Ruthless (33 page)

They all came to the same conclusion.
Feradoch had watched his chances and made his plans early on.
Getting rid of Magnus was only the beginning of something far
greater, but they knew not what. They had not long to wonder,
though, for a commotion at the front gate drew them to the
window.

A messenger with a small escort had arrived
at the castle. A squire held Kinbrace's standard high for all to
see.

They galloped up to the steps. With a sinking
heart, Magnus saw Olaf's own commander. Something dreadful had
occurred. He leaned far out the window and bellowed loud enough for
everyone in the courtyard to hear him.

"Sweyn, in all haste, escort Sir Hakon to the
Chief's solar!"

Muriele's heart pounded the later it got at
the banquet. The handfast had been over quickly. It required only
that they stand side-by-side in the middle of the great room, her
right hand in his left held high, as they vowed to live as man and
wife for the length of one year and a day.

If at the end of the year, one or the other
was displeased with the union, they need only to declare it so. If
the woman was increasing or a child had been born, then the one
breaking off the union forfeited the child to the other.

Her stomach became queasy. Feradoch insisted
he move into Magnus' old bedchamber with her. His reason was sound,
for it was a large room. When she suggested they replace the bed,
he snarled at her. It was the first time he had been aught but
loving and pleasant.

The thought of making love in Magnus bed felt
sinful. It didn't help that Grunda had fought her about the union
with Feradoch. She still claimed Magnus was to be Muriele's partner
for life. Though Muriele repeatedly told her Magnus was marrying
another for her fortune, Grunda muttered they were fools.

Muriele shifted in her chair. Feradoch had
been drinking steadily. His left hand crept to her lap to rub her
thighs close to her center. When she tried to hold his hand still,
he gripped her wrist so tightly pain shot up her arm.

He surged up from the chair, still holding to
her wrist.

"'Tis only fitting the entertainment end with
a dance to stir the blood afore my lovely Muriele and I go above
for bed sport."

He dropped her hand and clapped his hands,
hard. Five musicians entered, the same Welshmen they'd had before.
When Esa didn't stir beside Olaf, Feradoch shoved back his chair,
went to her and dragged her chair backward.

"You will dance for my union!" He wound her
hair in his fist and forced her to rise.

"Feradoch! What are ye doing?" Muriele rose
and grabbed him by the shoulder. He shook her off.

Esa twisted away, spewing words in the Welsh
tongue. Muriele was sure she cursed him in her native language, for
hate shot from her eyes. When he lifted a hand to strike her, she
twirled and vaulted over the table to be in the midst of the
musicians.

Feradoch turned back to Muriele and shoved
her back into her chair.

"Never interfere with what I do, lass. You
are too young to understand."

He picked up his wine and gulped down half
the goblet without stopping. He lounged back in his chair as if
nothing troublesome had happened. Olaf frowned and shook his head,
his eyes disapproving. Her new mate stiffened with resistance, but
he clamped his teeth together.

Once he had started drinking heavily, he no
longer resembled a gentle man. His nostrils became pinched, his
cheekbones prominent over sunken cheeks and his lips thinned to a
hard line. Kindness no longer shined from warm blue eyes; they
peered frostily beneath drooped lids.

Muriele barely recognized him.

He didn't take his gaze from Esa as she
danced. A hard, roaming hand searched down her leg then tried to
pull up the skirts of her kirtle to fondle her bare flesh.
Horrified, she shoved it away.

He turned to her with a leer. She didn't have
time to think before he picked her up as easily as if he lifted a
bairn and threw her over his shoulder. The room erupted in laughter
and hooting about the impatient groom. All the blood rushed to her
face, and his hard shoulder beneath her stomach near made her lose
what little she had eaten.

Bellowing to one of his men to follow them,
Feradoch started up the stairway. He ignored her pounding on his
back, asking him to let her walk. After he threw back the
bedchamber door and carried her through, his man closed it behind
them. No doubt, he stood guard outside to see they were not
disturbed.

With the look of a triumphant warrior ready
to sample his captive, Feradoch stood her in the middle of the room
then backed away.

