Seduced Page 7

  "No war. At least for the moment. Maud used to tell me stories of the gods when I was young. I remembered what drew my interest when I saw our howling beastie."

  "The beast reminded ye of Woden?" His head tilted in question.

  "Nay. The god Woden had two giant wolves, Freki and Geri, to keep him from loneliness. Two black ravens, Hugin and Munin, scouted ahead for food as they traveled. The birds were forever hungry. Ravenous. 'Tis why they are called ravens."

  She raised her hand and with her forefinger extended, made a twirling motion with it, bidding him to turn his back. When he did so, she gathered her skirts above her ankles then placed one hand on his sturdy shoulder. He took half a step forward and halted. When he did, she jumped down from the block, using her grip on him to steady herself.

  o0o

  Raik did not lack for anything to occupy his mind. Soon after the noon hour, the young laundress arrived with fresh linens. Startled, she stopped inside the doorway, blocking two servants behind her. One carried a pitcher of ale, the other a heavy tray.

  "Did ye wrestle a demon whilst ye napped, my lord?" As she came into the room, she eyed the crumpled sheets piled in the middle of the bed. The two young women who followed looked him over and giggled as they placed his food on the table.

  Raik winced when he shrugged. English lasses were a strange lot. They snickered for no reason.

  "I sewed yer tunic. 'Tis not decent for ye to stride around covered with naught but a too-short drying cloth," the laundress said. Her gaze dropped to the edge of his covering.

  He held his hand over his stomach to keep the cloth there, then with legs slightly apart, bent over. Were he a modest man, what he displayed would embarrass him. She laughed behind him. He had just bared the hairy ballocks swinging betwixt his legs.

  He sprang upright.

  "'Tis no wonder the maids fight to bring ye water." She winked broadly and handed him his tunic. "Get about yer work now," she ordered the girls. They turned and scurried from the room, stopping at the door for another appreciative look.

  He examined the fine stitching and tossed her a kiss. Carefully, he tugged the tunic over his head and settled it on his body before removing the drying cloth.

  Raik studied the platter heaped with pigeon pie, a roasted capon, beans and purplish red carrots lathered with honey and cinnamon. A wedge of cheese, two apples and a plum stood beside them. The wonderful smell of hot bread led him to follow his nose to large scones wrapped tightly in linen. He groaned with delight. He had a weakness for freshly baked scones.

  "So yer mistress doesna plan to starve me after all? Porridge wasna a hearty meal for a wounded man to break his fast."

  At Raptor, he had not hidden his disapproval of Lady Letia. If she knew he favored hot scones, she would not have provided them. He sensed her dislike for him. Had noted she steeled herself to touch him. He grabbed a scone and took a huge bite. His groan of pleasure brought a grin to the laundress' face.

  "Ye were lucky cook hid them for ye, else ye would be eating brown bread."

  "Hid them? Why should she hide them?"

  "The small ones were gifted scones as prizes for their hard work this morn."

  "Children must work?" That didna fit with what he had seen of the too-soft baron and his wife.

  "All children here must work, though the mistress makes it seem more a game that they play with her." Seeing his questioning look, she added, "They learn to sling."

  "What are their ages?"

  "At five years of age, they start getting used to the feel of the slings and tossing small stones. By the time they reach ten, they have become skillful. By twelve, they are accurate."

  "How does she make it a game?" He talked around a mouthful of pigeon pie then took a swallow of ale to wash it down.

  She grinned as she described this day's practice as seen with the other women watching from atop the corner tower. The mothers all had great pride when their child performed, for Letia made over each one as if they were the best in the land. Describing Giles' antics, she laughed aloud.

  So. That was the reason she was atop that mounting block. He had watched, frowning, because the squire didn't go to the barracks to cleanse himself. Thinking on the worms bombarding the squire's clothing, his nose wrinkled. He didn't like the nasty things.

  What had they talked about that brought such a bright smile to her lips? She had gazed down at the young man and her throaty laughter had floated up to him. He took another swig of ale, his irritation mounting.

