Strokes Vol #3 (7 page)

Shouts rang up and down the line, and arms rose to shield eyes as they stared upward. Edwina smirked as the foul contents of the castle’s jakes rained down on the Viking’s men. “Let the game begin.”

*

After a nerve-wracking
day that she’d spent supervising meals and finding places inside the bailey and keep for everyone to sleep, she was exhausted. But the moment she’d doused her candle and lain down on her bed, her doubts crowded in.

She would never allow her people to suffer through a long siege. It being May, they were needed in their fields. No, she had perhaps a week before she’d have to concede. She eased open her fists and drew long breaths. Sleep was what she needed. Perhaps in the morning she would hit upon a scheme to delay the inevitable or plead her case to Alred. She rolled onto her side, tucked her hands beneath her face, and stared into the dark corners of her room.

Geade wondered about her objection. So did she. Was it only willful pride, tweaked by the fact she had no choice in the matter? It wasn’t as though she didn’t want a man,
someday
, to share her burdens and her bed. Then she remembered the sight of Grimvarr, so large and fiercely masculine.

Alone, she admitted a moment’s wild excitement. Malcolm had never made her yearn for his embrace. And yet this Viking had somehow crept into her bed. What would it be like to submit to a man like him? One strong enough to subdue her, one who caused more than a flutter of heat to curl inside her womb?

A draft brushed her face. She’d closed the door and latched the pigskin curtain over her narrow window. A scuff of a foot had her stiffening, but she heard no more above the pounding of her heart. She wasn’t alone. “Who’s there?” she whispered.

“I think you know,” came a deep, rumbling drawl.

She drew a deep breath and came up slowly, scooting to the far side of her bed. Her knife was on her chatelaine’s belt hanging from a peg beside the door. She was weaponless. “My people?”

“Your man Geade surrendered as soon as he realized the keep was overrun. No one was harmed.”

“How?”

“Does it matter? I’ve taken this castle. The only question now is one I want answered: Why did you bar the gates?”

Edwina shivered at his graveled voice. “I was promised time to grieve before I accepted another husband.”

“Alred suspected you would grieve until you were old. Did you really think he would defy the king’s order for you?”

She lifted her chin although she knew the gesture couldn’t be seen—not unless Vikings had eyes like cats. “I expected him to honor his promise. I paid for the privilege.”

“About that—he returned the gold. To me.” His footsteps drew nearer her bed. “But that doesn’t answer the question. Why, Edwina?”

Her mouth grew dry at the rasping texture of his deep voice. She swallowed and set her back against the wall. “I wed once for political expediency. This time, I wanted a choice.”

He remained silent for a long moment. “And yet you have turned away every suitor who approached you.”

“None were worthy.”

“You hold yourself in such high esteem?”

“I worried for my people. Warriors don’t make the best farmers.”

His footsteps scraped closer.

She pressed harder against cold stone.

“I will admit, I’ve little experience with farming. But I understood you were competent. That I could rely on you to teach me.”

He said the words slowly, and she tried to read his intentions in the inflections of his voice. Could he be telling her the truth? Would he allow her to continue as steward of her land? “Are we…negotiating?”

After a long moment, he cleared his throat. “You wed young.”

“I had no choice, but Malcolm was malleable and a drunk. We came to an arrangement that suited us both. I managed the estate. He drank and caroused, spending from a generous budget. We were both satisfied.”

“You managed him and the estate.”

“Yes.”

After a pause, he said, “I’m not malleable. Nor will I be managed.”

She heard the steel in his tone. She forced a derisive note into her own. “I was afraid of that. It’s why I closed the gates and prepared for a siege.”

He strode closer. His large shadow was inky black, ominous. “You do realize this is our wedding night? You are already my wife by the king’s decree. Only consummation awaits.”

Alarm rattled through her. “But there must be a wedding. The banns should be read.”

“No, Edwina. Your resistance ends tonight.”

But his large frame strode away. Whispers sounded from the doorway. Moments later, light flooded the room. Servants carrying candles and chests entered, storing away his belongings—all the while averting their gazes from her.

And all she could do was stare at his towering frame, dressed in a boiled-leather hauberk, chausses, and soft leather boots. Dressed as lightly as he was, without armor, she guessed he and his men had scaled the walls.

And another realization scattered her thoughts. Grimvarr was a very handsome man with a square chin, a narrow strip of beard surrounding his mouth and chin, bladed cheeks and dark, hooded eyes. Handsome despite the long scar that bisected a brow and drew down to his cheek, leaving his eye unscathed. Combined with his large rugged frame, his appearance was imposing in its masculine perfection, and becoming even more imposing as he stripped.

When he was nude, she fought the temptation to drop her gaze to his groin. Something she found nearly impossible to do because the enormity of his cock struck her nonetheless at the periphery of her gaze.

“There is no reason to fear me, Edwina.”

She swallowed hard. “You are here against my wishes.”

Two red spots darkened his cheekbones.

Her insides quivered, but not from fear that she’d angered him. She couldn’t drag her gaze from his body.

He approached the bed and sat on the edge of the mattress. So close, she was tempted to reach out to discover if his body was as hard as it appeared. She was his wife. She did have the right, and yet, she squared her shoulders in resistance.

“I will be gentle and quick. You need not fear me.”

She let her gaze drop to his large cock. Her mouth grew dry. “How can you promise me gentleness?”

