R oyce and Kristen did make love that night. They also slept the night through on the grassy banks of the lake. At least, Kristen did.
In her enjoyment of the cool water, she was so relaxed and at peace for a while, she even forgot for a time that Royce watched her from the bank. He did not swim himself. He confessed to not knowing how. But Kristen frolicked to her heart's content. It was like being free again, like being at home, except the water was not quite as cold. And at home, she would not have a lover waiting for her on the shore.
When she did finally emerge from the water, Royce did not even give her time to dry off. He gathered her immediately into his arms and proceeded to kiss the water from her lips, her cheeks, her breasts. She had no will to deny him there in the moonlight. She could not even summon a token resistance. She wanted him, wanted too to give him back some of the pleasure he had given her in bringing her to the lake.
He could not know how much it had meant to her. But perhaps he knew now, for she had loved him thoroughly, releasing her passion until it surpassed even his own. He would not soon forget this interlude at the lake.
But he did not fall blissfully to sleep afterward as she did. She saw now, as she woke with the first stirrings of the birds in the trees that announced the dawn, that Royce was wide awake. She also saw how tired he looked.
He still held her close. She had slept wrapped against him for warmth, for neither of them had dressed and the night air was cool there by the lake. They were covered only by her thin gown.
Kristen sat up, stretching widely, then glanced behind her and shook her head at Royce, who was watching her. "You should have slept, milord."
"With my horse at your convenience?"
"Unfair. You will not blame me for your lack of sleep. You could have taken me back and set your men to watch me."
"Ah, but you object most strenuously to having guards watch you, as I recall."
"And what have you been all this night?" she retorted indignantly.
He sat up, grinning at her. "But I got to hold you, wench. 'Twas a duty I did not mind."'
"You are impossible." She laughed, leaning forward to kiss him lightly on the lips. "But I am grateful. 'Twas much more comfortable here, on the soft grass, than on the hard floor in your hall."
"And I make a nice pillow?"
"That too."
His finger traced along her collarbone, then playfully detoured down the valley of her breasts. "I will have you back in my bed this eventide."
"And what has made you think I want to be there?" she said primly.
"You do."
She shook her head. "We have had a truce here, but when we return—"
"Shush." He leaned forward, his lips brushing softly against her neck. And then abruptly, making her squeal in surprise, Royce had her stretched out under him. "Now admit it. You like my bed."
He was incorrigible this morn. And she was in no mood to be serious either.
Wicked laughter danced in her eyes. "I like your bed fine, Saxon. 'Tis a most comfortable bed."
Her tone left little doubt that she was talking only about the bed. "I will not let you up"—he began nibbling at her lips—"until you admit"—his tongue teased her now—"that you want me."
"Then, milord . . ." Her arms curled around his neck, her fingers sliding up into the soft waves of his hair. "We will be here for a very long time."
It was late morning when they returned to the hall. They did not spend the whole morning at the lake, though Kristen did swim once more before finally dressing. But when Royce set her up on his horse, where she rode in front of him, it was not toward the hall that he headed.
He took her through forests, through grain fields, through meadows of wildflowers, and through pastures. He showed her his land, his people, the villages. She saw that those who worked at the manor were only a handful in actuality. There were so many more people who worked the land, who tended the herds of cattle and horses, who hunted in the forests. And she sensed Royce's pride in what he was showing her.
The morning became an enchanted time. The warm feeling of contentment with which Kristen had awoken continued, as did Royce's good humor. Most men became cranky when they were overtired. Royce was teasing and playful, almost ridiculously so. He took exception to nothing she did or said. He would drop the reins to make her grab for them, while he grabbed for her breasts. His hands would constantly stray to her legs, for she sat astride the horse, her chainse hiked up to her thighs. He would not leave her bare skin alone, no matter how many times she slapped away his hands. He would tickle her until she begged mercy, then nuzzle and kiss her neck. He laughed at her and with her. He simply would not leave her alone.
And Kristen enjoyed all of it. For a while she felt free. And she felt loved, even if his feelings did not run that deep. So it was natural that she should regret returning to the hall and reality. She would go to her work in the hall. He would no doubt go straight to bed, since Alden had taken the King and his party hunting in Royce's absence. They had even heard them in the forest, though Royce did not ride toward them. And the lack of horses in the stable said they had not returned.
He lifted her down from the horse, but his hands did not leave her waist immediately. His expression was subdued now. Perhaps he too was regretting the end of their idyll. She would like to think so. "Your cheeks are blooming with color." Kristen smiled slightly, offering, "The fresh air." "Mayhap, but that has naught to do with the sparkle in your eyes. I would like to hear that you enjoyed yourself."
"Would you?" His horse had been taken away, there were at least three other men near, and he was still holding her. "Will you keep me here until I admit it?"
He grinned at the reminder, and then he laughed, lifting her up for a hard kiss before setting her down with a whack to her backside. "Vixen. I would not be so boorish as to keep you in the stable. But later . . ."
"Threats!" she cried playfully. "I suppose I will have to admit it, then. I did in fact enjoy myself."