  Every man in the bailey, and even those standing guard atop the battlements, had taken their eyes from their work to watch their mistress. No doubt, more than one was awash with love for her.

  Warin should keep his wife within the keep.

  He refused to let himself admire her teaching the young ones a skill.

  When he realized the laundress had continued talking, he stopped still when some of her words seeped into his mind.

  "Did ye just say yer mistress caused sheep bladders filled with piss to splatter Lord Julian?"

  "Aye, she did. 'Twas Giles and the other squires who provided the, er, missiles. Lord Ranald was right surprised our lady had such an accurate aim."

  Raik did not speak, picturing Julian's wrath. He admired the deed; he didna admire the deliverer. No woman should have done such. If Julian ever learned who caused it, there was nothing, no matter how vile, he would not do to seek revenge.

  No longer hungry, he stopped eating and noted the girl changing the covering on his pillow.

  He near stopped her. He didn't. She would think it strange if he protested.

  o0o

  Throughout the afternoon, more than one woman made her way to his room. He smiled and welcomed them, talking of things of interest to women. All had heard rumors of his liking of colorful garments, and he spoke to them about the different dyes and cloths.

  He had hoped the men standing guard would be distracted. But though they kept the door wide open whilst women were within, the men did not relax their stance.

  It seemed everyone was curious about the Scotsman their baron had brought home after a raid. He gathered that if he had not been cousin to Ranald of Hunter Castle, doubtless he would be in the dungeons awaiting ransom.

  That gave him pause. He was strong enough to ride Storm, so why did they not release him? If they had no other reason to keep him. He could make it to Hunter Castle and Ranald's care. Mayhap they were waiting for a ransom?

  Late that day, he paced the room, swung his good, left arm and kept himself moving. Though he still felt his full strength had not returned, he feared if they confined him longer than his injury required, it would weaken him. Were he with Ranald, he would be on the practice field swinging his shield to block Ranald's sword.

  Kept in this room, he felt useless. Unmanned, nearly. Guarded by youths and having women pawing over his body. Well, not pawing exactly. Thinking of Letia of Seton's beauty, he felt it a shame that it was not. The memory of her soft hands on his flesh made his belly tighten, his groin to grow hot.

  How would those same hands feel on his stomach, making their way down to his cock? At the thought, it stirred and filled.

  To his disgust.

  He bent over, touched the floor with his left hand, squatted, touched the floor again and then rose. He repeated the routine until he tired of it. It didn't work. A vision of soft white hands touching his cock sprang it to eager attention.

  Again.

  Breathing heavily, Raik stretched out on the cold floor and used his stomach muscles to rise to a sitting position then slowly reclined again. He repeated the ritual until his muscles burned. Finally, he pulled a stool over and sat, seeking distraction as he studied the bailey below.

  People came and went from the nearby village, some bringing carts spilling over with produce. The castle cook inspected the vegetables and fruits, taking near all with a cheerful smile. The smell of baking wafted through the air, straight to his nose. He stared around the walle
d area looking for the bread oven but did not spy it. Perchance the wind carried it from the other side of the bailey?

  In the distance was the common grazing land where he and his men had selected the largest cows. He frowned, thinking about the prizes that he had failed to drive back to Hunter Castle. Knowing Ranald's wife, she would have shaken her head, looked up at the ceiling and then scolded him. She thought 'twas too dangerous a game he and Warin played. Ranald didn't approve, either.

  Come to think on it, mayhap they were right?

  Restless again, he dropped to the floor and used his left arm to do pushups. By the time he finished, he was tired enough he could enjoy the tray of steaming foods the servants brought to him.

  Now that he had subdued his urges, he enjoyed leisurely dining on savory stew served in a large wooden bowl. Breaking hunks off half a loaf of the hot bread he had smelled earlier, he sopped up the juices and washed it all down with potent ale. Leaning back, he stretched his legs before attacking half an apple pie.

  No sooner had he finished his meal and a servant took the tray away, Leofwan, leading men carrying a bathing tub and hot water, arrived. Never had he expected such courtesy. While he soaked in the tub, he found Leofwan was as adept at scraping the hair from Raik's cheeks with his left hand as any man using both.