"I did not tell you how beautiful you are
today, my love. You look like a fey creature of the forest with
flowers wound amongst your curls. Ye willna sprout wings and fly
through the window will ye?" He grinned at her, his face calm and
looking as angelic as ever.

She didn't know what to make of it. Had her
own nervousness made her read crudeness into his actions in the
great hall?

"I doubt my fanciful wings and I would fit
through the opening." She felt herself blush.

Standing there, she didn't know what to do.
Should she undress? But a squire had lit the fireplace and it would
illuminate her back.

Oh...Saints...in... Heaven! After the first
sennight of bed sport, Magnus had never mentioned her ruined
back.

Once he had abandoned her without a word, she
had focused her hatred on him. With it and Feradoch's instant
wooing, she had forgotten her scars.

She gulped to keep from spewing.

But surely, no one who had wooed her so
lovingly would take offense at it.

Would he?

"Will it put you more at ease if I remove my
clothing first? You will see you have the perfect mate. One who is
as manly beautiful as you are as a woman."

Her heart sank. He kept his gaze fixed on
hers as he slowly removed his kilt and folded it. He sat and pulled
off his boots and left his leggings on. When he bent to pull his
shirt over his head, the bunching muscles of his shoulders were as
impressive as Magnus'.

She crushed her thoughts to a halt right
there! The men were nothing alike.

Blond hair encircled his male nipples,
already hard buds. His handsome face and virile chest with golden
hair sprinkled over it made him look ethereal.

'Twas when his eyes heated and he untied the
string to his leggings and slowly lowered them over his hips to
fall at his feet, she gulped. His legs were long and lean. His, uh,
manhood was surrounded with golden hair, his penis long, his balls
heavy and tight.

He put his arms out to the side and slowly
turned, showing her his magnificent back, narrow hips and tight
buttocks.

Nay, she had it wrong. No angel would produce
a cockstand! He was more like a magnificent Greek god. Never would
she have thought the male body beautiful. There could be no other
name for Feradoch's.

Suddenly she heard his deep laughter and
realized her mouth gaped open like a landed fish. She flushed, for
she had been staring.

"Your turn, my beauty. We are evenly
matched."

When she stood frozen, he came over to
her.

"You need help with your undressing?"

"Nay. But it is hot in here. Could ye bank
the fire and blow out the candles?"

"What? And miss seeing you unwrap your lovely
body? Never!"

She looked over at the bed and saw someone
had drawn back the covers. She doubted it was Grunda. She had
dreaded the moment when she had to lie on the bed where she and
Magnus had made love. Now, she could not get there soon enough and
draw up the covers to hide between them.

Moving close to the bed, she started to
unwind her hair and remove the chain of rose flowers and green
leaves. She placed them on the armor stand. When she lifted her
kirtle up and over her head, she laid it on her clothing chest.

Like him, she sat and took off her shoes and
stockings. She left naught on her body but the sheer smock. Using
her fingers, she combed through her hair, spreading its wealth over
her back. She stood and let him look his full. She knew her rosy
nipples were easily seen and the thatch of wheat-colored hair
covering her woman's place.

"Beautiful. As I pictured you."

His cock swelled even tighter and its eye
began to seep. His breathing became raspy and impatient.

Muriele slipped beneath the sheet to lie on
her back.

"What's this?" His eyes narrowed. "You canna
be shy. Not after you were well-used by my foster-brother."

He came close and tossed the sheet to the
foot of the bed.

"Up! I want to see all of you down to the
littlest bit of flesh of your nether lips."

He grabbed her hands and pulled her to her
feet. When she hesitated and didn't pull the sheer smock off, he
reached out with both hands and tore it from her body.

"Put your arms wide as I did." It was no
request but a hard order.

She did as he said.

"Turn for me. I wish to see your delicate
arse."

She didn't move. Suspicious now, he narrowed
his eyes to mere slits and studied her.

"You have something to hide."

