Ruthless (23 page)

Strange he'd never cared whether a lass was a
virgin or if she'd had a hundred lovers. Why did it matter who had
breeched this one? He stared at the ceiling, wondering. Was it only
Duncan of Dalbreak? Or had she taken lovers before or after him?
The questions ate at him.

He gritted his teeth wanting, and yet not
wanting, the answer. There was also the question of why she'd been
so reluctant to wear the blue-green kirtle and silver smock. If it
was so important to her, then why had she buried them at the bottom
of her chest?

Muriele felt his tension and knew he wasn't
pleased there would be no virgin's blood on the sheets. She had
worried she might be ripe for breeding. She'd been mindless with
passion. Too enthralled with the moment to protect herself.
Thankfully, he'd not spilled his seed within her.

He surged out of bed and padded across the
cold floor to the washstand. A pail always stood close to the
fireplace, keeping water warm for scraping off the whiskers around
his cheeks come the dawn. He filled the basin with it, dipped his
fingers into soft soap and lathered his groin and sex. After he
rinsed with the cloth, he dumped the water out the window opening
then refilled the basin.

When he stood above her, he noted the wary
look on her face. She held her palm upright, stopping him.

"I can cleanse myself, my lord." She pushed
her hands on the mattress, ready to spring from the bed.

Magnus shook his head at her.

"'Tis the only way I know not to plant seed
in a fertile woman."

"Aye, I have heard of such."

Muriele stood and held her hands out to take
the basin from him. He again denied her, and though she would have
liked privacy for such an intimate cleansing, he held onto the
basin. She dunked the cloth then lathered it with soap. Feeling her
face flush, she ducked her head and cleansed between her legs and
belly. The musky smell of a man's seed wasn't pleasant. She
thankfully rinsed her flesh then dried her belly with the edge of
the sheet.

While he tossed out the water and put the
cloth and basin back on the stand, she crawled between the covers
and pulled them up to her neck.

"Why do ye hide yer naked body as if ye had
been untouched afore this night?"

"I may not have been untouched, but I'm not
used to any man seeing my bare flesh."

He strode back to the bed, his sex limp
against his heavy ballocks. 'Twas the first time she'd seen his
shaft totally lifeless, for even when she had stitched his leg, he
had not completely subdued this part of him with a will of its
own.

He threw himself on the bed, rocking them
like a stormy night at sea then turned to face her. He bent his arm
and braced his head in his hand. His probing gaze studied her as if
he could see into her mind.

"Who breeched ye first?"

"Huh! Ye have no right to question me."

Muriele lips tightened. Turning her head, she
refused to look at him. Had he asked her to handfast with him, she
would have told him afore they made love. But, nay, he merely took
what he wanted. It did not obligate her to tell him of her
life.

"Nay? Ye are mine and have been since I
conquered Blackbriar."

He narrowed his eyes at her and his lips
tightened.

"Who was the first?"

She jerked her head back to glare at him.
"Who was the first woman ye swived?"

"The blacksmith's daughter."

His answer totally surprised her, for she
thought he'd ignore it.

"I demand an answer. Who was yer first
lover?"

"There was no first
lover
."

"Dinna dare lie. Do ye think me so unskilled
I wouldn't know a virgin from a lass who has made love afore?" He
snorted and thumped his fist on his outstretched leg. "There was no
hindrance when I entered ye. Not a hint of virgin blood. Ye were
tight, but then only women who have birthed a child contain me
easily."

"My
first and only
lover was Sir
Duncan. When he came to my bed, we were to wed. There was no shame
in it."

Jealousy pricked at Magnus the way she
defended Duncan's actions.

"How often did he plow yer belly?"

Muriele sat upright and turned to lash him
with a furious gaze. The randy lout went too far!

"A dozen times. A hundred times!" She stopped
and drew in a breath and shouted, "Likely it was too many times for
me to count! Is that what ye want to hear? "

Magnus fell back on the pillow and burst into
laughter.

"As much as that, eh? Ye must have bred a
castle full of bairns." With a chuckle in his voice, he raised his
brows and asked, "Did ye name them by numbers?"

