Ruthless (26 page)

She squirmed and beat the bed with her fists,
frustrated.

Magnus' eyes deepened to flashing black as he
held her gaze prisoner.

"Look and watch how I am loving ye," he
whispered, his face tight with passion. His gaze lowered to where
their bodies joined.

Heaven help her, she did.

He pulled back, slowly gliding his wet, slick
erection from her. Even more heat pooled there. Surely, her flesh
must be flame-red now. Her body wept in anticipation, her belly
quivered.

He lifted her hips, almost demanding she
watch them make love. He thrust his tarse in just a small bit then
stopped. Wetting a long forefinger with her juices, he ran his
blunt fingertip around his thick arousal where her flesh joined
his. He pulled back again. She thought she'd scream with need.

But, no, he didn't stop. He grinned and began
his slow thrust again, letting her watch, nay, wanting her to watch
and feel the building passion as his finger followed around his
tarse, around her, making her aware of her body stretching to
accommodate him.

She could stand no more. Her entire being
pulsed with blinding passion. He thrust faster. She couldn't turn
her gaze from his tarse, wet and slick, pounding into her now with
soul-shattering intensity. Arching her back until naught touched
the bed but her head, a chain of spasms tore through her body. She
screamed as she exploded with it. As her body thrashed and fought
for completion, one thought filled her mind.

She hated Magnus.

He had caused her body to betray her!

Magnus' heartbeat pounded so loudly in his
head it near muffled Muriele's cry of pleasure. Had she not found
release when she did, he could not have held off his own. Not a
breath too soon, he jerked back and fell beside her on the bed.

"Lucifer's horned cock!"

He bent his head backward, his throat
straining and sore. He held his breath. By God's love, he'd shouted
the words for all to hear!

He groaned and clutched his pulsating cock.
The way his seed spurted time and time again, surely 'twas enough
to sire a hundred children.

Never before had he had such a powerful
release. He gasped. Tried to calm his breathing. When he closed his
eyes, all of his previous sexual encounters flashed through his
brain.

Not once had he felt the way he had with
Muriele.

Perchance the stories were true? Had her
mother used some spell, which rendered men mad with lust? If so,
she had passed her lore to Muriele.

He opened his eyes a slit. Muriele's face
contorted as if she grimaced and clenched her teeth at the same
time. Her flesh became mottled.

The daft woman was holding her breath!

Cautiously, he rose on an elbow and peered
down at her. With eyes squeezed together, she muttered something.
He leaned closer to her lips, afeared her violent climax had made
her brainsick.

She whispered something again and again and
gasped for air between each short burst. He leaned so close he
could feel her breath on his ear.

"I hate him...I hate him...I hate him."

Relieved, he fell to his back and snorted.
Loudly.

"Ye do?"

He propped himself up again and waited.
Finally, Muriele opened her eyes and glared at him.

"For certs." She hissed the words through
tight lips.

"'Tis a strange way ye have of showing
dislike."

He trailed a fingertip over her lips. She
swatted it away.

"Ye near burst my ears with yer hatred. Tsk!
Think what an unholy noise ye would make should I truly pleasure
ye."

He was out of the bed before her fist could
meet his jaw.

Long before the sun rose, Magnus entered the
great hall and carefully picked his way through the sleeping men.
They played a strange tune with their snoring and farting. Were
they louder, they'd rival a badly played bagpipe.

The more canny warriors had parked their
buttocks on benches early in the night and waited for their
seatmates to drink themselves senseless. It took but a slight nudge
to topple them to the floor, giving the winner a preferred sleeping
spot.

The twelve knights who would leave with him
came up from the bailey at the same time Magnus entered the room.
Pages brought platters of hot food left from last eve, cheeses,
fruits and fresh breads, enough to fill the travelers' bellies.
When Magnus took his seat, Olaf and Feradoch eyed him with very
different expressions. Olaf showed broad approval; Feradoch was
coldly reserved.

"You look in need of sleep," Olaf said.

"I had plentiful rest."

"Plentiful? When?" Olaf grinned and elbowed
him in the ribs.

