows, and was pummeling her would-be rapist.

  She blinked, tasting blood on her lip. She crawled away, and eased herself to her knees, and saw the large shadow had turned on Gregory, and was beating him to a pulp.

  She did not think, but ran. She did not know what would happen when one of the men won their battle. She did not want to be there in the dark stable to find out.

  Mati knew the back gate would be locked by now, so she ran down the path leading to the drawbridge. Her breath came harsh in her ears, and her panic did not fade. She wished fervently that she was wearing her leggings and that she had stayed in shape instead of spending the winter indoors with the rest of the women, learning useless wiles she did not have the stomach to use. She gasped, rounding the curve of the road near the oak tree that Roland had taught her to climb when she was seven.

  The shadow man caught her just under that tree, and pulled her against him. She screamed and thrashed, trying to get her arms free so that she might rake his face as she had Gregory’s. But then she heard his voice, and her entire body went suddenly still, save for the erratic beating of her heart.

  “Mati. Mati, love, it’s me.”

  Roland’s voice was in her ears, and it almost drowned out the sound of her own fear. She clung to him then, clutching him close, as if she might hide in the comfort of his arms and never emerge again. All thought of love play and stolen kisses had fled. She knew only that this was her friend, and she was safe.

  She felt tears on her cheeks, and she hid her face against the heavy wool of his tunic, doing her desperate best to stop crying, so that she would not disgrace herself in front of him. She released a sobbing breath before she could close her mouth to stifle it.

  “It’s all right, Mati. You’re safe now. Cry if you want. There’s no one to hear.”

  She cried then, with long wrenching sobs that shook her whole body. She had not felt real fear in years, but she felt it now, the aftermath of fear, and the horrible thought of what would have happened to her if Roland had not been there. She reached into her sleeve when she finally could catch her breath, and Roland loosened his grip on her so that she could move unencumbered. Her handkerchief had fallen away somewhere when she ran, so he handed her a cloth that had been tucked away in his tunic, next to his heart. It was clean, and smelled of sandalwood and of him.

  She wiped her eyes and blew her nose, all thoughts of flirtation and seduction burned away in ash. Roland did not release her, but urged her close again once she was done, so that she might rest her head on his chest. She listened to the steady beating of his heart, and it soothed her a little more. He was not winded from the run they had made as she was.

  “I was too slow to escape if you had been him,” she said at last. “I’ve been in the women’s solar too long.”

  She felt his lips move against her temple as he smiled. “The solar is where women belong, Mati. Where we can keep you safe. Not wandering out to the stables with ruffians I warned you away from.”

  She narrowed her eyes and looked up at him. The moonlight cast shadows over his face, but she could tell that he was half-teasing in an effort to make her smile. She did not feel much like smiling, but she did, for his sake.

  “How did you find me?” she asked. “I took him too far away from the keep.”

  “I followed you.”

  “I’m glad.”

  They stood quietly together, alone in the dark under the great oak. He drew her deeper into the shadows when two servants passed by so that they would not be seen. Mati found herself pressed against him as she had been against Gregory, but she did not mind the buckle of his belt digging into her ribs. She took in the scent of him, and moved closer.

  “Mati,” Roland said, opening his mouth to caution her, no doubt. But she did not heed him, rising to seal his lips with hers. The taste of him was better than the mead on his breath, better than warm honey at breakfast.

  Then he pulled back, stepping away from her so that she was left alone, grasping at nothing, the muscles of his upper arms no longer beneath her palms. She shook with the need to touch him, and wondered if she was beginning to lose her mind.

  “I won’t make love to you, Mati,” he said, harshly. “Is that why you brought Gregory out to the stables, to tempt a man to take you?”

  She felt her temper rise, and the moment of warm desire passed away as quickly as it had come. “I wanted to learn to kiss,” she said. “I’m fifteen, and it’s high time I learned.”

  “You got more than kisses from him, as you would from any man, Mati. Stay away from dark corners and empty stables.”

  She turned on her heel and stalked away from him, her sudden anger as much at herself as at him for touching him in the first place. He was her stepbrother, and he was her friend. She did not need to try her experiments out on him, no matter how wild his touch made her feel. She did not need to practice feeling wild. She needed to practice being in control when a man was kissing her.

  “I’ll go find another man to kiss me near the buttery,” she taunted him. “One who won’t try to rape me or push me away. There has to be a man capable of joining me for a harmless kiss, who can leave it at that.”

  She had only taken a few steps when Roland’s hand was on her arm, dragging her back. He pulled her close, and this time she struggled to get away. But he did not let her go.

  “No man will leave it at that,” he said.

  His lips were on hers again in a punishing kiss. Mati pushed against him, trying to lean away from him, but one large hand was on the back her head, holding her in place while he plundered her mouth like a conqueror. When he finally released her lips, his eyes blazed with desire. Mati felt her own desire rise to answer his, and she was afraid that fire would consume her.