His breathing grew heavy with anger. His face
again changed to all sharp angles. Not a glimmer of kindness lit
his eyes. He grabbed her wrist and twisted it up between her
shoulder blades, turning her around.

Deadly silence fell over the room.

He had seen her back.

A scream of rage shrilled from his lips as he
slung her to the floor. When he did, his hand hit the sharp side of
the nearby helmet stand.

"Your Devil's mark cut me!" He brought his
hand to his mouth and sucked the blood away. He put his foot on her
hips, holding her to the floor while he looked her over. "Magnus
never wanted you; else he would not have thrashed your back."

"It isn't a Devil's mark. Let me explain,"
Muriele sobbed with shame as he ground his bare foot into the small
of her back.

Frost came from his voice as he flipped her
over with his foot. She didn't dare rise seeing his wild face.

"Look at what you have done. Even seeing your
beautiful breasts canna make my cock rise."

He looked down at his limp member, circled it
with his hand and briskly pumped himself. It failed to swell, but
lay limp.

"I willna be cheated of my marital
rights."

He went over to fling the door open and gave
orders to the man standing there. After slamming it shut, he picked
up his belt and came after her. He stood over her, winding it
around his right hand. She leapt up. He slung her back down and the
belt began to fall. When she tried to struggle to her feet, he put
his foot on her buttocks and continued.

Muriele clamped her teeth together to keep
from screaming. 'Twas what he wanted to hear, what made him feel
powerful. All savage men were alike. Baldor was most pleased when
she screamed in agony. Never again would she give voice to her
pain.

She'd spend her days in Hell before she would
give another man that pleasure.

Muriele's bedchamber door flew open. The
guard thrust Esa into the room with much kicking and cursing from
her and sweating and grunting from him. When he shoved her to the
center of the room, his eyes widened in horrified disbelief on
seeing Feradoch, naked and sweaty, beating his bride.

"Keep your mouth shut if you value your
tongue! Get out of here. Don't come again, no matter what you hear.
They are naught but women who must be taught a lesson."

He slammed the door on the retreating man's
back.

Esa became a wild woman when she spied
Muriele trying to push herself up off the floor.

"You fiend from Hell! You've near killed
her."

She flew at him, her fingers arched like cat
claws. When Esa went for his face, he grappled with her and held
her wrists together as he ripped her clothing off. For the first
time, Muriele saw a branding worse than hers. It was an obscene eye
above Esa's sex.

"'Tis her doing. She put a spell on my cock!
It willna swell at the sight of her. You will pleasure me. When I
have a proper cockstand, I'll teach this Devil's Spawn a
lesson."

He forced Esa to her knees, grabbed her face
and shoved it against his limp sex nestled amongst a thick tuft of
golden hair.

"Suck!"

Feradoch's growled order sounded like a
ravening wolf. He ground his sex into Esa's face. When her teeth
clenched shut, he used his iron fingers on her jaw and forced her
mouth open. Ramming his cock between her lips, he began to pump.
His hands knotted in her thick, curly hair and forced the rhythm he
wanted.

Esa scratched and clawed at his stomach.

"Let her go!" Muriele pushed up to her knees
then to her feet. She grabbed a heavy boot and beat him on the back
with it. He didn't flinch.

Finally, he howled in anguish for Esa clamped
her teeth on his swelling cock. Fisting both hands, he struck her
temples a crushing blow. She fell at his feet.

Blood ran down his limp penis. He kicked her
in the face then grabbed her legs to straighten her out. Straddling
her, he wrapped his long fingers around her slender neck and
squeezed.

"You filthy Welsh whore! You'll die for
that."

As he strangled her, she tried to claw his
face. He shook her, striking her head on the floor.

Sobbing, Muriele climbed on his back. She bit
his ear and tried to gouge his eyes. He gave a mighty twitch like a
bear annoyed by a hunting dog. She flew off him and hit the
floor.

She picked herself up and grabbed her eating
knife off her clothing chest. He saw her and swerved sideways. The
blade entered high on the back of his left shoulder. One hand left
Esa's neck long enough for his massive arm to swipe Muriele away.
She hit her head on a bedpost.