Come Back to Me (23 page)

She had a quick glimpse of the shields bracketing the door before Dragon shouldered his way in. The air smelled of pine. Windows stood open, their oilcloth shades rolled up and their shutters open. A mat of fresh rushes covered the floor. Fresh flowers adorned a table set near one of the windows. Fresh linens covered the bed… the very big bed with its massive, intricately carved headboard. So too were the half-dozen chests she saw adorned with complex shapes and scenes. The iron braziers were curled into serpentine designs, as was the delicate filigree work surrounding several glass vessels on shelves near the table. Everything was functional yet beautiful, redolent of wealth coupled to discernment.

For Rycca, who had known only the crudeness of Wolscroft, it was almost too much to take in at once. She had thought never to see any place so lovely as the lodge near Hawkforte where she had found such brief happiness but now she had to reconsider. Yet this was clearly a man's domain as she saw from the weapons and banners that adorned the walls. Saw, too, what made her eyes widen in disbelief.

There was a book on the table. She recognized it immediately even though she had scarcely ever seen one. It was in a large wooden case, vividly carved and painted, and her fingers itched to touch it.

Following the direction of her gaze, Dragon said, "Oh, good, it arrived." He set her down gently, went to the table, and opened the box. A smile wreathed his sun-burnished features.

"My good friend Kareem ben Abdul found this for me. It purports to be the marvelous tales told by the bride of a rapacious lord who was so entertained by them that he spared her life."

Fascinated though she was by the book, indeed by the whole circumstance, Rycca could not help but remark, "How terrible. Why should a lord wish to slay his bride?"

Dragon shrugged. "He had some grudge against all of womanhood. Who knows the workings of such a disordered mind. Do you read?"

She hesitated, honesty warring with self-preservation. As always, honesty won. "Yes."

Women were not supposed to read, not where she came from, not according to the dictates of her father, who thought such things for eunuch monks who could be kept properly controlled but never for women, who might garner inappropriate ideas. She had learned in secret, thanks to one such monk who though not a eunuch was an honorable and courageous man.

"Yes." She said it again, just in case he hadn't heard, daring fate.

"Oh, good. You might as well know, I have ambitions to do as Alfred has done, to bring books and schools to this land."

He could have said he wished to sprout wings and fly to the moon for all the sense that made to her. He wore a sword, she could see it across his back. He used it with rare skill as she had seen on the Hawkforte road. He was a warrior. And a Viking.

He dreamed of schools and books.

"What an… admirable design."

"Some would not think so. Learning is considered a sign of weakness by some, although I have no idea why. To confront the world in all its complexity calls for real courage."

She nodded because she could think of nothing to say. He surprised her so easily.

He caught her look and put the book aside. "Enough of this… for now. I will send the women to you with food and water for bathing. All right?"

"Yes… of course, more than all right."

"There will be a feast." He gestured as though it was of no import. "The people expect it, you understand?"

"Yes… certainly."

Yes and yes and yes. She could say nothing else to him. Books, dreams, food, water, feasts… and that bed, so very close.

She allowed herself to look at him just then, really look as she had avoided doing at Hawkforte and during the voyage. He stole her breath, this
husband
of hers. Too vividly, she remembered what it was to lie with him.

"I realize you are tired," he said. "We will not tarry long at the feast."

Her smile held nothing of fatigue, everything of promise.

A GOOD SAUNA, THAT WAS WHAT HE NEEDED. That and a chance to catch his breath. She liked Landsende, he could tell. Cursed be Wolscroft, yet he was shamefully grateful to him for setting her expectations so low. And her fear had ebbed, for which he gave thanks to whatever god deserved them.

He would take her to bed this night, make her his wife in truth. The long nights of the voyage when he had practiced such unaccustomed chastity would be forgotten.

She would be his.

He felt a surge of fierce possessiveness and marveled at it for he had never felt any such with a woman. Yet she was his
wife
, altogether different from any who had gone before.

A meek little woman to rub his feet.

He laughed out loud. Praise every deity that had ever existed for sparing him that. He would pour libations to Odin, king of the gods, he and his battling wife, Frigg, and to Loki, too, for it was always wise to propitiate that one. But perhaps he would also bring a priest to Landsende. The best of those were literate men with a store of wisdom. It would do no harm to have one of them about.

Mayhap even more than one if he seriously intended to set up a scriptorium. He had seen such at Hawkforte and heard of the much larger enterprise in the king's house at Winchester. Monks had the necessary skills.