  “Roland, let me go.” She tried to sound strong, but her stomach fluttered and her heart pounded, and her voice was not much louder than a whisper.

  He did not answer her, but trailed his lips from her temple down her cheek, to the side of her throat where it was exposed above her shift. He stopped there, as if reining himself in. She could feel the heat of his breath as he took in her scent. He bit her once, on the collarbone, and then he let her go.

  “Go home, Mati. Go straight to your room. Tomorrow we’ll talk again about why you have too much freedom, and what I intend to do about it.”

  “Go to hell,” she said. She raised one hand to slap his face, but Roland had faded into the shadows, and she was alone.

  She wiped her mouth, the taste of him still lingering on her tongue. She cursed him soundly, and winced because the cut on her lip from where Gregory had struck her had begun to bleed again. Strange that she had not felt that cut when she was in Roland’s arms. The heat of him had blocked out everything else. She realized she was tired then, and the aftermath of her fear-filled run had left her knees weak.

  Mati had lived among the enemy a long time, so her commonsense finally reasserted itself for the first time that night. Though still dazed, she kept to the shadows as she walked slowly back to the keep, careful to pick most of the straw off her gown and out of her hair. She was grateful for the darkness as she slipped upstai
rs to her bedroom. Between Gregory’s blow and Roland’s kisses, she hoped that her mouth did not swell in the morning.

  Mati stripped off her overdress, carefully laying the blue silk on the room’s only chair. Suddenly bone tired, she slipped into bed wearing just her shift. She breathed deeply of the scent of rosemary on her bed linens, wishing for one odd moment that they smelled like sandalwood. The night had grown chill, so she covered herself in the goose down bedding that her mother had sewn for her, wishing Roland was there to warm her as he had beneath that tree. She cursed herself for a weak-willed fool, and it was a long time before she slept. Her anger had faded along with her fear, and now all she could remember was the way his large body had felt against hers, and the taste of him on her tongue.

  Chapter Four

  The morning light was cold when it fell across Mati’s face, waking her. She pulled the bedclothes closer and groaned, her lip aching. She blinked in the bright light from the room’s only window, and found Arabella sitting in a chair beside her bed, watching her sleep.

  “My lady, it is late.”

  “Is it?” Mati pushed herself up onto her elbows.

  “You have missed the morning meal, I fear.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “Why? Is my mouth bruised?” Mati’s bare feet hit the cold floor. She did not stop to put on her clogs, but went straight to her silver mirror. She could see no bruise or lump on her mouth. Her lips were puffy, but that was all. She fingered her collarbone. There was a raised red place where Roland had bitten her.

  “No, my lady. You look only well kissed. Did someone strike you?” Arabella was pale, but her voice was even and calm. Mati decided in that moment not to speak of her close call with Gregory, or of Roland. Since he had come home, Roland never seemed to want for female companionship. No doubt he had found some other girl the night before, tumbled her in the straw of the great hall, and had forgotten already that he had ever kissed Mati at all.

  Mati moved slowly back to her bed and drew the quilts over her. “I’ll be all right, Ara. It was a long night.”

  “I saw you and young Gregory dancing. Did you like him?” Arabella started to regain some color and her voice sounded more hopeful.

  Mati rubbed the back of her neck to work the kinks out, avoiding her teacher’s eyes. “I’d rather not talk about last night.”

  Arabella frowned as if she wanted to ask more questions, but no doubt she knew that Mati would not answer them. “All right, my lady. I’ve brought you a little breakfast that I filched from the hall.” She rose and uncovered a wooden tray bearing fresh bread and fruit. “Sir John had oranges brought all the way from Spain.”

  “How nice for him.” Mati could not keep the sourness out of her voice. For some reason, the thought of Sir John and Roland sitting at table, eating oranges together annoyed her.

  “And nice for you.” Arabella’s face betrayed none of her thoughts as she handed Mati the sweet fruit.

  Mati smiled ruefully, knowing she had sounded like an ungrateful cur. “You’re right. Thank you.” She ate in silence and drank the ale Arabella handed her along with the bread.

  “At least you have a fine appetite. Last night could not have been so terrible.”

  Mati almost laughed at the obvious bid for information, but closed her mouth over the sound. The memory of the heat of Roland’s body against hers lingered, making Mati fidget. She had better take herself in hand, and put away nonsense. The next time she kissed a man, she would stay in control. She had to practice her skills so that when a man married her, she could rule him. Mati ordered herself to set aside all thoughts of Roland, and the way she felt when he touched her.

  She shook her head to clear it and threw back the bedclothes. “I had better dress. Mother will want me in the solar.”

  Arabella picked up the wooden tray and tried to catch the girl’s eye. When Mati finally looked at her, Arabella must have seen the flush along her cheeks, for she frowned.

  “Are you feverish, my lady?”

  “No, Ara. I’m well. Thank you for breakfast.”

  “Of course.”

  There was a heavy silence as they looked at each other, but neither woman broke it. Arabella sighed before she turned and left the room, closing the heavy wooden door behind her.

