The Viking's Defiant Bride(34)

‘By Odin’s beard, a fine boar,’ he observed. ‘He must have put up a worthy struggle.’

‘Worthy enough,’ acknowledged Wulfrum with a wry grin.

The two men exchanged a few words about the transportation of the dead pig, then, having seen the instructions carried out, Ironfist went to retrieve the horses now grazing quietly a few yards off. Wulfrum turned to Elgiva.

‘Come, my lady, it grows late. We should return.’



It was a considerable relief when Ravenswood came into view half an hour later. As soon as they had dismounted Elgiva drew Wulfrum aside and led him indoors, calling to the servants to fetch hot water and cloths. Once in their chamber, she helped him unfasten his belt and remove the leather tunic. The shirt sleeve beneath was soaked in blood. With great care she removed that garment too, her practised gaze assessing the damage.

‘You were lucky, my lord,’ she said then. ‘It isn’t deep, but it does need cleaning.’

Wulfrum vouchsafed no comment, but seated himself as she prepared the things she would need. He had seen her tend others so many times but had little thought he would one day be the subject of her ministrations. He watched as she worked, her expression intent on the task, her small, deft hands cleaning the blood away from the wound, moving gently across his skin. The ride had brought the fresh colour to her cheeks and loosened tendrils of hair from her braid to form a halo round her face, a face whose contours were so familiar to him now he could summon them with his eyes shut. He could remember all too clearly the touch of those lips on his, the taste of her mouth, the subtle erotic scent of her flesh.

Elgiva broke into his thoughts. ‘A boar’s tusks are dirty, my lord. This cut must be washed with wine, but…I’m afraid it will hurt.’

‘I’ll live.’

The level tone suggested indifference, but the sudden sharp intake of breath as wine met torn flesh told a different tale.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said.

Wulfrum set his jaw against the pain and made no reply, but the sudden pallor of his cheek spoke louder than words. Unwilling to prolong the agony, she worked fast and, having sluiced the wound clean, prepared a poultice of herbs. These too would help prevent infection. Having slathered the mixture over the gash, she bound it firmly.

‘That should stay on for three days. Then I’ll change it.’

‘As you will.’ Wulfrum flexed his hand. ‘It eases already.’

Seeing some of his natural colour returning, she smiled. ‘I’m glad.’

He looked up and met her gaze. ‘Thank you.’

‘It was the least I could do.’

He rose from his chair and took her hand in his, pressing it to his lips. Every fibre of her being thrilled to that touch, for the memory of the earlier scene in the forest was etched on her consciousness. Supremely aware of his nearness, of his warmth, of his scent, she knew only that she wanted him. If he kissed her now…Closing her eyes a moment to steady herself, she felt him release her hand. Then he moved past her to the door. Elgiva bit her lip. She heard the door close and then the soft thud as the bar dropped into place. For a second its significance escaped her. Then she was very still, hardly able to breathe, hardly daring to hope—until she felt his hands on her shoulders.

‘I would thank you properly, Elgiva.’

Very gently he turned her to face him and then his arms slid around her waist and shoulders. For a brief moment he looked into the face tilted up to his before his mouth closed on hers. He felt her quiver, felt her mouth open beneath his, tasting again its honey sweetness on his tongue. Elgiva shivered, but not with fear, her body surrendering to the embrace, relaxing against him, answering his kiss with her own. She felt his hands move to her waist, felt him unbuckle her belt and heard it fall before he turned his attention to her tunic, unlacing the fastenings and sliding the garment down over her shoulders. The shirt followed a moment later. Then he loosened her hair from its braid, running his fingers through its silky length, twisting a hank around his hand to draw her head back. A longer, deeper kiss ensued. He bent and slid an arm under her knees, carrying her to the bed. There he drew off the rest of her clothing before removing his own.

