Surrender (42 page)

He transferred her hair into one fist.
Reaching between them, he rubbed his fingers over her swollen nub
until she tensed and quivered, then climaxed.

He kept a steel control over his pleasure and
didn't allow himself to release his seed. Now, more than ever, she
had to know she belonged to him. He kept her head raised until her
muscles stopped trying to drain his cock.

Afore she could catch her breath, he rolled
to his back and pulled her to sit atop him. His cock was still
stiff as a shaft, swollen and so red he feared it would burst afore
long. She flipped her head so hard her beautiful hair flew around
her face. He closed his eyes, reveling in the scent of heather and
the feel of the silky strands caressing his body.

His teeth gritted together and his eyes
closed tight. Never had he had such an exquisite feeling on his
flesh as he did now when she leaned forward until all her hair
enveloped his head. With slow, deliberate movements, she timed each
downward thrust with her body with inching her hair down over him,
until at the last stroke it covered his stomach and belly.

When she straightened and rocked until the
bed ropes creaked, he couldn't hold back any longer. When she
reached her peak again, he didn't try to stifle his pleasure.

Strangely, she was silent until she moved up
to his waist where she could come forward on her hands and knees.
Again, she let her hair surround them as she was a hand's length
from his face.

"Ye think even my hair belongs to ye, do
ye?"

"Aye. It does."

"Then 'tis only right that all of ye belongs
to me."

"It is not the way of a man. No man belongs
to a woman."

"Well, then, other's may not, but ye do. If
ever I dinna have all of ye, then ye'll not have all of me. This
hair ye set such a value on will be beneath yer pillow."

"Do so and I will beat ye!"

"'Twill be the one and only time. Ye'll never
lay a hand on me again, either in pleasure or anger."

She shoved herself off him and moved as far
as she could to the edge of the bed. It was fortunate he kept his
tongue behind his teeth.

She was ready to do battle.

The huge black horse thundered toward the
castle ruins in the distance. It stood atop Ben Clibrick on a cliff
overlooking Loch Naver. To the west was Altnaharra. To the east was
half a day's ride to Clibrick Castle.

The man leaned into the wind, the hood of his
cloak whipped back revealing a face too beautiful for a mortal man.
Blond hair streamed in the wind, but he didn't care. Anyone who saw
him would think they saw a ghost. He was far from one. Fury made
him strong as the god he should have been. He'd named his horse
Thor, The God of War, so people would note his strength.

Months before, he'd gone to Clibrick to
demand Magnus return Muriel. But first, he sought out a woman known
to be a witch. She'd refined a potion and, using a vein from a pig,
sucked a small amount into it and tied off both ends. He'd slit her
throat for payment.

When he'd arrived outside Clibrick Castle
with his father and warriors, he stored the potion between his
teeth and cheek in his left jaw. Should the unbelievable happen and
he lost the inevitable fight to come, he would crush it with his
teeth. It would make him appear dead until the effects wore off. He
didn't think he would ever have need of its use, but he had.

His father was about to put him in a shroud
when he gasped and came out of a deep sleep. It had scared his
father so badly his reddish-blonde beard turned white overnight.
When he recovered from the shock, Chief Olaf banished him, saying
he wouldna have a coward for a son.

After racing hard over the mountain, sweat
covered Thor. Fury at another failure had made Feradoch vicious
with his whip. When he yanked on the reins and brought Thor to an
abrupt stop, the horse reared with eyes rolling and mouth foaming,
near unseating Feradoch. The man would have struck the horse again,
but its rearing hooves near unseated him.

"Elspeth! Where are ye?"

His shout brought the woman waiting in the
shadowed doorway out into the light. She was a fitting mate for
him. Their coloring was so alike they could have been twins. They
were also alike in temper. She had laughed as heartily as he when
he spirited her away after her betrothal to Graemme. She had
watched, hidden, when search parties combed the mountains and woods
around. Elspeth's biggest triumph came when they'd found a young
lass with blond hair who had wandered too far from her farm. After
using her until her novelty wore off, it was easy enough to dress
her in one of Elspeth's kirtles, kill her and leave her in a gully
covered with snow. It was near two years afore they found her
bones.