"There were no bairns," she muttered under
her breath.

"Nay. And no other lovers. I'd warrant ye
laid with him only once afore yer father died and Baldor barged
into yer life."

She fell back on her pillow but didn't speak.
There was no need.

Magnus regretted badgering her into speaking.
The dreamy, satiated look had gone from her eyes, replaced with
haunted shadows.

He gently brought the covers up to cover her
shoulders made bare when she waved her arms around declaring she
had taken countless lovers. He bunched his pillow under his cheek
and watched her

"Lass, why can ye not bear to wear the
kirtle?" He had no need to name which one. She would know.

"The color was his favorite. 'Twas to be my
wedding dress."

She turned her back to him.

He rose from the bed, pinched out the candles
and quietly returned. He didn't touch her. She needed to sort
through her feelings.

Though it had been painful for Muriele, he
now knew all about her. From this night forward, he would read her
thoughts and happenings from her face and eyes. Her life was out in
the open.

At an early age, he had learned things
unknown had a nasty way of causing disasters. Once he had taken
control of the warriors of Kinbrace, he did not abide anyone
keeping secrets from him.

His eyes widened in surprise. One person did!
He had forgotten old Grunda. He remembered glancing toward the
table and seeing her put the pitcher of wine between their places.
No doubt, 'twas she who also placed the wine in his room.

He would get his answers from her before she
had time to think up some lie.

Magnus slept lightly, conscious of each move
Muriele made. He wouldn't allow her to slip from the room and do
something foolish. No doubt, when she awoke, she would regret
surrendering to his lovemaking.

o0o

Before the first light struck the top of the
eastern mountains, Magnus slid from the bed and belted a plaid
around his waist. For a man of his size and bulk, he could move
soundlessly. When he left the room and eased the door shut, he held
his sword and shaft against his body, the near empty wine pitcher
in his hand.

He didn't scratch at Grunda's door, nor did
he rap his sword hilt against it. He took hold of the latch and
shoved it open to bang against the wall, thinking to strike fear in
the old seer's heart.

"What took ye so long, boy? I thought to see
ye soon after Muriele slept!"

Had Magnus not been skilled in keeping anyone
from reading his face, his mouth would have gaped. Grunda sat at
her table, a pot of herbs steeping to her left and two earthenware
cups and small plates waiting in front of her. A small pan sat on
the stone shelf inside the fireplace, sending the aroma of hot
scones drifting through the small hut.

He latched the door behind him, for the
morning was damp and cold. It didn't bother him, but the old woman
would mind the discomfort. He thumped the pitcher on the table.
With both palms flat out on the wood in front of her, he leaned
down and looked her in the eye.

"Did ye not think me skillful enough to bring
Muriele beneath me? What drug did ye use to heat her blood?"

She grinned at him. "Naught but the simplest
of herbs which mingle well with wine."

"Why?"

"If the wrong man claims her, it twill be as
I predicted. Great harm will come to her, causing fathers to fight
sons. Brothers to turn against brothers."

"Ye speak in riddles, old woman." He slapped
the table and sat in the chair already awaiting him.

Grunda calmly retrieved the rolls and set
them in the middle of the table. After pouring the herbal tea into
their cups, she nudged one over to his hand.

"I have no wish to wed." He picked up the cup
and let the heat from the brew warm his lips before he took a
swallow. He was completely at ease as if he visited her often.

"From the time the child was born, I knew her
destiny was with ye. I knew not who ye were at the time, but I saw
yer face."

Magnus snorted and shook his head. Taking a
bite of the scone flavored with bits of fruit, he sat back and
waited for her to explain.

"When she fell in love with young Duncan of
Dalbreak, I feared for her life. He was a good man. But not strong
enough to keep her safe. 'Twas proved when the bastard Baldor
captured and murdered him. Muriele near died, too. 'Twas an
infection caused by a muddy cloth the beast slapped atop the
terrible brand."

"The threat of Baldor no longer lurks."