"Most of the night."

"Ha! Your bedchamber sounded like the battle
of Hastings took place there."

Feradoch fixed him with a disapproving
stare.

"For sure, 'twas a battle of sorts."

Magnus extended his arms to stretch his
shoulders, clenching and straightening his fingers as he did
so.

"You don't look battle scared," Olaf
said.

Magnus shrugged.

"I won."

He filled his wooden plate with cold lamb,
hot bread, cheeses and a baked fish. He devoured them. Last night's
bed sport had left him with a huge appetite. It took two full
plates to appease his hunger.

He ignored Feradoch's cold frowns and kept
his own face free of emotions. When it came down to it, his foster
brother was the one who looked battle worn. Magnus had heard his
footsteps going past his bedchamber way after the midnight bells
for Vigils rang.

Disliking their scrutiny, he leaned forward
to hand two small sealed scrolls to his foster brother.

"Deliver them to Chief Angus and Graemme
first thing on arriving at Clibrick. I reminded Father I take over
as first in command over the warriors. Graemme will train under
me."

"Pfft!"

Magnus raised a brow and stared at
Feradoch.

"I dinna think so. My brother's body looked
to be as honed as mine."

"You have more work ahead of you than you
expect."

Magnus shrugged and turned away. He looked
forward to the next days they would ride together and wished to
forestall an argument that would mar them. When Chief Olaf pushed
back his chair, Magnus stood and raised his hand toward the
knights.

"Come, we must leave if we are to ford the
river Helmsdale afore nightfall." Magnus stood.

If the men hadn't eaten their fill, 'twas
their own fault. The knights followed suit, though Feradoch seemed
reluctant to rise.

Olaf buffeted him on the shoulder.

"Come, lad. The forest makes for slow
traveling. No telling how many lawless bands will delay your
travel. An unwelcome rain will make fording impossible."

"Aye." Feradoch chuckled and flashed a
gleeful smile at Magnus. "Per chance Magnus will show us where the
wild woman killed the boar intent on tearing him a new arse
hole."

Magnus stiffened and glowered at him.
Feradoch's blue eyes blinked innocently. Reminding Magnus of his
carelessness didn't sit too well with him. It made him fear he'd
also been lax in other areas.

He took great strides to leave the great
hall. Men grunted and cursed when he shoved their feet out of his
way, then clamped their teeth together when they saw his glowering
face. When he strode through the keep's entrance and down the
stairs, he took a deep breath of damp, clean air.

Muriele crept into his life as surely as that
puppy the first year at Kinbrace. Until now, no woman ever
distracted him. If one caught his interest, he swived her. If his
cock rose with glee when next he spied her, he swived her again.
None held his interest long enough to make her his leman.

Less than a year now, he'd return to Clibrick
for good. He wouldn't take a leman with him. She'd be a distraction
and complicate his duties as his father's first in command.

Sir Cormac, Magnus' knights and their squires
were mounted and ready. Sir Erland's face looked as tired as Magnus
felt. Hmm. 'Twas another reason not to allow a woman access to his
mind and heart.

As Sweyn fell into step beside Magnus, he
frowned. "Feradoch's men may be knights, but they are an
undisciplined lot."

Magnus looked at their battered helmets, bits
and pieces of armor, animal skins and kilts. All carried
battle-axes and swords aplenty.

"Aye. They cling to the old Viking ways. They
are savage fighters but hard to control."

"I wouldna turn my back on any of them,"
Sweyn warned.

Magnus stopped, his legs spread, his hands on
his hips, studying the seeming confusion before him. Feradoch's
knights milled about with their squires and horses.

"What do ye wait for? Do ye expect yer master
to give ye a hand-up?" Magnus' bellow produced the desired results.
The men speedily mounted and filed into line.

As he walked past the horse trough, his groin
stirred, remembering.

Something about Muriele was different from
other women he enjoyed swiving. Was it her defiance that interested
him? By Lucifer's fetid breath! She challenged his every move.

For truth, he had a
need
to conquer
her. Even now, the satisfaction of seeing her passion filled face
and hearing her breathless begging for release quickened his
blood.