  He was certainly friendly enough. They were soon talking about their favorite weapons. Leofwan preferred using a sword with his left hand, a mace and the two-headed flail. Raik preferred the Claymore and the iron war hammer.

  'Twas the best conversation he'd had since leaving Ranald outside Seton. He regretted the man's leaving, for he would have liked to question him further. Come to think on it, everything Raik had asked about the freedom the Lady of the keep enjoyed, Leofwan had parried so skillfully that only now did he realize it.

  He strolled over and tested the wine and cheese left there. The fruity red wine was just sweet enough to enhance the taste of the sharp cheese. He must tell Ranald about the wine. It tasted of plums. He had spied fruit trees aplenty, dark plums being among them. Perhaps someone here made it?

  Finishing the wine, he peered out the window and looked below. Nothing to catch his interest, for naught but black night showed there. He pulled off his tunic and stretched out on the bed.

  Crossing his arms beneath his head, he stared unseeing at the ceiling.

  Visions of Lady Letia's stormy eyes brought a frown to his face.

  Lucifer's hairy balls!

  He was hard as his sword's shaft.

  Again.

  CHAPTER 11

  Letia swallowed, took a deep breath and opened Raik's chamber door a crack. Silence greeted her. She turned her head and nodded to Maud before entering with no more than the soft rustle of her cloak to announce her.

  Raik's light snores led her straight to the bed. Thank heaven Leofwan had again removed the candle. The room was as dark as the moonless night outside the keep. She would have but two more nights of the blindfolded moon, and then she could not depend on clouds to keep the room in darkness.

  Listening to the heavy, masculine sounds of his breathing, her heart's beating quickened. Was he sleeping too soundly to be of use to her? She cringed, thinking on it this way. Catalin had told her of Raik, of how he had vowed never to breed a bastard like himself.

  She hugged her arms around her waist and berated herself for being a coward. Raik would never find out she had stolen a child from him. And the child would not be a bastard. At the first sign she was increasing, Warin intended to announce he was expecting an heir. His claim would make the babe his.

  Only the cloak covered Letia this night. She walked to the corner of the bed and shrugged, letting it slide to the floor. 'Twould be easy to find. She felt for the sheet and blanket. He had pushed the blanket to the foot of the bed but had folded the sheet halfway down. She lifted it and slid into bed, trying to steady her breathing as she touched his hot skin.

  "Umm." He responded to her flesh the way a butterfly did to sweet clover. Turning on his side, he snaked his left arm under her shoulders and down her back to draw her against his naked body. "Ah, beautiful lady of the lights. You come to me again in dreams."

  His sleepy, deep whisper was so rich, so dark it flowed over her like warm syrup seeping into every pore.

  Hungry lips unerringly found hers as if they had rested there a hundred times over. His large hand cupped her breast. The rough palm grazing over her sensitive nipple sent lightning straight to her woman's flesh, bringing hot dampness there.

  "Ahh."

  His low groan slipping through her lips followed by his searching tongue, stoked a need deep within her. She did not hold back her response but opened wider, letting him explore her teeth, her tongue. He molded her breast. Rubbed his thumb over a nipple teasing it until it hardened. She felt her breast swell, filling his hand even further.

  With a quick intake of breath, he abandoned her mouth to attack her aching nipple like a starving infant. Hot, wet lips grabbed and suckled there, drawing her flesh into his mouth 'till she wondered if he might attempt to swallow it. Remembering the pleasure he had brought forth in her the evening before, she tensed. Steamy, wet desire trailed down between her legs, surprising her with its urgency. She drew her knees together, trying to calm the desire building there.

  Her breathing quickened. Anticipating what was to come, heat built in her nether parts. She quivered and grasped his hair when he brushed his hand up and down her body. With each downward stroke, he teased nearer to that part of her that ached for his touch. Had she ever felt this way afore last eve?

  She thought she had known desire before. But experiencing this intense urge, she knew why she had always sensed she yearned for more. She hadn't realized what that more was. Now she knew.

