Immortal Warrior (29 page)

“Rinse, my lord.”

He tipped forward while the woman ladled water over his head, then leaned back for a second soaping. She took longer with this one, massaging him into a stupor with those strong laundress hands. The murmur of conversation between Alaida and her women as they groomed her lulled him like a song, and the wine wended its way through his blood. He began to drift.

He didn’t notice when things changed, just, slowly, that they had. The conversation had trailed off to nothing, the room gone silent, the hands grown gentler. Smaller. Oh, no. “Alaida?”

“Here, my lord,” she whispered at his ear, and he knew even before her soapy hands slid around his neck that he was lost.

 

And he couldn’t. From before the first touch, he was hers.

Alaida held the power of that promise in her heart as Ivo’s muscles went taut beneath her hands. Before he could think to escape, she curled over his shoulder and kissed him, not demanding anything yet, just reminding him. He could not deny her.

He tugged his towel over his lap. “Where are your women?”

“Gone. You taste of soap,” she said softly. “Rinse.”

He ducked under the water once, then again, and when he came up, she shifted around to the side of the tub and kissed him through the streaming water, another reminder. “Better.”

“Call them back,” he said. His hands curled over the edge of the tub as he fought, but it was no use.

“No.” Meeting his eyes, she untied her robe and let it fall open. She had nothing beneath, and she knew the power of her ripening body. The power of Eve. “Touch me.”

The tub groaned as he tensed, pulling against the wooden staves as if they could save him. Foolish man. She was the only thing that could save him, and she was Temptation. She leaned forward to drag one nipple over the backs of his fingers until it puckered, then shifted for the other simply because it felt good.

This time the groan that rose up was his. She leaned forward and caught the sound in a kiss, taking in its power and adding it to her own. “Touch me.”

He shook his head. “No. God’s knees, Alaida, I—”

She reminded him again, this time more firmly, demanding that he part his lips to her. She swept her tongue into his mouth, using every skill she had to show him how much she wanted him, to make him recall how much he wanted her.

He cupped her head between both hands and pulled her away. “I said no, Alaida.”

“And I say yes. You have avoided me too long, husband.” She shrugged away the robe, accepting the harsh intake of his breath as tribute. He moved to rise, and she put her hands in the middle of his chest and pushed him back. She dipped one hand down into the water, pushed his towel aside, and curved her fingers around his hardness. “You want me, and here is my proof. You cannot deny it. You cannot deny me.”

“You don’t understand,” he began.

She moved her hand and felt him jump as his breath hissed. “I understand this. Kiss me.” A stroke. “Kiss me.” Another stroke. “Kiss—”

And suddenly he was there, his lips on hers, his hands wandering over her shoulders and arms. One found her breast, thumbing across the tip she had already made sensitive until she gasped. The other slid down to where her hand held him, curled around her fingers, and began guiding her motions.

He began to buck and tense, and suddenly she understood what he was doing. “No.” She jerked her hand away angrily. “No. Not that way. In me.”

His eyes were wild, his voice stark. “Alaida, I cannot.”

“You can.” In one swift motion she slipped over the edge of the tub and onto his lap, straddling him there, trapping him with her body. His hardness called to the rising wildness within her. She moved and he groaned.

“Take me.” A whispered command.

“Ah, woman, you do not know what you ask.” He gripped her waist, but he didn’t push her away though she knew that he could have easily. He would have, too, any other time, but tonight Merewyn’s magic stayed him.

“I ask only for what is mine.” She moved, just a little, not wanting to push him over the edge, but needing the feel of him against her, all heat and man and soap-slick water. “I ask for you.”

She leaned forward to brush her breasts against his pale skin and he pulsed against her. Enthralled, she began to kiss him and touch him, running her hands over every inch of skin she could reach, just to learn what else would make him do that: a tonguing kiss. Touching his nipples, as small and flat as they were. Brushing the skin low on his belly with her fingertips. Reaching back to cup him. Slowly, she discovered his weaknesses and used them to demand his surrender the way he’d once demanded hers.

