Unspoken (5 page)

“Ohhhhh…”  The moan escaped her as she rode him
with delicious languor. “Oh that feels so...”

A familiar growl warned her before strong hands
again seized her hips and held her immobile.  Roderick set a furious rhythm
plunging deeply into her, angling her forward to heighten her pleasure. 
Ceaselessly thrusting upwards, the pad of his thumb found the sensitive little
nub his tongue had so expertly toyed with moments before.  Softly swirling it
in time to his thrusts, he brought her to peak so hard and fast she couldn’t
hold the desperate cry that tore from her throat.

Roderick waited until the storm passed before
pounding into her with abandon.  Evelyn knew when his release was upon him
because she could feel him swell within her before hot spurts of seed shot
against her womb, his entire body taut and trembling beneath her.

After her breathing slowed sufficiently and she
became fairly certain she could walk, Evelyn reluctantly withdrew and padded
blindly to her linen basket, selecting something to clean herself and
ministering to him as well.

“It’s still a while until dawn,” she observed, a
heaviness settling upon her shoulders.  Did the morrow have to come? Couldn’t
they stay here forever?

A hand caught hers, pulling her down over him
until she was splayed across his body and engulfed by his arms.

“No.”  She giggled in spite of herself, “I’m too
heavy.”

Grunting softly, Roderick tightened his hold and
pressed a tender kiss into her hair.

Exhausted, Evelyn counted the decelerating beats
of his heart.  She felt as though time, itself, sped toward an inexorable
meridian while she lay in the darkness.  What if, just this once, things could
end differently?  What if, she could save him, as he saved her this night? 

‘
Dangerous thoughts.’
  She told herself,
squeezing her eyes against futile desperate frustration. 
‘Dangerous desires.’
  

Chapter
Nine

Instead of shivering awake in the arid, dusty attic
as she did every day, Evelyn drifted into awareness on a sumptuous shaft of silver
light, which gained strength as the morning began to peak over the crests of
the sea. 

The creak of leather and the click of metal armor
dumped her into full consciousness and to the comprehension that she lay naked
in the bed of a Berserker. 

Roderick mysteriously remained cloaked in shadows,
his ebony hair pulled into a tight queue at his nape.  He fastened a fearsome
spiked bracer about a wide wrist, his brutish features set in a grim mask.

“Don’t fight near the Mackay.”  The whisper
escaped her, knowing that his exceptional hearing would pick up the trembling
uncertainty in her voice.  “Please, be careful.  There’s… someone out there. 
Someone dangerous.” 

His eyes lit upon her and softened, yet a dark
brow lifted almost scornfully.  No doubt, he assumed she feared for his safety
after his insult on her behalf the night before.  Even heavier now, dressed in
his black armor, he sank to the bed, causing her to lean towards him.  An
armored hand reached for her, then hesitated when he glanced at the stained
glove and scarred bracer dangerously close to her skin.  Instead, he dropped
his arm and worried the leather at his cuff.

“Just…”  Should she tell him?  Would it change the
outcome or be the cause of it?  “Angus and his clan have already betrayed the lot
of you.  I- I overheard them speaking of it last night.”  Squeezing her eyes
shut, she called herself every form of coward. “Hundreds more horsemen are even
now hidden to the north and west waiting to flank you if the battle turns in
favor of the Stewart.” 

 Roderick kissed her, hard.  Not the gentle
brushes or passionate tending of lips from last night, but a possessive
branding of flesh.  As he plundered the depths of her mouth with his tongue,
heat bloomed between them, heedless of the battle gear that separated their
flesh. 

He didn’t touch her, not once allowing his armor
to come into contact with her skin as he thoroughly devoured her.  Slick
moisture pooled between Evelyn’s aching thighs in understanding that, no matter
how sore she was, he would be welcome inside her. 

Abruptly ending the kiss, he glanced at the grey
light of dawn turning more golden with each passing moment. 

Stunning her with sudden movement, he leapt from
the bed and swiped his sword from where it leaned against the wall next to the
headboard.  Strapping it to his lean hips faster than she thought possible, a
look of dangerous anticipation played across his features. 

The sounds of other men preparing for battle
permeated the silence between them.  Horses whinnied and stamped the ground,
carts of weaponry clamored up the rough hewn roads and camp fires sizzled as
they were doused. 

Roderick paused at the door.  Their eyes locked. 

Thousands of questions burned behind her lips,
holding her tongue heavy with fear.  She dare not open her mouth for fear they
would come tumbling out, humiliating them both. 

What was he going to do?  Would he heed her request?
Would he live through the day?  Would he come back for her if he did?  Would
she ever see him again?

Did she mean anything to him now? 

A torturous agony coursed through her with a
strength she’d never before encountered.  This must be the crippling horror
every woman experienced when she sent her warrior off to battle.  