His love-making was tender and passionate, he controlling his desire in order to increase hers. He had waited too long to spoil this with haste. So he prolonged the exploration of her body, whose beauty he already knew, and, paradoxically, knew not, relearning the curves of breast and waist and hip, stroking, caressing and arousing, by turns both tender and insistent. Elgiva’s pulse leapt, her flesh burning beneath that knowing touch, every sense alive to the lithe power of the body pressed so close against her own. Wulfrum moved lower, exploring the warm hollows of throat and collarbone and thence to her breast, lingering there, teasing the nipple to tautness, sending a thrill of pleasure along her flesh. She felt his knee move between her thighs, felt the answering slick warmth. Deep within, the sensation intensified, growing, mounting until it seemed that blood became fire. Every last defence overcome, she knew only that she wanted him. Her breathing quickened. She felt his weight shift and then the hardness of him as he entered her. The pressure increased and there was a moment of exquisite pain. Then it was past and he moved deeper in a slow rhythm that stoked the fire laid down before. Elgiva gasped, closing her legs round him, drawing him into her, yielding all of herself, moving with him as the rhythm became stronger, building to its shuddering climax. She heard Wulfrum cry out, felt the surge of energy between them in a moment of heart-stopping delight.

For a while afterwards neither one spoke, too shaken by the intensity of the experience to find the words. She felt his arm draw her close, holding her in the hollow of his shoulder. Beneath her hand she could feel his heartbeat and the sheen of sweat along his skin. He glanced down and smiled.

‘I’ve wanted to do that from the first, but I never imagined it would be so perfect.’

She looked into his face but saw only truth there.

‘I was afraid,’ she replied. ‘First of you, and then of myself.’

‘You have no cause to be afraid, Elgiva. I would never hurt you.’

He propped himself on one elbow and looked into her face, tracing a finger lightly along her cheekbone to her lips and chin and throat as if he would memorise every part of her. Even now he could scarcely believe what had happened. While he knew her nature to be passionate, its depths had astonished and delighted him. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined such a magnificent surrender, and he had dreamed of it often. Yet even as the knowledge sank in, he found other thoughts intruding, thoughts he could never have imagined before he met her. Elgiva had yielded her body, but what of her heart? It had never mattered before. Women had satisfied a need. While he had ever treated them with gentleness, their thoughts and feelings were of no interest. This was different.

Unable to fathom his thought, Elgiva had yet to own to surprise. She heard that men were brutal or indifferent after making love. Wulfrum was neither. He had been gentle too, more than she could have hoped or imagined. For all that, his handling of her spoke of a man experienced with women. They held no secrets for him. Was she just another woman to him? Even at the height of their passion he had not said he loved her. Why should he? She was his wife, married by force out of political necessity. He had not prosecuted his right before because he had no need to. As he had said, time was all on his side. A consummate strategist, he had intended to have her submission and he had won. And yet it had not seemed like defeat. What manner of man was he, this enemy who could make surrender taste so sweet? More than that he had shown her what lay in her own heart. Wulfrum might have died today in the forest. A few short months ago the notion would have been most pleasing, but somehow a shift had taken place—there was no trace left of the hatred she had once felt. It had been replaced by something far worse. She could no longer evade the awful truth that she did care for him. It was bad enough that he was the enemy of her people, a conqueror, who had taken her as a prize of war. Now, in spite of her best efforts, he was stealing her heart, as well, and her case was perilous indeed, for who knew what was in Wulfrum’s mind, or in his heart?





Chapter Twelve




‘He saved your life?’ Osgifu stared at her. ‘How so?’

The two women had taken their sewing outside and were enjoying the sunshine by the door of the bower. It was peaceful there and private too; a place conducive to confidential conversation. As Elgiva summarised the events that had taken place on the hunt, the older woman listened with rapt attention.

‘It would seem we owe him much,’ she observed when the tale was concluded.

‘He took the matter so lightly, Gifu, as though it was a perfectly normal thing to do, and yet he risked his life for me.’

Osgifu smiled. ‘Men always make light of such things.’

‘Do they?’

‘Of course. They prefer to say little and hide their feelings for fear of showing too much.’

Before Elgiva had time to ponder the words, she heard a footstep and looked round, thinking to see Hilda or one of the other servants. Her heart missed a beat to discover Wulfrum in the doorway. For a moment he said nothing, taking in the quiet domestic scene. Then he smiled.