Hearts Aflame (22 page)
The small dagger Royce put back in the sheath at his belt. With no weapon in his hand, he walked toward Kristen. There were any number of weapons that he could choose from on the wall, but he would have to get around her first. She was not going to let him.
She hardened her heart to all that she felt for him. Her expression mirrored her deadly intent. She held the sword low, ready to twist sharply up and forward to find target. But Royce stopped just short enough so she would have to step to reach him. His own expression was inscrutable now.
“Tell me something, Kristen. Are all Norsewomen trained so ably to defend themselves?”
“Nay,” she replied warily.
“But I know you have been, for you have twice demonstrated your skill for my cousin’s benefit. Your father taught you, I suppose? Or was it your brother Selig? Of course, his skill was not as good—”
She cried furiously and swung the sword back to come down in an arc that would have neatly cleaved his shoulder if he had not moved aside. But instead of backing away to escape the blade’s next descent, Royce had stepped closer. His fist came down on Kristen’s wrist before she could maneuver the heavy sword to attack again.
The sword clattered loudly to the floor, and Kristen was spun about so that her back would face him when his arms circled round her waist. Both of her own arms were captured in the hold. Try as she might, she couldn’t pull them loose.
“Foolish girl. Did no one ever teach you to ignore the comments of your adversary?”
She kicked a heel back in answer and struck his shin, but the soft-soled shoe did little damage and she was sure she hurt her foot more than she did him. The blow did succeed in making him hurry with her to the bed. He dropped her there and then fell on her back before she could get both arms out from under her. The one arm she did manage to release he quickly grabbed, and she groaned, feeling the cloth wrapped swiftly about her wrist.
It was the left wrist he had tied to the right post, so she was ready for him, thinking he would have to turn her over now. But her fist struck only air when he rose and she rolled over, for he was after her feet next, instead of her free hand. And he was easily able to secure one leg with his weight while he concentrated on tying the other foot to the post. And her hand stretched just short of him.
Kristen felt like crying, she was so frustrated, but she would not. “You had best kill me when you are done, Saxon, for I will see you in hell for this!”
Royce did not speak. Her legs were spread wide on the bed, her feet tightly secured to the posts. He got up and came to stand near the last post yet to be used.
Kristen glared at him, holding her right arm away from him. When he leaned forward to reach for it, her fist flew at his face, and he did not duck back quick enough this time.
She felt a surge of satisfaction, even though her knuckles throbbed where they scraped against his teeth. But his lip was smeared with blood, and his features were no longer inscrutable. Angrily he caught her last free limb and wrapped the cloth around it, tying an extra-tight knot on this hand. Then he stood back, and those eyes she had thought so beautifully green seemed filled with menace now as they locked with hers. Slowly he wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand.
She closed her eyes against his triumph. It had been too easy for him. And now he would whip her, or whatever it was he had planned, to punish her for resisting his will. What he did next, however, was to strip away her clothes with his dagger.
Kristen groaned inwardly, but kept her features carefully blank and her eyes tightly closed. She was not going to scream when the pain began, nor cry, nor beg for mercy, for if he could do this to her, then he had none.
“Open your eyes, Kristen.”
She refused. She felt the bed sag and knew he had sat down beside her. Finally, when he didn’t say anything else, or move at all, she became too unnerved not to look. She found his eyes gazing into hers, then deliber
ately they moved down the length of her. She followed his gaze and felt a swift rush of heat.
Seeing herself like this brought home more clearly her helplessness. She could bend her knees slightly, but not much. Her arms were not stretched out tightly, but were bent at the elbows. They were useless to her, as were her legs, yet surprisingly, she was not uncomfortable in this position. The strips of cloth did not cut into her skin unless she tugged on them. It was her inability to continue fighting that made her miserable, and not knowing the manner of her punishment.
“Your promise held true, until now.”
His voice drew her eyes back to his. “What promise?” she demanded.
“That I would get no pleasure from you if you fought me. I assure you ’tis a pleasure seeing you like this.”
God help her, he was going to gloat now. “Bring out your whip and have done with it, Saxon!” she hissed.