"Then as long as you are in an admitting mood . . ." "Nay, Saxon, I make only one confession a day." He swallowed a laugh, trying to look disappointed. "You have no mercy, wench," he said as he led her out of the stable into the yard.
"I suppose your persistence should be commended." She sighed.
He did laugh this time. "I retreat, for now." His hand rested on her back as he walked her to the hall. And then he added hesitantly, "It cannot be often, but when I can, do you come with me to the lake again?"
Kristen looked sideways at him. This she had not expected at all. He was giving her something to look forward to, whether he knew it or not. And that was something she desperately needed at this time.
"I would like that, milord. But can I have a horse to myself next time?"
"Nay."
Her brow rose. "I know how to ride."
"So Thorolf told me."
"Then you say nay because you do not trust me."
"Of course I do not trust you." He grinned at the face she made to that. "But more than that, I liked having you on my lap where I could—"
"Royce!"
"Do you blush, wench? God's breath, you do!"
"Cease, Saxon, or I will—"
He was not to hear what she would do. He followed her gaze to see what had subdued her, and saw Corliss standing in the doorway to the hall, one of her sisters beside her. They were not there to greet him, surely, for neither lady looked in the least bit welcoming.
"You must have disremembered she was here, milord," Kristen whispered aside to him.
He had certainly tried to, but he did not say that aloud. One glance at Kristen told him she did not pity him this confrontation. Her eyes brimmed with secret humor. Merciless wench, she wanted to see him taken to task for his neglect of his betrothed.
"Milady," Royce said stiffly in greeting.
"Milord," Corliss replied just as stiffly. She did not move aside to let Kristen go on into the hall. In fact, she looked directly at Kristen as she inquired, "Who is this freakish giant?"
Royce's chin went hard. The muscles in his neck moved alarmingly. Kristen would have been amazed had she seen this, though she would have assumed his anger stemmed from the jealous bite of the lady's attitude. But Kristen wasn't looking at Royce just now. She was looking down at the lady, and she did have to look down, for the top of Corliss's head came no higher than her chin.
If Kristen were not so comfortable with her size, she might have been hurt by the lady's deliberate slur. She was amused instead, recognizing the jealousy, delighting in its implications.
And as was her nature, she did not mince words or appear subservient in any way. Brazenly she said, "If your question is asked of me, lady, I must tell you that where I come from, babies of puny size are more times than not left to die, because they cannot survive our harsh clime."
"Barbaric!" Corliss gasped.
"Aye, I can see why you would think so," Kristen replied, her eyes saying much more as they traveled down the lady's tiny length.
"Milord . . ." Corliss began to whine, bright-red spots staining her cheeks.
Kristen was quick to interrupt, lips twitching. "Forgive me, milady. I see your question was not asked of me after all. But then, Lord Royce can only tell you that I am his prisoner, enslaved by his will. About me he knows only what I have told him, which is very little. Is that not so, milord?"
She caught only the tail end of Royce's anger when she glanced at him. His expression was nearly bland, but she did not mistake that he was displeased, for his hand at her back pushed her past Corliss, and his order to be about her labors was decisively curt.
So, she surmised, she had overstepped herself in his opinion. But she did not care, and the look she tossed at him over her shoulder as she sauntered away told him so.
Royce had to glance away from Kristen quickly before he burst out laughing, but in doing so his eyes fell on Corliss. He sobered instantly and issued a harsh curse in irritation. It was enough to send Corliss's sister scurrying away, and Corliss backed away herself.
His hand shot out to stop her. "Nay, lady, you will explain yourself."
"Royce, you hurt me!"
He swore again as tears brimmed instantly in her eyes. Immediately he released his hold on her wrist. She was like a child in her frailty. He had not realized that until now. But after knowing Kristen, who gave as good as she got, who thought nothing of physically fighting him, and who never once cried that he had hurt her, Corliss only fueled his disgust of all women with her tears.
"Dry your eyes," he said brusquely. "I know my strength, and I know I hurt you not. So why do you cry?"
Her tears dried at will, though her expression was still suffering. "You are abusive!"
"Me! What do you call that petty insult you dealt the Viking wench?'"
"What insult?" she countered defensively. "I stated the truth. Her height does make her a freak."
"She is not as tall as I am, Corliss, so what does that make me?"
"You? But you are a man," she pointed out needlessly. " 'Tis natural you be as you are. But she is taller than most men. And that is unnatural."
"Not most men," he said tightly. "Most Saxons, true, but there are sixteen Vikings here that sailed with her, and every one is taller than she. Would you like to see them?"
"You jest!" she gasped.
"Aye, I jest." He sighed. "I am sorry, Corliss. I am churlish when I am tired, and I am overtired."
She ignored the hint. "But what were you doing with her, Royce?"
He gritted his teeth to hold back another curse. "You are not my wife yet, to concern yourself in my affairs."
"And when I am your wife?"
His conscience pricked him, making him snap, "You will learn not to question me."
Corliss did not take offense at this attitude, for it was no different from most men's attitude toward women. But she disliked his tone and brought tears to her eyes again to make her complaint known to him. Royce, who hated tears and never let them affect him except with anger, walked away in disgust at the guilt her fresh tears made him feel.