Master of Craving (6 page)

When she came to him much later, he knew from her red eyes and tear-streaked cheeks something terrible had happened. “Lisette, what troubles you?”

She threw herself into his arms. “Papa says I must choose between that old Saxon Overly or the even older Robert de Sax-Barre. I choose neither. ’Tis you I love.” She cried as if the woes of Normandy rested upon her slender shoulders alone. “When will your father publicly acknowledge you, Stefan?”

He pulled her into the circle of his arms. “My sire, the great Comte d’Everaux, heir to the de Lyon holdings, right arm of the Duke, richest man in the realm. Why should he acknowledge me, Lisette? No son am I in his eyes when my legitimate cousin Ralph is the apple of his eye.”

“Because you are more worthy than Ralph could ever hope to be! And I deserve to be your countess!”

 

He kissed her, but when his lips withdrew from hers, he had to know the truth. “Does it matter I am not heir to the de Lyon fortune?”

 

“Nay! I would love you regardless!”

 

“But would you marry me?”

“Of course!” She’d moved back then and slowly unfastened her kirtle, exposing every soft creamy curve of her body. She was not the first damsel he had lain with, but she was the first, and last, he thought he loved. “Stefan, it matters not that the Comte does not acknowledge you now. He will, eventually; then you will have everything we ever dreamed of.”

She
was
everything he dreamed of. A beautiful, titled lady who loved him, not for what he could bring her, for he had nothing but love to give, but she was the only woman who saw past his place in the world and saw him for who he was, and did not judge him for what he had no hand in.

Stefan groaned, his heart tightened. Aye, he had taken her not once but thrice that warm afternoon, and the next day when his foster father presented him once again to the man who was responsible for his birth and demanded he publicly acknowledge what all of Normandy knew to be true, the Comte refused. When Stefan broke the news to Lisette, she turned coldly from him and walked out of his life, and into the marriage bed of the rich Saxon, Lord Overly of Scarborough.

He woke to the soft laughter of a woman and instantly stiffened.
FOUR
Stefan grabbed his sword and rolled over, prepared to do battle, but instead found nothing. Had he dreamt the low sensual laugh?

He heard it again, closer now. His blood warmed as he conjured up a face and body to go with such an exotic sound. He hurried to Apollo as fast as his damaged leg would allow, and pushed the huge horse back farther into the thick wood. He warned him to silence, knowing the horse would stand still until given the command to move. Stefan turned and made his way back to the edge of the thick copse of foliage he hid behind. For long moments he stood, wondering for the second time if he had dreamt the voice. The light sound of footsteps crunching along the rocky path to the secluded pond heralded a visitor. He crouched, wincing at the pull of skin and muscle on his damaged thigh, and rethought his position. As he made to adjust, he stopped all movement.

“Jane, hurry, I must get out of these mud-caked rags!” called a melodic female voice in Welsh.

Stefan crouched lower. Not moving a single muscle, he watched as a wood nymph danced into view. His eyes widened. She was tall, slender, and, as his gaze raked her body, buxom. He smiled. She was undressing in a most uninhibited manner as she hurried toward the inviting pool. And he could see why. Her emerald-colored gown was covered in mud on one side, as was her long sunburst-colored hair.

When she yanked the kirtle from her body, he held his breath. The soft linen of the chemise beneath molded against her full curves in the soft breeze. “I cannot believe I fell from my horse!”

“You have become too arrogant, milady,” an old woman said, hobbling into the clearing holding a cloth bundle. “ ’Tis time someone brought you down a peg.”

A noblewoman? A
Welsh
noblewoman? He grinned wider, and silently thanked Rhys and Wulfson for their tutelage of the language. He would repay them handsomely when next they met.

The eager lady did not wait for her maid to help her undress further. She sat upon the stone he had himself just lain upon and unlaced her soft leather boots, untied her garters, then rolled down short white chauses. His body tightened when she stood and pulled the chemise from her body. Heat filled him as he slowly stood, unable to turn away, indeed, could he have. Transfixed, he took in every sensual inch of her body. She was tall for a woman and majestically golden. Golden hair, golden skin. Her breasts were full and rose high upon her chest. His hands opened and closed, wanting to feel the soft firmness of them beneath his fingertips.