Her heart in her throat, she watched, paralyzed,
as he bowed to her, his right hand grasped over his heart.  Still, she kept
quiet as he turned on his boot and quit the room.  The door closed with a click
that reverberated through her bones.

Trembling with the force
of it, she allowed the tears she’d been holding with an iron will to flow freely
down her cheeks. 

What had she done?

Chapter
Ten

Roderick adjusted the grip on his weapon as he
waited in the shadows of the forest. 

The lovely lass had been right.    

The Stewart army boasted more mounted knights, but
the sheer number advantage belonged to the enemy.  And here, three acres of
forest away from the battlefield, maybe two hundred and fifty horsemen awaited
their signal to attack in the unlikely case that the battle turned against the Donald. 
Their colors and language branded them Northern mercenaries, paid per battle to
fight for the highest bidder. 

He bared his teeth in half a wicked smile, half
derisive sneer.  They wouldn’t get the chance.  Not today.

Watching them mill about their crude camp,
preparing their horses as stealthily as possible, he knew it would be easier to
start taking them out before they mounted and stood at the ready.

Her name floated to him on the breeze that noisily
disturbed the heavy leaves of the oak in which he perched.  Looking toward the
city of Aberdeen he breathed deeply as if he could find her scent on the wind
and take it inside of him.

Evelyn
…  The most beautiful woman he’d ever
encountered with her thick, honeyed hair and shy, whiskey colored eyes. 

And that arse.

  He’d meant to possess her for a night, to
shelter her from the cruel MacKay and give and take pleasure from her body.  It
did him good to spend his seed before a battle.  For then the rage did not take
him as entirely.  He was less likely to slaughter his allies.   

But she’d been a virgin.  A bloody
virgin
! 

He should have known.  He should have read the
signs; her trembling, her shyness, her unpracticed guileless passion.  It
wasn’t unusual for him to encounter difficulty with a woman who was
unaccustomed to a man of his size and girth.  He’d thought her tense and
nervous, maybe in need of coaxing.   

Kiss me… Please.
Closing his eyes, he
relished the sweet memory of his own surrender.  Och, but she’d been tighter,
sweeter
than any woman before and now that she’d tamed his beast, there could
never
be another woman after.  ‘Twas the way of his Berserker bloodline.  Once sworn
and mated to a lass, the bond was eternal. 

Roderick cringed at the danger he’d inadvertently
put her in.  What if his berserker had rejected her as his mate?  She would
have been killed!  But, nay, magic lay behind the lass’ warm eyes and an innate
knowledge and acceptance of the truth of things.  Any man or beast would have
to be insane not to want her, to do anything to possess her, to protect her.

To
love
her. 

He would return to Aberdeen and claim her.  Take
her to his family home in the highlands.  Just as soon as he dispensed with his
contracted charge. 

Taking in another deep breath of briny ocean air
tinged with heather, he silently drew his blade from the scabbard, taking care
not to let the sun glint off the weapon and alert his prey.

Slicing the blade across his left palm he embraced
the familiar white-hot rage that surged at the sight of blood. 

Yes
…

This caused the Beast to rise within him, filling
him with the power of Freya, passed down to some clans through a Northern
ancestor.

 His vision honed to shades of grey, but sharp as
that of a predatory bird.  Colors would not distract him, only movement.  And the
beast, once unleashed, indiscriminately destroyed
anything
that moved. 

*  *  *

Painful breaths exploded from her chest as Evelyn
raced through the forest, hands fisted in skirts to hold them above her knees. 

The blue berserker.
  He would kill
Roderick.  He lurked, waiting to strike, to kill.

Could she warn Roderick in time?  She’d been in
his
thoughts the night before!  Why hadn’t she known who his quarry had been then? 
Clenching her teeth and calling herself nine kinds of idiot, she crashed
through the brush, ignoring the burning in her lungs.

The wind held a metallic trace, all her senses
alert to the deadly stillness of the forest permeated only by the sound of the
leaves. 

Breaking from a line of trees, she couldn’t hold
back a cry of dismay at the staggering carnage that lay before her.  Panting
frantically, she cringed at the scent of blood invading her nostrils and mouth.

She
knew
what had happened here.  Not
because of any ability of hers, but because of what she’d told the man with
whom she’d shared a bed the previous night.  Hundreds of slaughtered knights lay
strewn about the clearing; their limbs sprawled at incomprehensible angles, if
they even remained attached.

Not even the horses were spared.  Just like in her
dream.

Frantically searching for black armor among the blood-stained
tunics, she skirted the clearing, swallowing convulsively against the bile crawling
up the back of her throat.  She let out a trembling breath.  He wasn’t there. 

Horrific sounds of violence filtered through the
morning.  He would be at the battlefield, but it seemed foolhardy to follow
there. 

It didn’t matter, did it?  She had to find
Roderick.  Warn him. 
Save
him.