“Touch me,” she whispered once more when she thought he was ready, and with a harsh sigh, he yielded. His hands glided over her wet skin, gathered her breasts to bring them to his lips. Her breath caught on a moan, and he slipped one hand between their bodies to stroke her. The first spasm swelled within her. She pulled his hand away. “No. I told you. In me.
In
me.”

He tried one last time to refuse, but she was too far gone to listen. With a moan, she rose up, shifted over him, and slid home. She broke as he entered her, the pleasure he’d started with his hand catching her before she was even full with him. Ivo groaned again, lifting into her and holding himself deep within while she pulsed and shook over him. But even as the shuddering peaked, she knew he still held himself back, that he hadn’t joined her and that there was more for her as well. She began to move, riding him, taking him as he refused to take her. The tension climbed in her again, even sharper. He began to shake beneath her.

“Stop. Alaida.
Please.
”

She knew that plea. She recognized it from their wedding night, when she hadn’t known better. Now she understood, and it excited her, pushed her closer to that place again. His fingers bit into her hips with a final effort to control her, perhaps to stop her, but she bore down, searching for the pleasure, and finally, he gave in and met her. His hips bucked and lifted as he pulled her down onto him, muscles tightening in rhythm.
Almost. Almost. Almost.
And then she was there and he was with her, and she closed her eyes and gave herself over to the magic.

NOT YET. NOT yet.
Alaida’s heat enveloped Ivo like a wave, and she shattered in his hands, arching back and curling forward, her body pulling in on itself, tightening senselessly around him as she gasped out her pleasure. He held back as long as he could, but his own release surged up to follow hers. With a shout of desperation, he found one last fragment of control and lifted her up and off, setting her away to spend himself into the water.

“No. No. You weren’t to deny me.” She collapsed against him, shaking, as he finished. “You weren’t.”

“
Shh
, sweet leaf. I find I can deny you very little. Give me this.” He gathered her close and pressed kisses to her hair, her neck, whatever he could reach, as he murmured, “If only you could understand.”

She found herself more quickly than he thought possible and pushed upright to meet his eyes. “I tire of hearing that. I tire of all of it. And I understand more than you think, my lord.” The flush of pleasure on her cheeks deepened into the red of anger. “I understand you wasted your seed for no good reason.”

“It was not a waste, sweet leaf. I took as much pleasure as you.” And protected her in the bargain, he thought, grateful to whatever god had lent him that final bit of strength. “And I have reason enough.”

“
Phfft.
Your reason is an ass, m’lord, and blind to boot.” She struggled to her feet, wobbly from using him, and stood over him streaming water from her naked body like one of Ćgir’s daughters. “Look at me.”

He could hardly do otherwise, considering how she straddled him. By the gods, he could dive into that quaint and not come up for a year.

“You have not enjoyed my body for some months,
monseigneur,
but is this truly what you remember of it?” She cupped her hands over her breasts. “Do you recall me being so big here?” She ran them down over her waist. “Or here?” Lower, cradling her belly. “Or here? Or do you think I merely grow fat?”

His stomach twisted into a cold knot as he saw what he’d missed in the blindness of his lust. Breasts swelled, waist gone thick, belly just beginning to round.
Odin, help us both.
“You’re with child.”

“So I am. Here you played monk when you could have used me without further risk.” She stepped out of the tub and found a towel. “As I said, I understand well enough.” Snatching up her robe, she stalked off someplace out of his sight, muttering evilness against him.

Ivo sank down in the water, his hands pressed to his head to keep it from bursting. He’d told Brand she might be breeding, but he’d never truly believed it. When the weeks had passed with no word from her, he’d been sure they’d escaped the threat.

But they hadn’t. There was a child, and somehow he had to help it and Alaida—especially Alaida—survive. Silently, he began to call on every god and goddess he knew who might help her, even the Christian one and his son and their thousand saints. Please.
Please.

After a long while, quiet footsteps drew him out of his prayers. He cracked his eyelids to find Alaida standing beside the tub. She unfolded a towel and held it wide for him. “Come out before you catch a chill.”