He envisioned his large callused fingers gently brushing across a pink nipple and feeling it come alive beneath his touch. His cock filled as his eyes traveled down her flat belly to her rounded hips and to the blush-colored triangle between her thighs. He hissed out a low breath. She was breathtaking, and at that moment Stefan knew what it meant to want something so badly that he would give his right arm to possess it. His cock lengthened at the spectacular sight, and had she been alone he would have been so bold as to show himself, Adam to her Eve. He wanted to join with her, and mate.

“You are shameful!” Jane scolded. “What if there are bandits in the wood?”

“Keep watch, Jane, I will only be but a few minutes. We have been riding hard for days; the dirt of the road clings to me and you know I have not bathed since we departed Dinefwr.”

Dinefwr? ’Twas where Prince Hylcon resided. This he knew, for the Dinefwr-Castile bloodline was amongst the finest; not only in all of Christendom, but even the Saracens of the Holy Land traveled to Dinefwr to breed their mares to Hylcon’s stallions.

Intrigued, he watched the lady gingerly stick a toe into the cool water. She gasped in a breath at the chill, and when she did her breasts rose higher, as did he. He smiled despite the pain it caused him, as she slowly glided into the pool. Her golden skin puckered and her blush-colored nipples tightened.

“Go, Jane, and leave me. Go down the path and make sure that letch Dag keeps his distance.”

The errant lady slid the rest of her long body into the cool, clear water, gasping at the coolness. Stefan squirmed where he stood, the tension between his thighs overriding the tension of his wounds.

The servant set her bundle down on the rock and untied it, then spread out clothes and a long linen towel. “Here are your clothes, you will have to dry yourself, I cannot guard the path and dress you at the same time. Do not dally, milady, we must be back on the road.”

The lady splashed water at her maid and scoffed. “Dag has lost his way, and because of it, we have lost time. I fear we will never get to Yorkshire.”

 

“He is not the most intelligent of men,” Jane admitted, then, reluctantly, the old woman moved back down the path they had come.

Stefan knelt on the soft loamy ground and watched, captivated, as the wood nymph swam in the small pool, and as he had done, she grabbed a hunk of springy moss from beneath a fern. When she stood and the clear water sluiced down her breasts to her belly, glistening like pearls under the sunlight, Stefan stifled a groan.

She reached over to the bundle and grabbed a bar of soap, and when she lathered it he held his breath. Her slender hands smeared it across her breasts and down her belly to her thighs. She tilted her head back, her back arched, those luscious breasts pointed to the sun. Her hands slid across her body with brazen familiarity. He wanted to touch her so. She had no modesty, and he could tell just from the way she touched herself she would be an adventurous lover.

She sank deeper into the pool, allowing the water to carry the lather away. When she completely submerged and shot up, her body glistening in the sun, Stefan slowly stood and took a step closer. She put the soap to her hair and vigorously washed it. She went under again, and this time when she erupted from the water, like Venus herself, the erotic image was too much for Stefan. He groaned. She gasped and turned, crossing her arms over her chest. “Who goes there?”

Stefan grinned, ignoring the pain it cost him. How badly he wanted to show himself, and how badly he wanted to lose himself in all of that gold and honey, he could not measure, but even had he the time for a dalliance, he doubted he possessed the strength. ’Twas a shame, for it had been months since his last woman, and none could he recall as comely as this one frolicking in the water before him. He was just about to move deeper into the wood when he heard another voice. A man’s voice.

“Would you like some company Princess?”

 

Princess?
Stefan’s interest suddenly went from his cock to his head. A
Welsh
princess? Mayhap Hylcon’s daughter?

 

“Dag! How dare you trespass! Turn your back and return to the others!” she commanded.

Stefan eyed the intruder as he emerged from the path into the clearing. Nearly as tall as Thorin, bald, but sporting a full blond beard, hard narrowed eyes, and dressed in the manner of a Norseman complete with battle-ax. A Viking. What was a Viking doing with a Welsh princess in the middle of battle-fatigued Mercia? She had mentioned Yorkshire. An area, despite Hardrada’s defeat last year, still heavily populated with Norse.

“I cannot do as you command, Princess Arianrhod. As you have so thoroughly done to my uncle, so too you haunt my every waking thought.” He continued stalking her, as a fox would a plump hen.