He smiled. “Ah, you did mention my practicing cruelties on you. Good of you to remind me.”
He eased her long braid out from under her as he said this, and devoted entirely too much attention to it. “You mean to whip me with that?” she asked incredulously.
“An interesting idea.” He laughed, letting the braid slip through his hand until the tail end was caught by his fingers. “Mayhap—like this?”
The ends of her hair spread out like a fan between his fingers and flicked at the point of one breast. Blood rushed to that area, firming the mound, and turning the tip into a hard little nub.
Goose bumps spread over different parts of Kristen’s body. Noticing her body’s unwilling response, Royce continued to smile as he trailed the fan down the valley of her breasts to whip with feather softness at the other peak.
Her body told its own story to him, but he could not
know what was happening inside her. What had been a very real, though unacknowledged fear in the pit of her belly, had now burgeoned into excitement. To be completely helpless in the power of a man who knew well how to please her…She had not considered that.
“You—you do not mean to beat me?”
“Why do you sound so surprised?” he asked softly, railing the fan of hair down and across her stomach, making the muscles jerk and contract. “I like your skin as is. Did you truly think I would mar it?”
“You were angry enough—”
“With reason. You made a liar of me this day. I swore to your friend Thorolf that I did not have to force you to my bed, yet here I have had to do just that.”
“You told him…oh!”
Royce shrugged negligently. “He was concerned and needed reassurance that I was not taking undue advantage of my power over you.”
“Are you not?” she snapped, looking meaningfully down at herself.
He chuckled. “Aye, mayhap I am now. But you will agree, by your own admittance, vixen, that yestereve I did not take advantage of you.”
“Did you have to tell Thorolf that?”
“You would rather he worry about you?”
“I would rather he not think what he must think now!” she cried furiously.
“That you like me?”
“The devil take you, Saxon, I do not—not anymore,” she amended, but then gasped as he leaned over to place a tickling kiss on her belly. “Nay, cease!”
His tongue snaked out to trace a circle round her navel. “Still resisting, vixen? Since you cannot stop me yourself, will you beg me to leave off?”
“Nay!”
He sat up and spread his hands over her stomach,
beginning a slow ascent toward her breasts. “I did not think you would, because you do not really want me to leave off.”
His fingers had curled around her breasts. She heard her voice waver as she insisted, “Not so. I—I simply will not beg—for aught.”
“Such a proud wench you are.”
Between his thumbs and forefingers, he pinched her hardened nipples until she stiffened, then treated them with tender care. He continued applying pleasure-pain to this most sensitive area until she thought she would indeed beg for mercy. She could no longer remain still. She could no longer keep her expression impassive, even though she knew he was watching for her every reaction. Her heart was pounding wildly, her pulses gone mad. Heat seemed to be pouring out of her, though her brow remained dry.
Royce was mesmerized by the seductive slant of those aqua eyes, and the way her teeth kept gnawing on her lower lip. He would not kiss her lips, not yet, for he had little doubt she would sink those teeth into him. But his hands finally moved on, up to cup her face and hold it still while he kissed her everywhere but on her mouth.
At her ear, he beseeched her: “Tell me you want me, Kristen.”
“You will never hear me say it.”
He leaned back to look at her. A fire seemed to smolder in her eyes. He had never seen a woman more ready to be loved.
He smiled, shaking his head at her. “You are as stubborn as you predicted. But so am I, sweet vixen. And I
will
hear you say it.”
He stood up and moved to the end of the bed. There he stopped, and slowly, with his eyes on the whole length of her, he began to remove his robe and tunic.
Watching him gaze at her was nearly the same as feeling his hands on her. It did crazy things to her insides.
Kristen closed her eyes against him. She willed her body to relax, to calm itself. It did no good. The anticipation, the wondering what he would do next kept the excitement building rather than dissipating.