  Mati sat sewing in the solar all that day, thinking of Roland in spite of herself, not going down for the noon meal in case he thought to corner her and give her a lecture on decorum and womanly behavior. Her mother touched her cheek gently when she noticed how quiet she was.

  “You must come down for dinner tonight. A new minstrel has come from court to sing for us.”

  “Oh.” She tried to sound enthusiastic, knowing that she failed. She did not want to see Gregory either. The very thought of him made her stomach turn. “I will be there, Mother.”

  Margaret frowned and exchanged a worried look with Arabella. Mati smiled and forced a lightness that she did not feel. “I’m fine. I am just tired from all the dancing.”

  Margaret nodded but did not look convinced. She was still frowning that night in the great hall. Mati took care to keep by her mother’s side, and they ate at the same trencher. When she did not see Gregory anywhere, Mati felt her heart lighten. She even managed to laugh at the minstrel’s jokes, and to follow along in the group singing.

  Sir John spoke up finally and called down the table to the minstrel. “Play a song for my wife’s daughter, and she will sing for us.”

  Mati froze for a moment and there was polite applause. For the first time that meal, she looked up and met Roland’s dark eyes. He simply stared at her. She stiffened her back, turned to smile at her stepfather, and stood. She sauntered to the end of the table where the minstrel stood waiting, using her best swaying walk. The minstrel bowed low to her and gave her a smile. “What would you like to sing, my lady?”

  She smiled and spoke loudly enough for everyone to hear. “A song of spring.”

  She sang, managing not to meet Roland’s gaze. She felt her courage returning as she sang, and watched the effect her performance had on the men around the great table. Even her stepfather listened until she was finished. The applause was a little louder than politeness warranted and Mati’s smile was real as she crossed the room to sit next to her mother.

  The warmth of the men did not surprise her, but her mother’s ladies smiled on her as well, a few speaking to her afterwards, asking after her embroidery project. She was not much of a seamstress, but she had made great strides in her skills over the winter months. Even her spun thread no longer had lumps in it. She accepted the compliments her mother’s ladies paid her, surprised that someone other than her mother had noticed. Perhaps all the time spent in the solar had not been wasted after all.

  Perhaps Norman women were like women everywhere, and needed only friendliness from her to bring out the friendliness in them. Mati pondered that, when she noticed Roland leaving the hall without a glance at her.

  She felt the sting of his rejection like a sharp needle, but she did not go to her room alone to lick her wounds as she might have before. Instead, she sat with the women and listened to the singing that went on until late. Mati complimented her mother’s steward on the selection of the minstrel, and was one of the last women to leave the hall. She took her own rush light with her as she mounted the stairs. She had not seen Gregory all evening, and hoped that he had gone home, or back to hell. Anywhere but there.

  On the upper landing, Roland stepped out of the shadows and Mati gasped, almost dropping her taper.

  “You scared me out of my skin,” Mati scolded him. He did not smile, but stared at her mouth for one long moment as if he remembered their kisses from the night before as well as she did.

  “You need not fear in this keep, Mati. I sent Gregory away this morning.”

  “Thank you,” she said. She moved to walk past him and go to her room, when he stepped in front of her. Mati stopped, and took a step back from
him, but he did not try to touch her.

  “I did not see you all day,” Roland said, his eyes still on her mouth.

  “I was with the women in the solar, as you told me to be.”

  Roland laughed out loud at that, and a little of the strange heat between them lifted to be replaced with a touch of friendly warmth. “I am surprised you took my advice. I thought I might have to beat some sense into you.”

  “I am no Norman woman, to let a man raise his hand to me.”

  He raised his hand to touch her face, but she did not flinch. She knew that whatever boasting nonsense he spoke, Roland would never hurt her.

  His touch was gentle, his fingertips soft on her cheek. His hand drifted with a feather light touch, tracing a line down her throat to the red mark his teeth had made, now hidden by her shift. He pulled the linen down a little so that he would see the welt. “I’m sorry I bit you.”

  For some reason, his touch did not offend her as Gregory’s had, but scrambled what was left of her wits. Mati drew a deep breath, trying desperately to hold onto some sense of herself. But all she could think of was how she wished he would kiss her even as they stood there.

  “Don’t let it happen again,” she said, forcing a bravado she did not feel.

  Roland laughed out loud at her aggressive tone, and he took his hand away from her collar.

  “I can’t promise that. Your soft skin was made for biting.”

  Mati had no idea what to say to that, so she said nothing. She had no idea how to handle this man.

  Roland changed the subject, drawing something out of his tunic. “I think you forgot this.”

  His eyes glittered as he held up the gold fillet that she had worn in her hair at the dance. She smiled, gracefully extending a hand.

  “How kind of you to fetch it for me.” Though she tried to hit a teasing note, when she saw a flush rise in his cheeks, she knew she had failed, and had offended him.

  “You make me sound like a hound come to heel.” Roland’s voice was rough, and he did give her the golden circle.