A chill. She likely carried a monster in her belly and she was worried about his chill. With a sigh, he levered himself up. She wrapped the towel around his shoulders and began patting him dry. “Forgive me,
monseigneur
. That is not how I intended to tell you.”

“There is nothing to forgive. It was . . .” He stroked a wisp of hair off her forehead, and she jerked her head away. “You should have told me sooner.”

“I only grew certain in the last fortnight. It had just been the one night, and I didn’t think . . .” She handed him the towel to dry his hair and went to fetch his fresh linens. “I doubt even Bôte realizes I caught so quickly.” She paused, staring at the bed. “She still believes we have been lying together as man and wife. As do the others, I think.”

Balls.
She
was trying to reassure
him
. It should be the other way around; he was the husband here, though a poor one. He twisted the towel around his hips and went to stand behind her. Tentatively, he brushed her hair off the nape of her neck and, when she didn’t draw away this time, kissed her there.

“For what little it is worth, I sought only to protect you.”

“From a babe?” She turned and smiled up to him, innocent of what was to come, and rested a hand on her belly. “A child is a blessing, my lord, not something to fear—though I know you do not want it.” Her smiled faded. “What I am unsure of is whether it is a child you do not want, or only a child from
me
.”

By the gods, there was too much on this woman’s slim shoulders, and every stone of it his fault. He could at least ease part of her burden, and best of all, he could do it with the truth. “There is no woman I would rather have a child with, Alaida. Not in the whole of England.”

He pressed kisses over her face, tasting salt as tears began to leak from beneath her closed eyelids. “Ah, sweet leaf. Don’t cry.”

“I’m sorry, my lord. I know you don’t like tears,” she sniffled, swiping at her cheeks with her palm. “At least these are glad ones.”

With a rueful laugh, he wrapped his arms around her. “Then cry them, for I would have you glad of something, at least.”

“Glad or sad, I have little choice.” She wiped her cheeks again and heaved a shuddering sigh against his chest. “I have been crying for weeks now. Blame your son, and feel fortunate you have missed most of them.”

His heart leapt despite himself. “A son? You know this?”

“No, but surely it must be, to crawl into my womb so willingly.” She grinned crookedly, still weeping a little. “I am told men like it there.”

“
I
do,” he assured her, not certain if she was joking but not willing to upset her if she was not. If he could help it, he would never needlessly upset her again. She would have enough to face without him adding to her pain.

“I am also told that a boy child turns a woman more lustful with each passing day.” Now that
was
mischief in her eye, bright behind the remains of the tears.

“And is that true of you?” he asked carefully.

“Aye, unfortunately,” she said, threading her arms around his waist. “Or perhaps not so unfortunately?”

God’s knees.
Perhaps it
was
a boy. “When did you grow so bold, wife?”

“It was necessity, my lord. I have had a reluctant husband, though I hope that ends now.” She pressed a kiss to his chest. “You no longer need avoid me, my lord. What is done, is done, and we may as well take our pleasure with each other.”

Ivo looked down at her, unsure how to respond. The horror of what might be coming sat heavily on him, but there was naught he could do right now but keep Alaida happy and make the next few months pass easily for her so she might have the strength to deal with what came after. Apparently, it would make her happy to have him in her bed—and truly, there was no more damage to be done. But could he do it?

“Do not deny me.” She leaned back to look up at him and fitted her hips to his groin, as bold as any dockside whore. His body jumped beneath the towel. He could do it.

“A man would have to be a eunuch to deny you. Or mad.”

“Which are you, my lord?”

“Neither.”
For her
, he told himself. He pulled away the towel and backed her onto the bed, determined to do his best by his lady wife. He owed her that much and more. “And ’tis Ivo.”

 

IVO SLIPPED OUT of the hall a bit later than usual. He’d barely rounded the corner headed for the stable when something picked him up, slammed him against the adjacent wall, and held him there, his toes a good foot off the ground.