"Magnus, did you not satisfy your cock last
eve?"

Sweyn's deep voice held a hint of
laughter.

Magnus skidded to a stop and glanced down. As
his unruly cock engorged, it pulled his plaid up along with it.
Now, cock and plaid bobbed at his sudden halt, agreeing with Sweyn.
Surely 'twas Lucifer who caused his tarse to have a mind of its
own! He had no time to lust after any woman.

He was a warrior. A conquering warrior. One
much feared for never losing a battle. He was not an untried
youngling!

"I did. More than thrice." He growled with
disgust.

"Hm. Do you think you should pour cold well
water over it?" Sweyn chuckled low in his throat. "It's been many
moons since I've had need of such."

Magnus brushed his hand down the front of his
clothing, sending a message to his randy body there were more
important things than swiving. He refused to allow another thought
of Muriel to enter his mind.

All around them, stirrups groaned, leather
saddles creaked and harnesses jingled. Restless horses tramped and
sidled, impatient for a good run.

Gille stood whispering and cooing to Odin
while clutching the reins in one hand and rubbing the great white
horse's nose with the other. The way the beast behaved, the boy had
a natural instinct for soothing him.

Brian took Magnus' Claymore from a young
squire and helped Magnus strap it to his back. When he mounted, he
settled the Claymore more comfortably then checked his weapons.
Before he pulled on his Norse helmet, he patted his short sword at
his side and the dagger strapped to his left boot. The squire would
carry the axe and shield until Magnus had need of them. Satisfied,
he nodded then studied his youngest squire's face as the boy passed
him Odin's reins.

"Ye did a masterful job holding Odin still,
Gille. Ye have gained more muscle in yer shoulders and arms these
past days."

If the lad continued in his growth, he would
have a body much like Feradoch. The bone structure was there. Every
day, he became surer the boy was either Feradoch's half
brother...or his son. It mattered not which man had fathered him.
Neither would acknowledge the lad.

Magnus needed no standard-bearers today.
Everyone in the eastern Highlands was wary of crossing him. He and
his men would accompany Feradoch halfway to Clibrick. Once there,
they'd turn around and return, stopping along the way to check
outlying villages. In about a fortnight, they'd be back at Kinbrace
Castle.

Olaf strode over to Feradoch and stopped,
legs straddled wide, to give his son instructions in a hard
voice.

"Make the most of these last days at
Clibrick. Learn all their skills, their tricks with weapons. Angus
will be unhappy to lose you. I've a good mind to keep you both when
spring comes."

Olaf looked out of the corner of his eyes at
Magnus and chuckled. 'Twas his usual lecture each year when they
parted. He gave Feradoch a final grin before he moved to
Magnus.

"Be sure you return in one piece. You'll not
have Feradoch watching your back."

"Eh? Since when have I needed anyone to watch
my back?"

"Not since you were ten and eight when the
foolish lout thought to run you through while you took a piss in
the woods." He laughed and slapped his thigh. "You loped off his
head without even pissing your boots."

"Then ye have naught to worry about."

"Rid the woods of any landless warriors.
They'll be quick to take your head and steal the horses and weapons
if you give them the chance."

The sun shyly peeked over the eastern
mountains like a timid lass stealing a look at her betrothed. As it
lightened the darkness to early dawn, Olaf slapped Odin on his
haunches then bellowed with laughter when the horse reared in
surprise. Magnus expected it and had the great horse in tight
control. With a solemn nod at the old man, he and Feradoch moved to
the front of the line.

Feradoch grinned at Magnus. "I'll be first
over the drawbridge onto open ground!"

By the time they reached the barbican, the
two men were in full gallop. The horses' hooves thundered, throwing
dirt and dust in their wake until the air clouded.

Magnus leaned low over Odin's neck, urging
him to greater speed. Evenly matched, neither man was willing to
let the other win as they reached the wooden bridge.

Of a sudden, Magnus' nape prickled. Someone
watched.

He had no need to look back. What a shame he
hadn't the same instinct when he'd ordered the women of Blackbriar
to pass in front of him.