Feradoch charged toward Elspeth, ready to
smash his fist into her face. She widened her stance and held up a
well-honed sword. Hearing her snarl and her eyes light with a
strange madness, his mood changed. For the first time, he was sorry
he'd taught her how to use the sword. He shrugged and smiled.
Later, he would discipline her with bed sport.

He enjoyed making her suffer. It excited
Elspeth as much as it did him.

Magnus and Muriele may be lost to him, but
there was still the weakling Graemme. Better yet, the woman with
the glorious, dark hair would make interesting bed sport for him
and Elspeth—and a lure for her husband.

For the next sennight, Elyne avoided Graemme
during the day. Once they were abed, she could not. But if he dared
approach her intending on bed sport, when he was at his most
amorous, she pulled away and promptly spewed what she'd eaten.

She didn't do it on purpose, though he
thought she did. One night, Grunda scratched on the door just a
heartbeat before Elyne needed her. By the time Elyne raised on her
elbow, Grunda held the basin under her chin.

"How do ye always know when I am feeling my
worst," gasped Elyne.

"By the look in Graemme's eyes when he
escorts ye to bed."

"Old woman, do ye say Elyne is making herself
sick on purpose so I willna touch her?"

Graemme scowled up at her as he held Elyne's
forehead, supporting her.

"Nay. Some women have night sickness as well
as early morn. The thought of bed sport when they feel queasy is
enough to make them spew," Grunda said and handed him a cold
cloth.

He frowned as he carefully wiped Elyne's face
then lowered her back onto her pillow.

"Has yer sleep been filled with dreams,
lass?" Grunda poured out a small portion of an elixir that soothed
her stomach.

"Dreams, yes. But not about the black wolf.
It is a large golden wolf. A woman rides astride him like he is a
horse. They chase me through the woods until I take refuge in the
ruins of an ancient castle. They find me. The woman shoves me into
a cell and closes the iron bars. Though I can see the bars hasn't a
lock, no matter how hard I try, I canna push them open."

Grunda frowned. She handed Graemme a long,
thin piece of material. "'Tis best ye tie her ankle to yer own to
keep her from walking the grounds. She may wander off into the
forest or climb high again."

"Aye." Graemme gently tied one end onto
Elyne's right ankle and the other to his left. "This should alert
me should ye start to wander during the night."

Elyne wanted to protest, but was too tired to
argue. She was always sleepy, day or night, and right now, all she
wanted to do was crawl between the sheets and close her eyes.

The night before Ysabel and Colyne were to
wed, Elyne tossed and thrashed about, awakening Graemme. He held
her in his arms and murmured soothing sounds until he felt her body
relaxing into a deep sleep. When dawn came, he was still awake and
watchful. He heard the portcullis rise and the drawbridge lower
earlier than usual. From the sounds of it, several horsemen came
through into the bailey.

Careful not to awake her, he untied the
cloth, dressed and went below. Colyne and Brian were waiting for
him. Before long, the castle teamed with people laughing and
looking forward to another day of feasting and revelry. He looked
around for his father, but saw the closed door to his solar.
Likely, he was with an old friend catching up on good times. They
wouldn't want to be disturbed.

o0o

Elyne felt better than usual this morning.
After Ada helped her to dress, they spent the morning aiding
Ysabel. The bride was pale and uneasy, for she never expected to
have more than a handful of people attend her wedding.

"I am the widow of the third son of a baron.
My father was a knight, not a Chief," she whispered to Elyne.

"Ye are a friend, Ysabel," Elyne said and
hugged her. "Besides, it is a wonderful reason to have a day of
feasting and revelry."

The wedding itself was simple but lovely.
When they returned from the church, Elyne noted several knights she
hadn't seen before. One elderly knight put his head close to Chief
Angus. When he finished whispering, Angus face turned white. He
looked around until he spied Graemme.

Something was amiss. One minute, Graemme was
talking and laughing with her, but when he looked up and saw the
knight, he stopped in his tracks. His face tightened, his lips
thinned and he forced a smile when the knight looked his way. So.
He knew the man. But why was he upset? She wasn't surprised when
his father beckoned to him.

