Stolen Brides: Four Beauty-and-the-Beast Medieval Romances

by Claire Delacroix

  This was why Erik had sought her and her womb, because his dead wife could not produce the son that would see his daughters saved. And because those two lives hung in the balance, he dared not wed her, lest she could not conceive a son, lest he had to find another maiden to provide the son he so desperately needed.

  Vivienne could not deny that his choice could not have been one readily made. She saw how it troubled him to confess to what he had done, and knew it was not in his nature to deceive. She could not fight against the appeal of a man who did what was against his very nature for the sake of his children.

  “You should have told me sooner.”

  His blue gaze fixed upon her. “Would you have taken my wager then? Would your brother have agreed to my terms? I think not. The sole way to pursue my goal was with deception.”

  “You have risked my alliance in so doing.”

  He shook his head. “There is far more at stake than that. Understand that I will not fail them, independent of the cost. I may have only one chance, but I will pursue it until my dying breath. Be it you or another, a maiden will bear my son. My daughters’ lives rely on no less. I chose you, but if you spurn me I will merely choose another.”

  He stared down at her, his eyes a vivid blue, and his words softened. “I would prefer that you not do so, though I recognize that is the risk of confessing the truth to you.”

  He would not have felt compelled to be honest, unless he felt some regard for her, and Vivienne knew it well.

  On impulse, she reached up and caught Erik’s face in her hands. She stretched and touched her lips fleetingly to his, wanting only to console him. She tasted his astonishment, then drew back slightly. She found herself wanting to aid him, wanting to aid those two little girls, though she knew she should not have done so without the benefit of a nuptial vow between them.

  “What are their names?”

  “Mairi,” he said gruffly. “And Astrid. Mairi is dark and has seen six summers, while fair Astrid has seen only three.” He measured their heights with one hand as he spoke, the harshness of his features seeming to melt when he spoke of them.

  It was his undisguised affection that made Vivienne’s choice for her. After all, she was a maiden no longer, so that damage was done. But good could come of Vivienne’s loss, if she did not turn away from Erik now, if she still tried to conceive that son.

  Impulse guided her tongue and even as she spoke, she wondered whether she erred, though truly it seemed that she had no choice.

  “I do not know whether I can do what you desire of me,” Vivienne whispered, her heart pounding at her own audacity. “I cannot scry the future. But if you treat me with honor, then for the sake of your daughters, I will try to give you that son.”

  Erik turned and cast the rope away. He met Vivienne’s gaze, determination in his eyes along with something else that made her heart leap. “Then we have a wager in truth, lady mine,” he said and claimed her lips with a possessive kiss.

  And the joy in that kiss told Vivienne much of his measure. She tasted his relief and his fear, she tasted his sorrow and his desperate hope. She met the demand in his caress unflinchingly, knowing that she would offer her all to aid him now. She did not know if she had chosen rightly, she did not know if all would be resolved well, but she could regret nothing when he kissed her with such leisurely passion. She felt part of a great tale, of the righting of an enormous wrong, and surely that would be reward enough.

  It had been so long since any soul had made a concession to Erik that Vivienne’s offer astounded him. He did not have the luxury of marveling in it, however, for he dared not grant her time to change her thinking. He had no intent of letting her rescind her offer, no intent of giving her cause for regret.

  This mating must be as wondrous as the last had been.

  He caught her close against him, savoring anew how willingly she met him, how readily she trusted him. The trust of another was a forgotten elixir for Erik and he was nigh intoxicated that Vivienne gave of it so generously.

  Her kiss was both sweet and wild, unlike any he had tasted before, and it awakened an unexpected yearning within him. He wished that he would be the last man to savor her many charms, he wished that the way they met had been wrought of destiny, not his scheming. He wished that this venture might prove a success for both of them.

  For this night, he put his worries aside. For this night, he chose to lose himself in both Vivienne and the enchanting tale she told.