"'Tis yer destiny, boy. Dinna fight it; glory
in it."

His left brow rose. "Boy? Nay, my destiny is
by my design, not writ in the stars or dreamt about by old women. A
year hence, I return to Clibrick. I will wed for gain when the time
is right."

She leaned forward, her arms on the table.
Angry sparks seemed to radiate from her as she stared into his
eyes.

"Ye were meant to rule Blackbriar with
Muriele at yer side. Dinna be an eejit!"

"No one calls me such!"

Magnus surged to his feet. He widened his
stance and slapped his hands down on the table on either side of
Grunda's arms. Leaning forward until he was near nose to nose with
the old seer, his voiced lowered to an icy whisper.

"'Tis good ye are an old woman, else yer
headless body would now be twitching on the floor."

Grunda threw up her arms in frustration as he
stormed out the door with barely controlled fury. His forceful exit
caused the rickety door to swing wildly before it crashed shut with
such vigor twigs and debris from the thatched roof floated down
like brown leaves in the midst of autumn.

Grunda's unsteady hand brushed them from her
hair.

Muriele awoke to a dark room, her back
chilled, though something pressed against it. She didna have to
look to know if he was present or absent. If he was anywhere near,
her skin tingled and her heart quickened with a feeling of
anticipation. When he was absent, she felt none of these. Naught
but a pillow shared her bed.

She sat up, surprised her woman's place was
sensitive, more so than when she had lost her innocence to Douglas.
Was Magnus still angry he wasn't the first? What right did he have
to care one way or the other? This had not been their marriage bed.
Neither had he offered to handfast with her.

Throwing back the covers, she near fled to
grab her warmest clothing. Once dressed, she hopped onto the edge
of the bed to pull on heavy stockings then slipped her feet into
her waiting shoes. Bringing the fire back to life took longer than
it had to dress. She stood close to it, rubbing her hands
together.

Once she had taken the chill from her
clothing, she grabbed her wooden comb. Her anger made her wince
when she encountered the knots he'd made in her hair. His great
hands had wound her hair around them, anchoring her head to the bed
while he plundered her mouth.

"By the Saints!"

Irritated, she near yanked a hank of hair out
of her head. Each stroke became more aggressive as she thought how
he had humiliated her to suggest she'd had a multitude of lovers.
For sure, he'd taken more than his share of women. How many had he
breeched and left for their future mates to berate them for it?

Finally, she was done. She gathered it in one
hand while she secured a thin strip of leather around it. She must
hurry and straighten the bed afore Grunda arrived.

Something had smothered her good sense. There
was no way she would have allowed him to make love to her without
honor. Since 'twas certainly not love words he'd spoken, their
ardor must have been the result of a potion.

By what right did Grunda have to interfere in
her life? Granted, she'd been with Ragnhild before Muriele was
born, but the seer wasn't her parent. Sure as Hades, she wouldn't
give Grunda the satisfaction of seeing the sheets.

Grabbing the coverlet, she tossed it and the
blanket on the floor. When she flung back the top sheet, she saw
the telltale signs of lovemaking. Muttering under her breath, she
stripped the sheets off then shoved the soiled linens under the
bed. She hid their absence by replacing the blanket and coverlet.
Hearing soft footsteps, she composed herself.

She surprised Grunda and opened the door
before the old woman reached it.

"Have ye come to inspect the bedding again
this morn?"

"I have no need."

"Did ye think I wouldna be able to resist Sir
Magnus after the potion ye put into the wine? It was easy to deny
him."

Grunda chuckled and patted Muriele's cheek as
if she thought her slightly demented. She eyed the made up bed over
Muriele's shoulder.

"I already had the answer. He paid me a visit
afore he met his men in the practice field." Her gaze scanned the
room. When she didn't find what she expected, she uttered a pleased
cackle. Bending over, she felt the floor under the bed and pulled
out the laundry.

Muriel raised her hands high and muttered a
curse under her breath then shook her head.

"Why do ye spy on me?"

"I told ye afore. In case ye are dense and
didn't understand, Sir Magnus will be yer mate for life."