The Rose and the Shield (Medieval 2)

He knew. His face was shuttered, his desire under control again. “Go back to your bed, Rose,” he told her softly. “I will be here. I swore to protect you, and so I shall.”

Rose licked suddenly dry lips. His control slipped, and he watched the movement with such avidness it frightened her, and yet thrilled her, too. On one level she might have submitted to him, allowed him to teach her some of the pleasures a man could give to a woman, but she had lost nothing by it. Mayhap she had even gained.

She wanted him, but he wanted her, too. And because he was Gunnar Olafson he had given her the power to say him aye or nay, and that was a mighty power indeed.

Catching up her robe, feeling like dancing, Rose fled back up the stairs to safety. And sleep without dreams.

Chapter 10

The warmth of dawn was softening the harsh lines of Somerford Keep and raising white mist upon the surface of the Mere, when Gunnar Olafson found his bed at last.

He lay down and closed his eyes, trying to sleep, but she was still there, as she had been since last night when he held her in his arms. Rose, stepping down the stairs with the torchlight behind her, her pale, glorious body clearly visible through the thin stuff of her robe, her eyes dark and secret. Rose, flushed and feverish, wild with the pleasure he was giving her. Gunnar, please…Why was it, when he remembered those words, he felt an ache in his chest that was every bit equal to that between his thighs?

He groaned and turned on his side. He had been hard for so long he’d forgotten what it was like to have release. Maybe he was damaged in some way…It didn’t matter. He wanted her, more than he had ever wanted any woman before, and last night had been worth the pain he was suffering now.

“Gunnar?”

This voice was deep and gruff, as differe

nt from Rose’s as it could be. Gunnar kept his eyes closed. He felt Ivo lean over him, and then a sharp blow to his shoulder with a fist. Gunnar’s eyes opened unwillingly, and he squinted up at his friend.

Ivo looked as if he had been running his hands through his black hair. It was in wild disarray. His eyes were just as black and wild in a face ravaged by emotion.

“You have heard about Miles, then,” said Gunnar warily.

“Sweyn told me. It would have been better if I had heard it from you, Captain.”

Gunnar sat up and faced his angry friend as calmly as he could manage with his body aching from very little sleep. He had known Ivo too long to believe he would really throttle him, despite the barely controlled savagery that seemed to envelop him. Ivo might be fierce and intemperate, but he would never murder a friend.

“Miles is Fitzmorton’s man. He came seeking the dead Norman, and has now given him a name—Gilbert. Lady Rose sent him off with the body, but I fear he will be back. Fitzmorton wants Somerford, Ivo, that is what this is all about, and Miles will get it for him.”

Gunnar remembered Fitzmorton’s handsome face, lined with discontent, the hour he had spent in his company. Gunnar had been playing a part, on Radulf’s say so, but Fitzmorton didn’t know that.

“You are good at obeying orders, Viking?”

“If the rewards are adequate, my lord.”

“Oh they will be, they will be. I have had a request from Somerford Manor for mercenaries.” He held up the letter Radulf had allowed to be delivered. “They are having problems. Do you think you are the man to solve them?”

“A sword will solve most problems, my lord. But I thought Somerford Manor belonged to Lord Radulf.”

Fitzmorton had laughed. “Did you? Radulf might have might and the king’s ear on his side, but I have blood, Captain Olafson. My own flesh and blood.”

Ivo was staring at him, his face contorted. And then he rubbed his hands roughly across his skin—the dark stubble grated. When Gunnar had first come across Ivo, he had had a black beard as wild as his hair. A truly frightening and fearsome sight. Now he was just fearsome.

“He was in the north. Why has he come here now?”

“I don’t know, Ivo.”

“Will he turn Fitzmorton against us?”

“He will try.”

“And d’Alan?”

Gunnar rubbed his shoulder, still aching from Ivo’s blow. “Arno d’Alan spoke to me tonight after the meal. Miles had told him not to trust me so I told him it was Miles who was not to be trusted.”

Ivo grunted. “So we keep on with our mission?”