Master of Craving (12 page)

“What did you do to me?” she breathed.

 

“Gave you what your body asked for.”

She turned to look up at the ceiling and closed her eyes, then licked her lips. She did not remove her hand from herself, nor did she attempt to cover her nakedness from him. Fascinated by her boldness, he moved closer to her. “Does it ache still?” he queried softly.

She licked her lips again and slowly nodded. “In a terrible way.”

 

He kissed her bare shoulder. Her body stirred. “I can make it go away,” he cajoled, wanting nothing more than to take her there.

 

She turned then and faced him, the intensity of her eyes jarring him from his quest to show her all the ways possible to quell the ache. She looked upon him with frank openness, and a naïve wonder that snared his hard heart. “I have no doubt. But I am promised to another.” Stefan smiled. “He does not have to know.”

“I
would know, and if there is no blood on the marriage sheets then he has sworn to annul the marriage but keep my dowry.” She pulled the sheet up to cover herself. “I fear I am at a most vulnerable place, sir, and you have me at a severe disadvantage. Please do not take advantage of me again.” She pulled the sheet over her shoulders and rolled away from him.

Stefan stared incredulous at her back. Most women would have spit, screamed, and fought him, claiming righteous indignation. Not so the princess. She did not run like a frightened milkmaid beset by the big bad lord; nay, she indulged herself in the wonder of her body and the sensations a man’s touch could evoke. Despite her innocence, she embraced the sensual part of her being. He had known she was a child of the senses as he had watched her bathe in the pond, the way she was so familiar with herself, and her body’s reaction to her own touch. He grinned like an idiot, thoroughly intrigued by her.

Whilst her captor slept, with one hard jerk Arian pulled the sword from the Saxon’s scabbard. Before she had full control of it, he popped up in the bed, grabbing for her. She heaved the blade up and cried out. The pull on her wound from the weight of the weapon shot with hard jabbing pain across her chest. He snatched the blade from her and pushed her back into the pillows, sprawling atop her much as he did three days ago, but this time he did not press the blade to her. He tossed it to the floor and grabbed her up to him and shook her. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

“I would be happier dead than here with you!” she spat.

He shoved her away from him and rolled from the bed, and stood. He grabbed the sword from the floor and sheathed it. “Be careful what you wish for, princess. Out here in the wilds of Mercia anything can happen.”

“Are you threatening me?”

 

He shook his head. “I never threaten what I intend to stand and deliver.”

 

“I demand to be escorted to Yorkshire!”

He smiled, and through her anger and indignation, most especially at what she had allowed him to do to her in her delirium, she noticed that the wound on his face needed tending. ’Twas worse.

“In good time, princess. In good time.” His eyes swept her person in hot regard.

Arian grabbed the sheet from the bed and yanked it up to cover herself. Her hand swept her wounded breast and she gasped in pain. When she looked down upon it she gasped again. ’Twas a most ghastly sight. Her head snapped back and she narrowed her eyes at her attacker.

Holding the sheet to her body with one hand, Arian lashed out with the other at the Saxon. “You are the foulest of men! How dare you touch me as you did?”

 

“You did not complain.”

 

“You took advantage of my weakened state!” she shrieked, lunging at him, unwilling to hear the truth in his words.

He threw out a brawny arm and pushed her away. She flew backwards in a most unladylike position, landing flat on her back on the dirt floor. His eyes widened as he caught sight of all that lay between her thighs. She kicked at him and he laughed, moving farther away from her.

Wrapping the sheet tightly around her body, Arian stood. As she worked to cover her nakedness, a sudden terrible thought occurred to her. Had more happened to her before she awoke to his kisses? “Did you have your way with me in my delirium?”

He threw his head back and laughed heartily. “Had I, you would not be able to stand.”

 

She grabbed a pillow and hurled it at him. “Return my tunic!”

 

“I burned it.”

 

“Burned it! What am I to wear then?”

He smiled again, and his hot gaze swept her warm body. This time she did not pull up the sheet, which had dipped to hang from the tips of her breasts. Instead, she stood tall and regal, daring him to break his oath to her.