  A little embarrassed, Letia tensed when his hand slid over her stomach and reached the hair below. Finding her clasped legs, he let go of her nipple with a wet, popping sound.

  "Open."

  When she didn't instantly comply, he blew on her wet nipple then flicked it with his tongue. Quivering desire trailing down to her hardening nub urged her to open her legs for him. Her muscles softened. Slowly, her legs spread. He groaned with pleasure on feeling the wetness there.

  He squeezed gently. Rubbed his hand up and down over her hot, plump nether lips. He did not touch the little bulge that called to him. With every stroke of his hand, his fingers, she gasped and waited for him to tease her there. She wriggled, hoping to bring him closer to what she wanted.

  Throwing his leg across her, he rose on his knees and crouched over her. With a wicked chuckle, he trailed his tongue down her flesh to dip it into the dimple of her belly.

  How could someone just touching her stomach give such intense pleasure? Was it the anticipation of feeling his magical fingers in her weeping entrance? Or was it his fingertips tracing the opening of her sex?

  She hoped he could not feel her flesh trying to draw him there. Inside, she pulsed and tensed, wanting the emptiness filled with his fingers, his tarse.

  Her hands explored over his back, loving the heat of his skin, feeling now and then the ridge of some scar long healed. When he thrust his hips downward to rub his tarse over her stomach, her hands explored his taught buttocks. There, too, she felt a scar crossing his left cheek. An arrow thrust, per chance?

  Ah. He flinched. Was he embarrassed that someone had shot him there? She tried to think of other things. Tried to control her body that seemed to pulse and strain to touch every bit of herself against his length.

  She opened wide, wanting him to enter. Instead, he chuckled against her neck. He shook his head. No need to speak. He was not done with tormenting her flesh. Reaching between them, he rubbed the slickness and thrust a finger in. She clinched it with her muscles, tried to bring it deeper. He chuckled again. Adding another finger, he pumped faster and made her body flame.

  Wetness flooded her. She made sounds that would have shamed her, if she had not been so crazed with wanting him to
fill her. He withdrew his fingers then cupped her. Rubbing his hand over the weeping flesh, he spreading her wet heat to her thighs, her buttocks.

  She arched her back. She bit her lips to keep from crying out.

  "What is it ye want, lass?"

  She refused to speak.

  "Ye must tell me, else I will stop." He waited, not moving.

  "Please." A whisper she could not stop.

  "Please? Please what, my Lady of the Lights? I canna hear ye."

  "Fill me." She whispered a mite louder.

  "With what?" He thrust one finger back inside and slowly rotated and teased her with it. "This, perchance? Hm?" He licked her ear then thrust his tongue deep.

  She wriggled, wreathed. Shamed herself by trying to bring his hips close. She grabbed his tarse. Surely, it was twice the size she remembered. It bucked in her hand. She rubbed her thumb over the tip and felt moisture seeping there.

  "Ah. So 'tis my tarse ye want inside?" He waited. His tongue lathed the hollow of her neck. "Tell me so."

  She bit her lip, for as his finger explored deeper, his thumb brushed against her swollen nub then retreated and returned. She tensed tightly as any bow pulled by the strongest arm. She was near ready to explode. Just short of her release, he lifted his thumb. She wanted to scream with frustration. Never had she felt like this. And never had she thought desire could be such torture. Her nails dug into his thighs to urge him to move.

  He stilled. Waited. He angled his hip until his tarse pressed against her opening then rubbed it up and down, making it as slick as his hand had been.

  "Say it!"

  It was a determined command.

  "I want..."

  He waited.

  "Your tarse...in me."

  A sob of shame escaped her lips.

  "Ahh."

  His sigh was long, drawn out, as he slowly entered her. Her eager body throbbed and pulled at him. Her hips thrust up, but he rose with them, not letting her take the lead. She grabbed his hair, struggled and fought with him, but he kept his maddeningly slow thrusts until she erupted. She locked her legs, her arms, around him as wave after wave of ecstasy burst through her. Her open mouth bit down on his shoulder, but when she encountered the binding there, she quickly opened her jaw and threw back her head.