“If you will put your trust in me, I will show you.” And then he held still. His large frame unmoving. Waiting for her answer. Something he didn’t have to do. She already belonged to him. Every bit as much as her castle, her people, and the large tract of her demesne. But it seemed he wanted her cooperation—her surrender, she amended. And shouldn’t she try to appease him?

She was at his mercy. A thought that swirled endlessly in her mind. Years of Malcolm’s debauchery had cooled her ardor, for a time, but lovers had entered her dreams. Was she foolish to believe there could be pleasure in surrender?

Glancing away from his dark eyes, she lowered the sheet she’d clutched against her chest. She drew up her shift and tossed it to the floor, and then sat silently, afraid to glance his way, afraid to read into his expression because she knew she was slender, her breasts small, and didn’t men prefer a more bountiful frame to slake their urges against?

A rasp against her tight nipple drew her gaze downward. His fingertip, so large and calloused, touched her with surprising delicacy. Her nipple responded, blooming beneath his scrape, her areola dimpling as the tip ripened and protruded.

“Such a pretty pink,” he murmured.

A blush heated her cheeks. “You don’t have to praise me. I know that I am as thin as a pike.”

“You think you lack womanly attributes?” he murmured.

“I am simply saying that you don’t have to woo me with pretty phrases. I want this done. Over.”
Liar.

His jaw tightened, and he ripped back the sheet. “Very well. Prepare to receive me.”

Her eyes widened.

His brow arched. “You wanted brevity.”

“I did,” she said feeling a little faint. But she did as he asked, scooting down the bed and stretching her legs. Now lying, she parted her thighs, crossed her arms over her chest, and closed her eyes.

When he didn’t move for the longest time, she peeked at him from beneath her lashes. He was staring, a dark scowl twisting his face. Her belly tightened as she reminded herself there was much to fear in being alone with this man.

He cursed under his breath. “This will not be quick, Edwina.”

“I am cooperating,” she said, her voice shrill.

His sigh was deep. “This husband of yours, how did he manage the consummation?”

She shrugged. “He came on top of me, thrust a few times, and was done. Thankfully, his seed never took.”

“Just the once?” he asked arching a brow.

“Of course not, but he soon found others he enjoyed more, and who seemed to enjoy him.”

“And you didn’t mind that he shamed you?”

She cleared her throat. “I was relieved he didn’t seek my bed. And he must not have found a fertile woman because he didn’t leave his spawn littering the castle.”

His eyes narrowed. “Are you really this harsh or does the act frighten you?”

“I’m not afraid.” Not of him. Not of sex. She feared another disappointing experience. She raised her gaze to his, noted the hard light in his eyes, and took a deep breath. “I am ready.”

“You are not. By far, you are not. But then, it is my responsibility to school you, Edwina, to prove to you there is more to this act than something repulsive and demeaning.” He raked a hand through his dark hair and blew out a harsh breath that billowed his cheeks. When he turned away and jerked open her chamber door, she stared.

Not until several minutes had passed did she understand that he’d left her. She almost smiled. She’d won. And then she remembered how he’d looked, large and brutish, but with blue eyes that glinted with a hint of wild promise, and her shoulders slumped. Had she finally met the man who could tempt her only to turn him away?

*

Edwina stubbornly went
about her daily tasks the next morning, ignoring her added guests. There were so many people crowding the hall she sent the villagers back to their homes and the shepherds to move the flocks outside the walls. The strangers among Alred’s men, her husband’s men, gave her surreptitious stares, but kept silent, taking their cue from Grimvarr, who sat on the dais next to Alred, maps spread across the table while they drank and parleyed.

She tried to ignore her husband’s steady stares, but every time his gaze rested on her, heat infused her body. She grew uncomfortable in her own skin and her clothing felt tight. Every time she claimed the nerve to meet his glance with a direct one of her own, she felt as though she was falling, leaning toward him, darkness closing around her sight, like she was looking through a tunnel where only he existed at the end.

Ridiculous! She wasn’t falling. Wasn’t afraid. Wasn’t some half-witted slut lusting after a man. And yet, lust rose up often enough throughout the day that she was nearly exhausted from fighting her inner turmoil. So much so, that after she’d seen to the dinner meal, she slipped away, retiring to her room. Hoping he’d never notice she’d shown weakness, but hoping too that he’d seek her out.

She wanted to matter to him. To be more than a means to wealth and privilege. Good Lord, she wanted
him
.

Behind her, the door creaked open. She glanced over her shoulder to find Grimvarr leaning his back against the door.

“Thank you for your efforts today. Alred had nothing but praise for your hospitality.”

“As you already knew, I am a competent chatelaine,” she said, lifting her chin, challenge thrown down, should he bother to accept.

“You do know that Alred will not quit this keep until we are truly wed.”

She blinked, realizing he was giving her a strong reason to capitulate—one other than the fact desire swirled thick in the room, and so urgently she found it hard to unstick her tongue from the roof of her mouth to reply. But she did. “He and his men will eat and drink their way through the stores.”

Grimvarr’s lips twitched. And there in his dark eyes, she saw a glint of humor. Something that eased the stiffness of her back. There was a sly wit beneath his brutish appearance. Intelligence beyond his prowess on the battlefield. And a lambent heat in his cool eyes that spoke to her across the silence. He wasn’t asking for surrender. Rather, he sought her cooperation to achieve a common goal. He was saving her pride. A concession as a sign of respect. Could she offer him no less?