“I for one do not mind you walking about as you are.”

 

“Leave this room at once,” she commanded, “And do not enter again without my permission!”

Stefan’s blood quickened. He heard her words but his thoughts were nowhere close to complying with her command. Visions of her last night, the feel of her soft skin and the way she responded to him, were prominent on his mind. If she had any idea what she did to a man’s imagination she would not be so bold. Were he a lesser man, he’d toss her impertinent bottom back onto that bed, sink into her, and ride her into the next sunrise.

She threw another pillow at him, and dragging the sheet with her she stomped over to the large chest against the far wall and began yanking out one item after another, until finally she pulled out a long white garment. “I will wear this!” She held it up and flinched. “A man’s chemise, no doubt, but clean. Please leave the room so that I may dress.”

Visions of her naked and wanton filled his mind. Stefan slowly shook his head and said, “I think we are beyond modesty.”

 

“Mayhap you, but never me.” She stood glaring angrily at him. “Do not think because of a weak moment of my own, it gives you the right to act less of a gentle-born man.”

 

“I never claimed to be gentle-born.”

 

“I am a princess! A royal! I am betrothed to a great jarl. You will not treat me as some whore on the street!”

 

“I will treat you as you treat me.”

 

“Then show me some respect.”

 

“As you have shown me?”

 

Frustrated, she huffed, “How do you expect me to show you respect when you have kidnapped me?”

 

He shrugged. She had a point.

 

“Would you, at least, turn around, then?”

 

He nodded, and did so. She moaned slightly in pain, then he heard the slight rustle of fabric. “You may turn around,” she said.

And when he did, he laughed again. The garment puddled at her feet. She would most definitely need a girdle but what amused him more was the way she stood holding his dagger, which he had set on the table, in her hand as if she could actually do him damage.

“Come near me and I’ll geld you.”

He strode toward her. She raised it. He strode closer and in one swift move, he slapped it from her and it clunked onto the dirt floor. He grabbed both of her hands and yanked her toward him. She cried out in pain, but his temper soared. “Do
not
try my patience. You have learned the hard way I am not a man to be denied. If you continue to thwart me, you may find more than your breast wounded.”

“Would you torture me then?”

“Nay, I would never do that, but if you continue to refuse my commands, the only recourse I have is to threaten violence, or”—he yanked her harder against him—“suffer through another of my kisses. ’Tis up to you if I carry out the threat or not.”

“You are a bully! A man who assaults women is no man at all!”

 

Stefan nodded. “There are shackles in the great room used to leash the hounds. Would you prefer to be chained to this bed?”

 

“You would not dare!”

 

“I would. And if you would like to test me, do it now so that I may take care of other chores without having to constantly look over my shoulder.”

 

“I demand you return me to my train! I am the daughter of a Welsh prince. He will not stand for me to be treated thusly!”

 

Stefan grinned. “Aye, I am counting on it.”

 

“You would hold me for ransom?”

 

He shrugged. “ ’Tis a common enough practice.”

 

“You are despicable.”

 

“Aye, and do not forget it.” He moved to the open door and turned to face her. “Take advantage of the bed whilst you can. We will be back ahorse as soon as possible.”

Stefan strode from the lodge out to the forest edge, where he’d reset the snare hoping to catch a hare or two. No hare, but two plump grouses. He was hungry and could devour a full boar. But hens and turnips would have to suffice. When he went back into the lodge, to find the lady lighting several floor sconces, he scowled. He tossed the birds onto the table. “I assume you can dress these and not burn them?”

She straightened, and though the chemise was large, it was thin, and standing in front of the candlelight as she was, her soft rounded curves were clearly outlined. He scowled as his desire awakened again.

“I do not cook!”

 

“What exactly does a princess do?” he asked sarcastically.

 

“A princess manages her husband’s estates and bears him sons.”

 

“But to manage sufficiently should you not know how to accomplish those things you manage?”

 

Arian frowned. “My stepmother saw to the running of the castle. I was more involved with the horses and archery.”

 

“Do you even embroider?” he mocked.

