Part 9 (1/2)
A knock resounded at the door and a maidservant went to answer it. When she saw Trahern standing on the other side, Auder knew the time had come. As she followed him down the winding stairs, she closed off her grief and prepared herself to face what lay ahead.
Gunnar rode hard, racing across the Norman lands. He ignored the sentries standing guard outside Maraloch, only slowing his pace slightly to lift both hands in surrender. They saw the offering he'd brought and lowered their spears.
Within the inner bailey, he spied Trahern, the man's height towering above everyone. A priest stood nearby, about to offer a blessing, while Auder's hand rested within the Norman's grasp.
Rigid fear tore through Gunnar, that he was too late to stop the marriage. He brought his horse through the people and dismounted, lifting down the young boy he'd brought with him. Clar's son Nial was wide-eyed as he stared at the soldiers surrounding them. Behind him, Clar followed on her own horse, her tension evident.
The Norman baron lifted his hand in a silent signal, and within moments, Gunnar was surrounded by guards. He ignored the spears aimed at him, s.h.i.+elding the boy from their weapons.
”You're interrupting my wedding, Irishman,” the Norman said coolly. Auder had gone pale, her face stricken with fear.
Gunnar ignored the weapons and the people around him. Staring into her eyes, he demanded, ”Is this what you want, Auder? Would you rather have him at your side?”
Tears glimmered upon her lashes, and within her eyes, he saw her pain. It was as if she didn't believe he could love her.
”My own wishes don't matter,” she whispered. ”It's for the good of my people.”
He didn't believe her words. ”I spoke to your mother, Auder. But there are other ways to protect her. Other ways to change what your father did.”
A tear streamed down her face, and he saw that she was listening to him, at last. Gunnar drew as close as he dared. ”I won't let you go. Not after last night.”
She lowered her eyes, as if she couldn't bear to look at him. And it was as if she'd driven a blade through his ribs.
To the Norman, he said, ”I have a different alliance to suggest. Clar o Reilly has agreed to let her son be fostered here, if she can remain with him. In return, we will care for your son as though he were our own blood.”
At his vow, the widow stepped forward. Lord Maraloch's gaze met Clar's, and she sent him a tentative smile. There was courage beneath it, and a note of interest in the widow's face.
”If this is an acceptable alternative to the marriage,” Trahern began, ”then we can proceed with fostering arrangements.”
The Norman released Auder's hand, not hiding his annoyance. ”Either is acceptable to me. Though I suspect this lady would prefer that I release her from this betrothal agreement.”
Auder stared at Gunnar, her blue-green eyes hesitant. Almost as if she weren't certain he would want her anymore.
He started to meet her halfway, but then Auder started to run. He caught her in his arms, and she clung tightly, her face wet with tears. Although the baron looked irritated, he turned his attention back to Clar and her son.
”I'm sorry,” Auder whispered, as Gunnar lifted her onto his horse and swung up behind. ”I never wanted to leave you. But I couldn't have lived with myself if they attacked our cashel and you were killed.”
”You should have trusted me instead of running away.” He framed her face with his hands. ”I want to take care of you. And I'll make certain that no one ever speaks a word against your mother. What happened wasn't her fault or yours.”
”I wanted to do something to make up for what he did.”
”It's not your blame to shoulder. Nor your mother's.” He bent closer, resting his cheek against hers. ”Make the choice of what you want. Not of what you think others want from you.”
She leaned back against him, lifting her face to his. ”I won't run from you again, Gunnar.” With a faint smile, she offered, ”I'll run to you. If you'll have me.”
Two nights later Auder kept her eyes closed, upon Gunnar's command. Her new husband had brought her to the house he'd built, and as she lay upon his bed, the cool night air blew over her naked skin.
”Don't open your eyes,” he ordered.
Though she obeyed, she felt his weight sinking down beside her on the mattress. A light floral scent made her wrinkle her nose. Had he brought her flowers?
The fragrance grew stronger, and she felt the softness of petals against her cheeks, across her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and more flowers upon her stomach.
”Can I open them now?” she said, laughing at the ticklish sensation. A soft silken texture brushed against her nipple, and she shuddered, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s straining toward her husband's touch. His mouth replaced the flower, and she caught her breath at the heated texture of his tongue. He tasted and teased her, applying the slightest suction until she grew moist within her womanhood.
”Open your eyes,” he murmured. Auder obeyed and saw that he'd selected woad, madder and saffron, among other herbs. Rather than selecting flowers, he'd brought her the plants she used for dyeing cloth. ”Morren helped me choose them,” he admitted. ”I thought they might be useful to you in your work.”
She reached up and pulled him down on top of her, the herbs scattering everywhere. ”They're wonderful, Gunnar.” Her mouth met his in a deep kiss, and she tried to show him all the feelings she couldn't put into words.
His hands moved over her skin, and the rough skin provoked a desperate need to take him inside her, to claim him as her own.
She pulled at his clothing, and as the layers fell away, she lifted her leg over his hip, granting him access to her body.
”Do you still believe this is something only men enjoy?” he teased, as his hand moved down to caress her.
When his thumb brushed against her hooded center, she smiled against his mouth. ”Not anymore.”
He stroked her, and she reached between them to take his manhood into her palm. With her hand wrapped around his length, she fisted him until his face tightened. The moisture of his arousal coated her fingers, and she tried to guide him inside.
”No other man will ever touch you this way,” he swore, sheathing his shaft within her. He brought her hips to the edge of the bed, still keeping them joined together while he stood. ”You're mine, Auder.”
He angled her body to meet him as he withdrew and thrust inside. Slowly, he joined with her, as though trying to reach the deepest place within her heart. She s.h.i.+vered as his gentle penetrations conjured up a swollen desire. When his length grew even harder within her, she pushed against him with a counter pressure. Eager to please him, she arched her back, moaning when he quickened his rhythm.
Gunnar showed no mercy as he filled her, like a conqueror bent upon ravaging her. Auder's fingers dug into the flowers, and she was unable to stop her cry of ecstasy when the tremors took her apart, shattering her body. Her husband pushed her back again, wrapping her legs around his waist as he stole her breath away.
And when at last he'd finished, he rested his head against hers, holding her close. Lifting one of the flowers to her cheek, he brushed it down her skin, making her smile.
As he held her tightly, their bodies fused together, she murmured against his skin, ”I love you, Gunnar.”
He kissed her softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. ”As I love you, my wife.” His hands moved over her skin in a gentle caress. ”And my friend.”
THE CAPTAIN'S WICKED WAGER.
Marguerite Kaye.
Author Note.
Gambling has long been the vice of choice for the rich and famous, from horseracing, the traditional sport of kings, to today's televised celebrity poker tournaments. It is easy to see the attraction. The heady mix of glamour, money and drama is both alluring and seductive. This was certainly true in Regency London when the Ton and the demi-monde flocked to h.e.l.ls of St. James's and Piccadilly in search of illicit thrills and excitement.
But what if more was at stake than money? What if someone was driven to gamble with their body, their feelings, even their virtue? What if losing became more appealing than winning? Freed from society's conventions and constraints-for how can there be guilt when one has placed one's fate in the hands of the G.o.ds-what might the gambler learn about his or her secret self?
This is what I wanted to explore through Isabella and Ewan's story, where a turn of a card, a throw of the dice, decides how shockingly they must behave, what sensual acts they must indulge in. And at stake, love, the ultimate prize, can be either won or lost.