She liked books. He warmed inside. His hurt at her flight from their marriage was assuaged by the knowledge of what had driven her. He had seen her dread turn to smiles and seen, too, the desire in her eyes. They stood on the brink of a new beginning. He was determined not to squander it.

But first the feast. His people meant well, he credited them for that. They liked her and wanted her to know it. He gazed out over the heavily laden tables and thought the women must have labored frantically to produce such bounty. But then he saw Rycca suddenly from their perspective, beautifully garbed, at ease on a horse only their jarl could ride, and realized they must want desperately to impress her. So, too, he realized did he.

Cleansed by the sauna, freshly shaved and garbed more formally than was his wont, he awaited his bride in the great hall. And waited. The people had gathered, all was ready, and they had just enough time to begin to stir uneasily when she appeared.

God's blood but she was beautiful. Her hair fell like copper fire down her back. She carried her head high and she moved as grace personified, he thought, and felt pride swell within him.

She was garbed in sky. Not really but the fabric, whatever it might be, looked like that. He was put in mind suddenly of a glorious sunrise into softest blue interwoven with stray tendrils of cloud. The beginnings of a perfect day.

Thank heaven he could take her to bed soon. Or as soon as the feasting and merriment were sufficiently progressed that no one would think him lacking in control. Especially not her. He thought back to the lodge when she had come to him, taken him, and swore this night he would show her wonders she could not imagine.

Wine flowed and ale and mead. Platters of whole fish and pig were carried by, along with smoked meats, breads, cheeses, the bounty of summer fruits and vegetables, even rare confections crafted of spices from the farthest corners of the earth. A king could not have offered better.

Nor was the entertainment lacking. Jugglers and minstrels vied for the greatest applause and no fewer than three renowned skalds, who were always well assured of a welcome at the court of the Dragon, declaimed the great stories of the ages. Dragon himself remained largely silent except to converse with Rycca, who sat beside him and replied to his comments with the same stilted courtesy with which he offered them.

He could not remember ever feeling so discomfited by a woman.

And not merely for the reason that the mere scent of her, the slightest glimpse from the corner of his eye, the most accidental brush of her hand against his were each and every one enough to arouse him.

There he was, possessor of what amounted to several lifetimes' worth of most pleasant memories of the fair sex, made to feel a green boy by his own bride.

Night could not come quickly enough.

THE DOOR CLOSED WITH A FIRM THUD. Rycca heard it but only distantly. She was absorbed in the discovery that sometime between leaving the hall with Dragon and arriving here in the lodge, the passage of mere moments, her heart had speeded up alarmingly and her breathing had become rapid little pants. She felt, and she thought also sounded, as though she had run miles.

As she had that day on the Essex shore when she fled from him.

But then she had raced into freedom, so she dreamed, whereas now…

That was too foolish. She had already lain with this man, at her own initiative, with none of a virgin's proper modesty or concern. On the contrary, she had gloried in her possession of him, the taking of him into her body, the milking of his seed, the explosion of incandescent pleasure that was her reward for boldness so shocking that the memory alone still stunned.

So why the sense that she was not merely excited but also afraid?

He was moving around the room, closing the shutters although he left the oilcloth shades up so that the soft evening breeze wafted through the wooden slats. The fiery glow of embers in a brazier illuminated his movements. She could not look away but stood, in the center of the room, following him with her eyes. He was so graceful, amazingly so for his size, as though the largeness of his spirit was at home in a body so big, so perfectly formed, so utterly male as to bedazzle her.

Her throat was very dry. She had drunk almost nothing and eaten even less but now she had the sudden wish that she had quaffed a skin of wine. Coward! Yet did instinct shimmer at the edges of her awareness, warning that this time would be different.

From the corner of his eye, Dragon saw her unease and smiled faintly. Ordinarily, he would not wish any woman to feel discomforted in his presence but Rycca was the exception. His smile deepened, becoming wry. She was that in every possible way.

It was time, he had decided, for a righting of the balance between them. A woman of strength and courage was all well and good, he would not have wished her otherwise. Yet she was married now and therefore must change. His
wife
did not go hieing off on her own, attempt to unman him, flee unrepentantly, deny his authority, and then, sweetly haunting memory, proceed to seduce him with skill all the more devastating for being artless. The catalog of her daring made him shake his head in yet heightened determination. His
wife
stayed at home where she belonged, welcomed her lord with a smile and soft word, graced his hall, and warmed his bed with appropriate,
wifely
enthusiasm.