 

Her eyes narrowed. “I am skilled with a needle, I can best any man at the chessboard, and I can fashion a bridle from an ash sapling.”

Stefan strode toward her and grabbed up the birds. “Come, princess, I will teach you how to dress and season this fowl. The next time, I expect you to see to this chore without supervision. ’Tis not a man’s work.”

“I am not your servant!”

 

“Do you think I am yours?”

 

“Nay, but—”

 

“Then come learn so that we will not die of starvation.”

Grudgingly she followed him into the small kitchen just outside the lodge. Expertly he plucked the bird, chopped off its head, slit it down the belly, and removed the innards. He drew water from the well and poured it into a small bucket that he doused heavily with salt, then submerged the bird. He washed his hands, then handed her the table knife but before he released it he said, “Do not attempt to use this on me. You may get the first strike, but I will get the final one.”

Arian nodded, and he had to admit she did a good job plucking the second bird. She chopped off the head and had difficulty slitting the belly. He guided her hand and she shook him off. In a few moments, she had the bird plucked, dressed, rinsed, and in the bucket with his.

“What does the salt do?” she asked.

 

“A brine. It draws any poison from the flesh and tenderizes it.”

Sometime later, they sat down to roast grouse and boiled turnips. With no trenchers, they ate from bowls. And for a well-mannered princess, Arian ate with relish. She was literally famished, and when her bird was gone she looked about for more.

Stefan handed her a leg of his, and she took it. “Thank you,” she murmured. She drank more wine than she should have, but cared not. She was still tired and it eased her mood. Not remotely sated from the slight meal, she washed her fingers in the bowl of water near her and then wiped her hands dry on a linen towel.

“When are you to marry the Viking?” Stefan asked, as he too washed, then dried his hands.

 

She stiffened. “That is of no concern to you.”

He made an attempt at a grin but the pull of the gesture twisted the right side of his face. Arian felt a stab of compassion for him. The wound looked painful. It was red and swollen and would leave a most hideous scar. Her eyes dropped to the crescent-shaped scar on his chin she just noticed for the first time. She pointed to it. “How did you come by that?” He shrugged. “I have many scars, from many battles, I do not keep track.”

His reticence irritated her. “Why must you hold me for ransom? My father will gladly reward you for saving my life.”

 

“I did not save your life, only your maidenhead—if ’tis still intact.”

 

Arian drew up in a huff at the insult. “How dare you?”

 

“Princess, I am a man who has seen all in my short time here on earth. It matters not to me if you are virgin or no.”

 

“Why do you have such a low opinion of women?”

 

“Why do you assume that I do?”

“A man of noble heart would not have spied on me as I bathed in the pond.
And
he certainly would never threaten a lady with violence and then carry out such a terrible act, as you did slicing me. And the way you treat me as if I were some gutter wench when I am a highborn lady lends itself to my suspicion.”

“I never said I was a swain. The threat of violence is a deterrent to greater violence. As far as your wound? ’Twas your own fault for trying to escape me. If you remember the event as it actually occurred ’twas you who forced yourself against my blade in your haste to be gone from the saddle. Do not blame your actions on me.”

Arian knew exasperation as she had never known. “ ’Tis just like your kind to blame another for your wicked deeds.”

 

“Aye, and do not forget that
my
kind give no thought to others unless there is something to be gained from them.”

 

“So, I will have your attention until such time that my ransom is delivered?”

 

He nodded. “More or less.”

 

Arian sat back and pushed her empty bowl from her. “My betrothed will hunt you down and kill you.”

 

“Do you think, princess, that he will still want you after you slew his man and spent intimate time alone with a Saxon bandit?”

She stiffened, as the realization of the far-reaching effects of her situation hit her. Cadoc and Ivar had seen her naked running from Dag’s body with a half-naked man. Would the finger of blame point to her?

“You just now think of the implications of the Viking’s death?” Icy cold trepidation shimmied along her spine. Would Magnus believe her? Would he still want her with her reputation ruined? Rumors would swirl, and he would be a laughingstock. “I have pushed the thoughts from my mind. I cannot bear to think of what