She did not have to wait long. The bed sagged by her feet, then she felt a hand on each ankle. She would not look at him. Slowly the hands moved up the inside of her legs—she was not going to look—past her knees, slower as they inched up her thighs—she wouldn’t look—higher, closer…
He stopped, hesitating, while Kristen held her breath, sure her heart was going to explode, it was beating so violently. Then his fingers changed directions, running over the tops of her thighs, then down the outside—but only as far as her knees. Just as she managed to expel her breath in a quiet manner, she caught it again as he started upward once more with those wide-spread fingers.
Again and again he worked his way up her thighs, each time coming closer to the core of her womanhood, but never touching her there, just making her think that he would, hope that he would. She was being flayed with erotic sensations. She was being primed to beg.
“Look at me, Kristen.”
She shook her head wildly.
“Kristen.”
She tilted her head back, so that if she did open her eyes, she couldn’t see him crouched there between her legs. She heard him chuckle at this, and felt the bed move as he lay down at the bottom of it. And then he slipped his arms under her thighs, nearly up to his shoulders. His hands came around to spread over on her stomach, his chin resting on the triangle of curls.
“Do you want me now, Kristen?”
She would not answer. His hands moved up to cup her breasts. He lifted his chin and she could feel his warm breath…God help her—oh God!
His tongue touched the tiny muscle that controlled her passion, and that was all it took. Kristen exploded with such a violent shock of pleasure that his name burst from her lips. Her pelvis lifted to him, demanding the pressure of his tongue. She would have held him to her if she could have. But he did not deny her. She experienced her bliss in full measure.
But Royce was not done with her. Reality barely returned before he began a new assault on her senses. And she no longer had the will to resist. She was too sated, and too amazed by what he had done. Just thinking about it sent new excitement pulsing through her.
He lay atop her now, his lips forging paths of heat along her skin. But he would not enter her, would not slake his own raging passion. He was in position to do so, torturing her with anticipation again, but he would not.
He leaned up, and fancifully, she thought of glowing emeralds as she looked into his eyes. “You want me,” he breathed against her lips. “Say it.”
“I will not say it.”
His teeth nibbled at her lips. “You would have me leave you now?”
God help her, she felt she would die if he did. But how could he? Could he? Nay, he could not.
She remained silent, her eyes filling with a mixture of stubborn pride and desire. He groaned, seeing his defeat. But it was only a minor thing in comparison to what he felt as he plunged into her, taking her with him on another wild crescendo of bliss.
When Kristen returned to reality this time, Royce was cutting her loose from her bonds. He wrapped his arms around her when he finished, and lay back with her nestled
against his chest. She was done with fighting for now and he knew it, and took advantage of it.
“You knew I would not leave you.” There was an accusatory note in his voice.
“Aye, I knew.”
He grunted. “Stubborn wench.”
Kristen grinned sleepily.
T
he sweetest kiss woke Kristen. She sighed and stretched, but did not open her eyes yet. The dream she had been having of home seemed so real. She hated to give it up, yet the pressure on her lips was a mighty inducement.
“Has the fight gone out of you, vixen?”
Kristen smiled, knowing that Royce sat beside her on the bed. “Nay, milord.”
“Then I look forward to another challenge.”
“Oh!”
Her eyes flew open and she grabbed her pillow to throw at him. He was already backing away toward the door.
“Nay, Kristen—truce! There is much to do this morn, and little time. I have already sent Eda to fetch you clothes and—” He paused as Eda appeared at the door. “Ah, good. You can explain to her, Eda.” And then he was gone.
Kristen sat up to stare at the old woman with a disgusted look. “What was that all about? He said there is much to do this morn.”
“Aye, Alfred comes today.”
“Your King comes here?” Kristen gasped.
Eda nodded as she came forward. “Advance riders brought the news. We have only a few hours to prepare.”
“But why does he come?”
“’Tis an honor.”
“If you do not know, just say so.”
Eda chuckled. “Aye, you have me. How would I know why he comes? But it has been his habit since the treaty to visit his lords often to inspect their defenses, discern their readiness, and remind them that this time of peace will not last. He also gives praise and encouragement to their men so they will train with more earnestness. This will be the third time he has come to Wyndhurst since the Year of Battles.”