  He kissed her deeply, delighted that she was so unafraid. Her hand slid into his hair and she impatiently urged him closer. She arched her back and stretched to her toes, offering more of the feast of her kiss than he had had before. He shed his gloves with a measure of his own impatience, knowing that half measures would not serve either of them this night. He wanted her nude, he wanted to see her fully in the sun’s last light, he wanted to witness her pleasure.

  His hands fell on the laces at the sides of her kirtle and he loosed them without breaking their kiss. Vivienne gasped, perhaps at the chill of the wind through her chemise, but he slipped his hands through the sides of her kirtle, letting his hands warm her. She was so slender that his hands almost closed around her waist.

  Even with the barrier of cloth between them, he felt her pulse beneath his palms and its quick pace reminded him of how new she was to lovemaking. Not wanting to frighten her, he let his hands ease over her ribs to finally capture her breasts. When he touched her pert nipples, Vivienne broke their kiss with a cry.

  Erik held her fast before him, one hand clasped in the small of her back, and stared into her eyes as he caressed her nipple again. She swallowed and her eyes widened to emerald pools, but she did not step away. He watched as his thumb eased over her nipple, felt it grow more taut, noted how she inhaled when the roughened edge of his thumb moved across the tender flesh.

  She smiled and he was spellbound. “I like that,” she whispered and he could not help but smile himself.

  “So I have noted.”

  She flushed at his comment, but did not remove his hand. He repeated the caress, savoring how her eyes darkened. “Sorcery,” she whispered.

  Erik shook his head. “It is a force far more reliable than any witchery,” he said and she laughed. It was such a merry sound that he felt the weight of his burdens lighten.

  He chose to forget his responsibilities for these few moments. He let one hand curve around the ripeness of her breast, and lifted the other to the clasp of her cloak. He unfastened it, letting the cloak fall to a pile around her ankles. She was garbed in a richness unfamiliar to him, the garments sliding over his hands in a silken caress.

  He lifted her kirtle over her head and cast it aside with care, his hands returning to her breasts. Her chemise was so sheer a linen that he could see the darkness of her areolas through the cloth, and it was so finely woven that her nipples made peaks in the cloth.

  He pulled her close and kissed her again, untying the lace that held the neck of her chemise closed while he did so. Even as he deepened his kiss, he let his hand slide over her flesh, pushing the cloth away from her neck. He lifted his head, discovered that both of them were breathless and was tempted again to smile.

  He realized that he had not been so tempted for years, though it was not the first time he had felt his lips curving in Vivienne’s presence. She was a balm to his unhappiness, a sunbeam that shone into the darkest corners.

  He looked down at the treasure in his arms and devoured the sight that darkness had denied to him the night before. She was indeed a beauty, more beauteous than he had begun to guess. Vivienne’s skin was softer than soft, its hue like that of a white rose’s petals. The charming freckles upon her nose were echoed by an artful scattering of lighter freckles across her collar bone. Her breasts were ripe enough to fill his palm, soft enough to tempt his touch. He lifted her breast in his palm then bent and kissed the nipple with no small reverence.

  The scent of her skin turned his salute to a more burning d
esire. He found his lips closing around her with urgency, his tongue flicking the nipple, his teeth grazing the peak that his thumb had recently teased.

  Vivienne gasped, then seized a fistful of his hair and rose to her toes. She kissed his ear, his throat, his shoulder with a fervor he could well understand. Her passion fueled his own with astonishing ease. He pushed her chemise away, cursing the dozens of buttons that held the sleeves tight. She laughed and they loosed her from the garment’s clutch with impatience. He then caught her buttocks in his hand and lifted her against himself, letting her feel the effect that she had upon him. He burned for her, as never he had for another woman.

  Vivienne rolled her hips against him in silent demand. He could have claimed her then, but feared to rush her overmuch. He caught her up in his arms, instead, intending to seduce her more slowly within the ruins on the point.

