Ruthless (29 page)

"Suspect what? They are fashious with each
other because they are so different." She wrapped the robe tightly
around herself then slid off the bed into her shoes.

Grunda snorted. "Who can be more different
than Esa and ye? Ye enjoy each other because ye dinna share a
man."

About to splash cold water into the basin,
she spilled it on the floor instead.

"Ye ne'er were so gawky afore." Grunda shook
her head. "Have ye ne'er noted the women follow Magnus wherever he
goes? They near drool on the back of his kilt."

"What? Does he ...?" Muriele's breath caught
in her throat as she awaited Grunda's answer.

"He did. Afore he took ye into his bed."

"They are welcome to him." She turned her
back to hide her flushed face.

"Then why are ye so restless? I'll wager ye
haven't slept half a night since he left."

"I dinna feel at ease in this chamber."

"Hmpf!"

Grunda ambled around the room, straightened
Muriele's wooden comb and the boar's hair brush on the washstand
then rearranged the pots of soap on the shelf below. Deliberately
slow, she hung Muriele's cloak on a wall peg Magnus had installed
for her.

"I ken the tapestry pillow ye made had naught
to do with him?"

"It did not."

Grunda snorted again and looked toward the
fireplace.

"It cushions his chair."

Muriele settled her clothing around her
shoulders and hips, allowing the yellow smock to peek through the
slits of the dark blue kirtle.

"I made it for my own comfort. And for ye and
Esa when ye visit."

"Then when Sir Magnus arrives on the morrow,
ye will remove it?"

Muriele's head bobbed up as she tied a
braided rope girdle to ride on her hips. She took a deep breath, no
longer dreading the day for its sameness.

"'Twould be childish to do so."

"Esa is below. She waits to break her fast
with ye."

"Won't ye come with us?"

"Nay. I only came to tell ye I'll be visiting
the Alewife. She's feeling poorly. I ken her man samples too much
of her brew. She drops out one bairn then fills with another within
a month. She's well into her eighth month, yet she still sickens
throughout the day."

"Should I come along?"

"Nay. When time for the birthing, I'll need
yer help."

Grunda flicked her hand at Muriele to go
before her as they left the room. At the foot of the stairwell,
they parted ways as Grunda headed to the keep's outer door. Muriele
had no need to search for Esa. She waited at their favorite
table.

"You dinna look like you have slept well this
past night," Esa said.

"Ye, too?" Muriele rolled her eyes at her
friend. "Grunda questioned me as if I was yet a youngling. She says
I have the same look as Flori and Ingirid." She leaned her head
toward Esa so she could whisper. "Did ye know they have had bed
sport with Magnus?"

"Could ye not tell?"

Muriele shook her head. She glanced up in
time to see both women sat across the room. Together. If eyes could
shoot barbs, the floor of the keep would be slippery with Muriele's
blood.

"I dinna know how to deal with this."

She lowered her head and concentrated on
stirring her porridge and buttering a cold scone. Never before had
she reason to feel shame.

"Keep your head tall and don't flinch. Clear
your gaze from all thoughts so they can't read your mind."

"Ah. That is what Magnus does. I canna read
his thoughts." She hesitated. "Except angry ones."

"He learned early to guard them."

She glanced up at Esa and realized 'twas as
hard to read her eyes as it was to discern Magnus' thoughts. She
knew so little about her friend and didn't want to cause her
distress by asking. Did she love anyone?

Grunda thought she was Feradoch's leman, yet
they never noted one another in the great hall. The night Esa
collapsed after dancing was the only time she had seen him touch
her. She remembered how tense his body had been. He wouldn't have
taken advantage of Esa's weakened condition, would he? Stinging on
her lower lip reminded her she treated it as if she gnawed a
bone.

o0o

At Clibrick Castle, Chief Angus and Graemme
studied Feradoch. As Feradoch lounged in his seat, he watched his
foster father push a hank of silver-streaked hair behind his ear.
Small creases formed between his brows as he the studied the small
parchment on the desk.

"Your father calls an end to sharing our
sons. He asks I order Magnus to return. That he has caused trouble.
Why did he not simply send him home? I expect he shared his
thoughts with you?"