"I'll join ye as soon as I find what Father
wants, love," Graemme said and kissed her cheek.

Grunda came to walk beside her, as did Brian.
He looked grim, also. Worried now, she frowned and looked at
Colyne. He forced a smile, swung his bride in his arms and teased
Ysabel that she, too, would soon be sick when the sun rose.

"What is it, Grunda? Is there a raiding party
heading our way?"

"Now, how would I know about it? Do ye
believe I am a warrior now?"

"Nay. But you do know what is going on."

"Yer husband will tell ye when he has the
time."

The great hall bustled with people when the
solar door opened and the three men came out. Chief Angus smiled at
Colyne and Ysabel and led them to the seat of honor. Angus sat on
Ysabel's left, and Elyne and Graemme sat at Colyne's right.

The mysterious knight wasn't as old as she
had thought. What she took to be gray hair was the palest blond. He
stood, watching the doorway uneasily. When he stiffened and stared,
she looked to see the reason why.

Framed by the massive door stood the most
beautiful girl Elyne had seen. Her hair was like silken sunshine.
She had eyes the palest blue of the sky on a summer morn, and skin
as smooth as a bairn's. Her plump lips didn't need berries to make
them red. She was everything Elyne was not.

She was dainty from head to toe. Elyne felt
long-limbed and drab with her heavy dark hair. One glance at the
grim set of Graemme's lips told her all.

His love, Elspeth, was not the dead woman
they had found. She was very much alive. And it was obvious from
the way she devoured Graemme with her eyes—she wanted him.

In her life.

In her bed.

Elyne felt the urge to spew but swallowed and
wouldn't allow herself to be sick. What a horrible contrast it
would make in Graemme's mind to see his wife heaving like a
weakling compared to a woman as beautiful and delicate as a
butterfly.

Hold yer dignity, girl. Lift yer chin
high. He loves ye, not her.

'Twas Grunda's voice in her head, yet Grunda
stood far away, her back against a tapestry picturing the castle
with the mountains in the background. The old woman blended into
the scene.

Elyne squared her shoulders and lifted her
head high. Feeling Elspeth's blue eyes studying her, she stared
back. Before she looked away, her lip curled with contempt,
dismissing the woman as if she were no more than a slovenly
servant. A glimpse of rage stared back. Mayhap she imagined it? She
dismissed the woman from her mind and joined in the
conversation.

The woman turned her attention to Graemme,
constantly sending him soulful looks, and the pink tip of her
tongue wetted her parted lips. 'Twas a clear invitation to Graemme.
Elyne tightened her jaw, determined to ignore the both of them and
concentrated on the entertainment instead.

Pipers were playing a lively tune. Men jumped
up from the table and put their swords on the floor, one across
another. They took turns doing a sword-dance until each dancer got
dizzy and either cut himself or fell on the floor. Soon, men
sprawled in the cleared area laughing as if they'd been in their
cups since dawn.

Elspeth's laugh grated on Elyne's nerves. It
tinkled and was melodic like she imagined a fairy would laugh. It
made her conscious of her own laugh, for when she found humor,
everyone looked at her and smiled, saying she was gleeful.

Soon it was time for the bride and groom to
go above. As she held Ysabel's hand and led her up the first steps,
she glanced back at the room. Graemme stood next to Elspeth, his
head lowered as he whispered in her ear.

The woman glanced up at Elyne, a triumphant
smile on her face. Reaching up, she held his head as he pressed his
lips to hers. The kiss seemed to go on and on. He certainly ground
his mouth on hers, for his head would move back then return like he
couldn't get enough of her taste. When Graemme finally pulled back
and placed his hand on the small of her back, he near shoved her
ahead of him in his eagerness. When they went through the doorway
leading to the darkened hallway, she looked reluctant and shy.

There was naught Elyne could do now without
ruining the night for Ysabel and Colyne. Anger boiled through her.
Had she her short sword with her, he would be missing those
precious stones her father had threatened.

o0o