  Vivienne, though, shook her head with unexpected vehemence when she saw his direction. “Not there,” she said, wrinkling her nose in a most fetching manner. “Here, in the last of the sunlight, is better.” Her hand slid down the side of his face, her fingertip sliding across his lips. “I want to see you fully this night. I want no shadows between us.”

  He was startled that their desires were so similar. Recent years had taught him caution, that matters which seemed too good to be believed were oft untrustworthy. He wondered fleetingly whether he was a fool to believe her unexpected pledge, whether she deceived him deliberately for some mysterious reason of her own.

  Then Vivienne kissed him, her tongue dancing so boldly with his own that he could refuse her nothing, especially a deed he wanted so ardently himself. And thus, Erik, once again, surrendered to Vivienne’s enchantment.

  Chapter 6

  In moments, Erik had created a nest for them out of their two cloaks, the fur-lined one on top, the lady gleaming like ivory as she sat atop it.

  He knelt, intending to loose her garters, but Vivienne kicked her feet playfully. “You are yet fully garbed. I would see as much of you as you have seen of me before we continue.”

  Erik paused, not wanting to dampen her ardor with the truth of his scars. “There is no need…”

  “There is every need,” she argued, rising gracefully to her knees. “And since you are shy, I will aid you.” Her hands caught at the buckle of his belt, her gaze steadily meeting his own. Erik caught her hands in his to halt her, then noted the determined set of her lips. Vivienne lifted her chin, her gaze bright with challenge. He saw that she knew he was not shy, that she knew what he feared to show her.

  He saw that she was not afraid to see whatever he bared.

  Indeed, she had not flinched at the scar on his face. He lifted his hands away and let her continue what she had begun.

  She smiled, well pleased with her triumph, and unbuckled his belt. His weapons were laid aside with the care they should have been shown, then she returned to unlace his boiled leather jerkin. She moved with an efficient haste and he merely watched her, wanting to witness every nuance of her response in the moment he dreaded. His tabard was laid aside, his boots joined it. His chemise fluttered in the wind and her fingers trembled slightly as she reached for the lace at the neck.

  She held his gaze as she worked the lace loose of every hole, as she finally pulled it free, as her elegant hands closed upon the hem of the garment and pulled it over his head. He shook free of it with impatience and watched her look.

  The left side of his body was more marred as his face, the evidence of the assault against him written in his own flesh. He knew it was not easy to look upon, he knew that it was yet a livid red in places.

  Erik should not have expected Vivienne to hesitate, for she did not. She lifted one hand, even as her gaze ran busily over him, and lifted her fingertips to the worst knot of marred flesh. “Nicholas did this?” she asked in a whisper.

  “He dispatched those who did.”

  She surveyed the scars, tracing the worst of them with a gentle fingertip. “He meant to see you dead,” she said and it was no query. Erik did not reply, and she granted him a glance as bright as that of a bird. “Does it still hurt?”

  He shook his head, his throat tight at the sight of her. He saw the glitter of tears on her lashes, watched them fall like jewels as she shook her head at what he had borne.

  “You should let the sun kiss it,” she said softly. “For its caress heals much.” He swallowed, then watched incredulous as she bent and touched her lips to his scar.

  Erik was humbled by her gesture. He had given her so little, he had offered her less, and yet Vivienne granted him another priceless gift.

  Any doubts he had of her were folly, to be certain.

  Before Erik could speak, Vivienne ran her hands across him with a proprietary ease. She seemed to sense that he was overwhelmed for she spoke pertly. “My brothers are not wrought so broad as you,” she said. “Nor have my younger brothers so much hair upon their chests.”

  He found his lips coaxed again into forming that unfamiliar curve of a smile. “Am I to be encouraged by this?”

  She laughed. “I should think so, for I find you far more alluring than my siblings. Is that not better?”

  “It is to my thinking.”

  “And it can be no small thing to so readily agree,” she said, even as her fingertips slid to his nipple and teased it to a peak as he had done to hers. Erik inhaled sharply, but Vivienne did not cease her caress.