Feradoch watched the Chief's face, pleased he
had not doubted the forged missive. Angus was still tall and lean,
his silver temples his only concession to age. He and Magnus looked
much alike, except the father's brown eyes sparkled when he
laughed.

"Aye."

Feradoch lowered his gaze and fidgeted in his
chair. Finally, he sighed and his eyes filled with compassion when
he looked up.

"Chief Olaf tires of righting the damages
from Magnus' ruthless ways. He has turned the villages and nearby
castles against him."

"Heh!" Graemme scoffed.

He stood behind his father, arms folded
across his chest. He leaned his shoulders against the wall as one
foot slammed the stones behind him to steady himself. His tense
body vibrated with the need for action. And from the look in his
eyes, Feradoch would be the target.

"He says naught about it in his missive."

The gaze from Graemme's burnt-almond colored
eyes bored into Feradoch's, seeking the truth behind his benign
features.

"Truth be told, my father is as afeared of
Magnus as the villagers. Your brother flies into a rage over
imagined slights. Father will be aggrieved I said anything, but I
kenned you wanted an answer."

Feradoch blinked and a guileless smile spread
on his lips.

"Aye." Chief Angus sighed and leaned back in
his chair. His eyes brightened with expectation.

Resentment churned and boiled in Feradoch's
soul. If it took substance, its foam would rise up and roll from
his lips as he screamed scathing words of loathing.

How could Angus prefer Magnus! Feradoch had
lived here most of his life.
He
should be the favored one!
His wily brain and skills were far superior to this man's hulking
son's.

"I will have need of you for the next
sennight, Feradoch. Then you will be free to go."

"I am always at your command whenever the
need arises." Feradoch smiled fondly at the Chief and left the
room.

He near gloated. The Chief had taken his
story easily, but for a moment, he'd feared Graemme had seen
through his ruse. Far from a weakling, this younger son was nigh as
formidable as Magnus. Their difference was their personalities.

Where Magnus was hard and unmovable in his
beliefs, Graemme tended to be open in his opinions. Of the two,
Feradoch was more wary of Graemme, for he looked far beyond the
obvious and searched out the lowliest of details.

Feradoch's time at Clibrick could not pass
swiftly enough. Had he his way, he would leave at first light. The
sooner he arrived at Kinbrace, the closer he would be to claiming
Muriele's wealth as his own.

o0o

Prickles of excitement awoke Muriele to total
darkness. She hugged Magnus' spare plaid around her shoulders,
added a block of peat to the banked fire and brought it to
life.

After she tended to her needs, she washed and
splashed her face with cold water from the pitcher. Shivering, she
sat on the cushioned big chair and curled her legs close to her
hips. Sighing, she tucked his plaid tightly around her feet and
watched the flames. Though she tried to stifle it, she yawned so
widely she was sure she could have put her fist in her mouth.
Grinning at the thought, she decided to rest her eyes.

Earlier that night, Magnus had decided there
was no need to sleep on the damp ground when Kinbrace was just
short hours away. They would reach there not long after the
midnight hour. It would be time enough to sleep, or swive,
depending on a man's inclinations.

Magnus intended to swive, to erase the dreams
of someone else seizing what was his.

Silently, he entered the room. By the fire's
light, he saw Muriele cuddled in his chair, clutching his plaid
around her. His face softened then tightened with desire. After
ridding himself of his clothing, he washed with the water at the
washstand. With care not to wake her, he lifted the sleeping woman
in his arms then sat down slowly.

What the...? Prepared for hardness, he
instead met a pillow of some kind. Realizing how harsh the chair
had been, he sighed and enjoyed the comfort.

To savor Muriele's beauty, he eased off her
cover and exposed her creamy skin He explored the beauty in his
lap, wanting to imprint on his mind it was he, not that infernal
bastard in his nightmares, who held her.

He played with all the sensuous areas he knew
most excited her.

Her dreamy sighs and quivering belly
gladdened his heart.

She squirmed and her legs relaxed and opened,
causing his cock to dance with glee.