“Stop now, Dag. Stop before you do something we will both regret,” she warned, and though she tried to keep her voice strong and sure Stefan heard the fear in it.

Dag laughed as if every day he plucked an unwilling maid from the water, and continued his slow, deliberate pursuit.
“I
will have no regrets. I want you as I have never wanted anything in my life. I will have you.”

The princess backed up to the rock she had undressed on and grabbed the linen from where the maid had set it. She started to stand, to wrap it around her, but thought better of exposing herself to the unwanted intruder. Instead she dragged it into the water, soaking it, then wrapped it around her body. Stefan shook his head. ’Twould only weigh her down and show off every curve.

She dragged herself from the water on the side of the pond closest to where he hid. He swallowed hard at the display. As forethought, she was a vision, to be sure, in the thin wet cloth. It clung to her full curves, and despite the position she found herself in, the princess’s royal nipples were hard and strained mightily against the cloth. Slowly, Stefan moved closer to the edge of the foliage that hid him. And, as was his instinct when trouble brewed, he reached for his sword where it lay on the ground beside him.

The Viking nimbly hopped from the shore to one rock, then another, then to the one she stood upon. The princess opened her mouth to scream, but the Viking was quick; he grasped her and slapped his hand across her mouth. The little hellion bit him and punched him with her fists. The damp linen clung to her between them, but now it covered less than it had a moment ago.

Stefan’s impulse was to defend the lady’s honor, but too much was at stake for him to show himself.

For a woman she had spunk, and a considerable punch. Had she a weapon, the Viking might find himself looking at serious injury. But she did not. The Viking was bigger, stronger, and most intent on breaching the lady’s thighs.

When she twisted in his grasp, Dag grabbed her flailing body and flung her upon the flat rock Stefan had so recently napped on. He clamped his hand across her mouth again, and drew his short knife, pressing it to her throat. “Scream and I will give the command to snap your maid’s neck.”

Ah, threaten a loved one for compliance. Stefan watched to see how much she loved her maid. She nodded vigorously, and Dag grinned. He slowly removed his hand from her mouth, but kept the blade to her throat. “Let me see what my lucky uncle will have when he is wed.” He yanked the rest of the damp linen from her trembling body, revealing those creamy breasts. “God’s blood, but you are magnificent!”

Crudely, he grabbed her. The princess cried out, but bit her lip to keep the sound to a minimum. “Magnus will geld you when I tell him of your trespass,” she said bitterly.

Dag grinned wider and slid his hand down to her waist. His gaze trailed across her long supple body and Stefan could well understand his admiration. But, so enamored with her, Dag did not see her right hand grasp a rock. “He will not believe you, nor will he keep you as wife,” he breathed, and pressed his lips to her right breast. Her body stiffened and she squeezed her eyes shut, arching into him as if succumbing to his ardor. Stefan’s body nearly snapped from the tightness of his muscles.

When the trespassing Viking swept his fingers across her downy curls, the princess stiffened and slammed her fist with the rock into the side of his head. But he moved his head away just in time, so that the blow, though solid, was glancing. Roughly, he pushed her flat onto her back, and with his right hand he pressed the blade to her throat while with his left he hiked up his leather-trimmed tunic and unlaced his braies.
“Do not do this, Lord Dag!”

“I have wanted you since the moment Magnus described you. ’Twas I who made sure the king summoned him, and ’twas I, his loving nephew, who volunteered to bring you to him in Yorkshire.” Dag slid the dagger across a taut breast. “When I saw you, I knew you had to be mine.” He chuckled. “My gift to the groom, a breached bride.”

“You would do such a thing to your kin?”

 

“Aye, my sweet Arian,” Dag breathed, “and when he rejects you, I will have you as my own wife.”

“Never!” she cried, and punched the dagger from his hand. She rolled out from under him when he reached for it, then caught himself from falling into the water. She darted from him, the linen dragging behind her, as she valiantly tried to run and wrap it around her nakedness at the same time.

But the Viking was wily and he was quick. He threw a long arm after her and grabbed the corner of the linen, yanking her back toward him. She shrieked and let it go. Naked, she ran straight for Stefan. He braced himself for the impact of her, and as she broke into the green, he grabbed her arm, spinning her around, then thrusting her behind him. She let out a long shrill scream that sent the birds flying from the trees.