  “Surely I can torment you with pleasure in my turn?” she whispered. There was pure mischief in her eyes as she kissed his nipple, flicking her tongue against the sensitive peak as he had done to her just moments before.

  He whispered her name and caught her close. He pulled her face to his and kissed her soundly, feeling the curve of her smile beneath his mouth. She was as merry as a beam of sunlight herself, as undaunted by whatsoever confronted her that one could not help but be gladdened in her presence.

  Erik chose to gladden the lady with his. He laid her upon their piled cloaks, and caught her feet in his hands so that she could not squirm away. He bent then and untied her garters with his teeth, kissing the inside of her knees as he did so.

  “It tickles!” she complained, even as she laughed and writhed. He granted her no mercy and gave no pause, but relieved her of stockings, garters and shoes with deliberate slowness. He flicked his tongue into the hollow behind her knees and kissed her shins. He eased her stockings down first one leg, then the other, with the tip of his nose, pausing time and again to nibble and kiss and tease.

  Vivienne twisted on the fur cloak so vigorously that her hair was fully loosed from her braids. She begged for mercy but he granted her none, she laughed until she was breathless, but the merry sparkle of her eyes urged him on. He grazed the soft flesh around her ankle with his teeth, he kissed her arch, he slid his tongue between her toes. He paused only when her stockings were shed, and then only to savor how flushed and disheveled she had become.

  Then he traced kisses up the inside of her legs, burning a path to her sweet heat. When his mouth closed over her, she arched and moaned, then spread her thighs in welcome. He felt her arousal and it heightened his own. He savored how she responded to his caress and felt his own desire redouble. He held her fast and coaxed her to greater heights, halting just before she found her pleasure and beginning anew. She moaned, she writhed, she knotted her hands in his hair.

  “Together,” she cried, and he could resist her no longer. He cast aside his chausses and held his weight over her, was captured utterly by her avid embrace. She held his shoulders while he entered her heat, then caught him close and cosseted him within herself. He moved within her and felt there was no other place or time that mattered.

  Vivienne opened her eyes and smiled at him, her cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling, her breath coming quickly. She clutched his shoulders and wrapped her legs around him, she matched her movement to his own and he saw his own marvel echoed in her wondrous eyes.

  They shared the moment, as never he
had shared it with a woman before. Beatrice had always looked away, even before his face had been marred, as if only enduring her marital obligation to him. But Vivienne delighted in their coupling, she was possessed of as great a desire as he, she was unashamed of her passion. He liked her honest embrace of pleasure quite well and he found that her joy abed only heightened his own.

  He could trust her passion, for it was not feigned.

  Erik could not have expressed his admiration, not as he moved within her and she cast a spell around them more potent than any potion. There was nothing in all his world save Vivienne. They watched each other, each daring the other to endure longer. Erik thought his very flesh might burst into flames, so ardently did they pursue the highest peak. He noted how her flush rose, how her hips bucked, how the tight bead of her tightened against him, but he waited until she cried out in ecstasy.

  Only then did he let passion snare him fully, only then did he roar with his own release.

  Only when he laid his brow upon Vivienne’s shoulder moments later, awed by the magic they had wrought together, did he mourn this situation. Erik wished he could have known what a man and a woman could share, and that he had known it before taking his wife. Erik regretted that he and Beatrice had never found such pleasure together.

  Further, Erik wished that he could have met Vivienne unfettered himself, wished that he could have courted her before his life had become what it was.

  He wished he had met Vivienne when he had been as young of heart and as merry as she. He wished she could have seen the best of him, not the worst. Beatrice had claimed that prize, though he knew she had never been glad of it as Vivienne welcomed what meager offering he could make to her now.

  There were so many matters that could not be undone. Erik had married to suit his father’s ambitions, not his own. He had surrendered the best of himself to a woman who cared nothing for him and only now, when it might be too late to mend matters, did he see the fullness of the price he had paid.