When her fingers clenched the hair on his
chest and yanked a surprising handful, his randy member wilted!

Magnus gripped her wrist to keep her from
wrenching every hair off his body.

"I take it ye dinna like being awakened with
love sport?"

He somberly awaited her reply.

Muriele frowned and shoved against his chest
to sit upright. She glanced down and saw she sat naked upon the
wool covering Magnus lap. His naked lap.

"How long have ye been here?"

She tried to drag an end of the wool up from
the floor to cover her.

Magnus promptly shoved it down again.

"Long enough to know ye missed me."

He looked pointedly at her swelling breasts
jutting their pink tips at him.

"'Tis from the cold, naught else."

"Then we must cover them to keep them
warm."

He gently cupped her breasts in his big
hands, then swirled his rough palms over them, watching her eyes
all the while. He felt her tension build and knew she would fight
it. He didn't give her a chance.

Never had he known a woman with such rapid
response to his lovemaking. He took full advantage of it, and
before she could build her defenses against him, she was grasping
his shoulders and moaning as his mouth swooped to plunder hers.

o0o

For the next sennight, Magnus spent a portion
of each day searching out Muriele when she least expected him. She
might be picking fruit from the orchard when she heard Odin's
hooves approach. If she tried to run, he grinned and gave pursuit.
If she hid behind a haystack, in an empty stall in the stable or
even behind a tree, he searched her out. The clever horse seemed to
turn on a spot. For truth, Odin seemed to enjoy this people's game,
for when he reached Muriele he nuzzled the back of her neck and
bumped his chin on her shoulder.

One day, when Magnus caught Muriele by
surprise, everyone stopped in their tracks on hearing Magnus'
laughter floating from the orchard. But a moment later, a commotion
at the drawbridge distracted them.

Feradoch and his knights galloped through the
gatehouse into the front bailey near trampling Gille.

"Out of my way, fool!"

Clouds of dust and clumps of sod flew in the
air when the knight and his men hauled back on the reins. They
looked like they had ridden for days with little sleep. Did they
flee an army about to raid the castle?

Gille, knowing his master was in the orchard
with Lady Muriele, took off at a run, yelling at the top of his
lungs.

"Sir Magnus! Sir Magnus! Sir Feradoch has
returned!

Muriele's sweet begging in Magnus' ear made
his chest swell with such strong emotion it nearly overcame the
physical pleasure he was feeling. He rose up on his knees ready to
bring her to completion and froze on hearing Gille yelling and
thrashing through the low-hanging branches.

Muriele gasped when Magnus abruptly withdrew
and sprang from atop her. Grabbing his shirt from an apple tree
branch, he jerked it so hard the branch whipped back and forth and
tumbled ripe apples to the ground. Muriele jumped to her feet,
dodging the fruit and fumbling in her haste to straighten the
kirtle over her naked body.

Unfortunately, it twisted below her creamy
beasts. Before Magnus could reach out and aid her, the squire
skidded to a stop in front of them.

Gille gulped and diverted his eyes as Magnus
grabbed his kilt off the ground and tossed it around her
shoulders.

"Go back to the bailey, lad. If they ask,
tell them I will be there shortly." His voice was still husky with
passion.

Grasping Gille's shoulders, he swung him
around then gave him a light shove.

He turned back to Muriele with a wry smile,
regretting their interruption. "When ye are ready, count to thirty
and make yer way to the keep by way of the cookhouse," he said as
he lifted his kilt off her shoulders.

While gathering it around his waist and
belting it in place, he watched out of the corner of his eye as she
hurriedly straightened her garments. By the time he slammed his
short sword into its sheath, they were both presentable.

Except for Muriele's hair. He had made a fine
mess of it when they were making love. Anyone seeing its disarray
would know why. She ran her fingers through the long curls, tidying
them.

"The ribbon. I can't find the ribbon," she
muttered as she bent down and frantically rustled through the
leaves.

"Ah, because ye canna see behind ye." He
grinned and plucked it from its hiding place half inside the back
of her dress and half out.

Magnus handed her the red silky ribbon she'd
earlier woven in amongst her braids.