Her legs threatened to buckle as she forged on
toward the battlefield.  Uncertain of what she could do to reach him, but
desperate to change his fate. 

*  *  *

 Sometimes
berserkergang
made him mindless,
and he barely registered the destruction he wrought.  Today Roderick was
pleased to perceive the pained astonishment on the faces of the Mackay as they
turned on their kinsman and signaled for mercenary reinforcements which never
appeared.  As he plunged into the fray, already streaked in the blood of his
enemies, Roderick cut a gruesome path through Donald clansmen, a singular focus
causing his peripheral to haze. 

The beast and the man, in union, wanted at the
bastard who dare threaten his mate.  Typically, the foes that fell before his
sword remained a part of the faceless masses, but today he roared with pleasure
as he severed the head of Angus Mackay from his body.

Roderick and the ferocious Stewart not only held
the Donald at bay, but systematically drove them back.  As afternoon settled
upon the valley, the victorious sounds of triumph rippled through the Stewart
clans and kin.

 Even after the worst of the berserkergang passed,
soldiers still gave Roderick a wide berth as they knew he might sever a limb
for a congratulatory pat on the back.

“Wait until his eyes return to normal,” the old
ones murmured while some younger men made signs of the cross against him and
regarded him with both awe and antagonism.

Growling with unspent aggression, Roderick paced
the battlefield.

He felt danger lurking nearby.  Something lethal,
familiar, tinged with—

His heightened senses perked as honey and vanilla
notes caressed him over the repugnant odors of battle.

Evelyn
.  His mate.  She drew near. 

Someone would have been dispatched to the town to
tell of their victory.  ‘
The lands of Ross are safe.’  ‘Come and collect
your dead and wounded.’
  She’d come for him. 

He knew it.

Feeling like an expectant boy, he wiped his
bloodied sword on the grass and sheathed it.  Her scent drifted from the safety
of the woods, beckoning him.  Feeling encouraged that she’d come out to meet
him, he looked down at his blood-streaked armor and frowned.  How would seeing
him like this affect her?  For once a Berserker chose his mate, he still had to
wait for her to accept him.  Often, he was called upon to deal death in the
name of Freya and the fates.  It would take a rare and exceptional lass to
understand his role in the world.  Could she?

Roderick long ago accepted that his inability to
communicate with women, in addition to his menacing appearance and pagan
reputation, would prevent him from being accepted by a mate. 

How am I going to get her to understand what
she is to me? 

He faltered in his path, gripped by sheer
indecision.  It hadn’t been easy to get a woman into his bed in the last years
he’d spent without a voice.  How could he possibly get a woman to share his
life with him? 

Perhaps he should write her a letter. 
 He wondered if she could read.  More scholars littered his
bloodlines than berserkers. If it weren't for his beast, he'd be content
deciphering a scroll from ancient Rome or Greece. If she couldn't, he'd teach
her to love the written word as much as he did.  The irony didn't escape him; a
man who loved language whose voice had been stolen from him.

   
Once
they married, she would have the responsibilities of a Baroness and unofficial
stewardess of the MacLauchlan clan until his brother Connor, also a berserker
and the laird of the MacLauchlans, took a wife. 

So, likely always.  He rolled his eyes.  That man
was infinitely more hopeless than he.  And Connor had no speech impediment. 

Roderick crested the hill and plunged into the
tree line.  He should probably just abscond with the lass no matter her
objections and lay siege to her body, spending his every night fulfilling her
wildest fantasies.  And creating a few that she’d never thought of. 

Of course, he would spend his days satisfying her
every other corporeal need whilst introducing her to the many wonders of his
homeland.  Her life would become so full that she couldn’t
consider
needing
aught else.

Breaking into a jog, he tallied a list of plausible
enjoyments for her: tending the extensive herb and spice garden, riding horses together
from his family stables, archery, mayhap even the stag hunt if she were the out-of-door
sort.  Surely, other more genteel pastimes might interest her; perhaps
needlework or musical instruments, or um… beading hairnets and the like. 

He mentally shrugged, if she wished it, he would
gather threads of the richest colors and finest silks for her.  He would take
her to exotic markets and let her have her pick of the loveliest shells,
pearls, beads, and gems.  His clan was prosperous, and he’d been handsomely
paid as a mercenary for many years.  She would want for nothing. 

His blood quickened at the thought of planting
babes inside of her, as many as she wanted, a half dozen at least!  Another Berserker
to carry the line, of course, and many doe-eyed cherubs with honey-colored hair
to fill his family’s silent castle with happy chaos.  Mayhap she was already—.

“Roderick!”  He pivoted at her breathless cry.

Color instantly vanished from the forest, all but for
the cast of blue, which meant—

Berserker.

  No gradual welling of hot rage, not this time,
no thrill of power coursing through his veins.

 Only Icy wrath.  Bleak fear.  Certain and lethal
retribution.