Tension gripped him, he sighed, stripped off his mantle, and threw it across the trunk at the foot of his bed. She jumped a mile high. “You cannot come now, Melisande, and that is that.”
“We shall see.”
She started to stride by him. He caught her arm and flung her back. She landed upon the side of his bed.
“We won"t see, Melisande. You cannot come now.”
She stared up at him, her jaw locked. Her gaze lowered itself again, and she was silent. He realized that she would leave him and run to the ships just as she had intended—once she had pretended to return to her own chamber, of course.
He knelt beside her, reaching for the brooch that clasped her mantle about her shoulders. Her eyes fell upon his, wide and brilliant—and, he realized, alarmed. A smile curved his lips. She managed to cause him enough sleepless nights.
Her long, delicate fingers fell upon his frantically, but he had the mantle and cast it away. “What are you doing?” she demanded breathlessly.
He rose, ignoring her startled cry as he picked her up and cast her farther upon the bed, straddling her. “I just hadn"t realized until tonight that you were so concerned with my nocturnal activities. Perhaps I have been sorely remiss.
Perhaps the time has come …”
“No!” she gasped. There was a tremor to her voice, and he was certain that it was no act for anyone"s sake now. “I won"t go,” she whispered. “I"ll stay here—”
“Indeed, you will.” He fell from her, lying by her side. He laced an arm around her slim waist, pulling her tightly against him. “I have told you that you will,” he whispered.
For eons, it seemed, she was silent, afraid to move. Then he felt her breath expel. “If you"ll just let me return to my own quarters …”
“I think you"ll sleep here, Melisande. And I think that you will do so without further words or movements, lest I realize that you are old enough now to perform all the sweet duties of a wife!”
For once she was entirely obedient.
He didn"t think that she moved a muscle for the rest of the night.
Oddly enough he did not sleep himself. All through the hours of darkness the scent of her hair teased him. Beneath her clothing he could feel her still. Slim, warm, vibrant.
And, he realized, when she turned in her sleep, a woman now indeed. The pressure of her breasts against his back was a cruel taunt. He bit into his lip, amazed at the desire that suddenly ripped through him.
She probably prayed for his death daily, he reminded himself. She loathed him, fought him. He would not desire her in his life, he would keep her tamed within it! He tried to remember his hours with Bridget, but somehow they suddenly seemed to pale.
He didn"t wait for the dawn, but was ready to sail by darkness, his only relief the sure knowledge that he had left her safely in his room, his brother Bryce there to guard against her determination to follow. His father, too, knew the extent of danger in having Melisande with him. He would never allow her to leave the house.
When he reached the coast of France and what he recognized as his own fortress, he was greeted soundly by Swen, Brenna, Philippe, Gaston, and Ragwald. The old man was glum and quiet, but seemed to respect and understand his determination not to bring Melisande home as yet. As they sat in the great hall, Swen told him of a count, Odo, who was quickly becoming a power in the region and who had recently visited the fortress. “We had him stay, of course, and entertained him richly in your name. What frightened me is that he is seeking peace and wants a treaty signed between you and young Geoffrey, heir to Gerald. I explained that it would be difficult to come to any peace with the man since his father had slain Count Manon. But Odo is anxious to see you, and a man keenly aware of the threat of the Danes facing us.”
“Well, we must send a message to him, then, that I am in residence here.”
“I have taken the liberty of doing so, having estimated that you would arrive this week.”
He nodded, then told them that he was weary from the journey and would see them in the morning. He was glad to see how smoothly all was moving within the fortress. The trade between the two places had stood them well.
Ships sailed from here with rich wines, salt, and finished clothing from the looms. They returned with metal workings, the finest weapons fashioned in his father"s works, with raw wool, with the beautiful, delicate jewelry the Irish had become known for.
He discovered that Manon"s chamber had been changed. The lord"s things had been packed away. His own filled the trunks, his turtleshell comb sat upon the washstand. Someone, it seemed, assumed that he and his wife no longer kept separate quarters, for he discovered that Melisande"s things were also there—beautiful brush, her coat of mail, carefully laid away.
He lay awake again that night, wondering why. He seemed to ache from head to toe and constantly tossed and turned. He had to get her out of his mind because there was so much business at hand. But thoughts of Odo and Geoffrey seemed to haunt him through the night. He clenched and unclenched his fists, rolled to and fro. When he awoke, exhausted, he realized that he had never felt as possessive about anything in his life as he felt about this fortress.
Or Melisande.
He was not sure which was more important to him.
In the days that passed, his mind eased somewhat. He had dearly missed Brenna and Swen and was glad to discover that both Philippe and Gaston now gave him a fierce loyalty.
Gaston and Ragwald were his messengers during the months in which he exchanged communications with Count Odo. When they at last agreed to meet, Conar realized that he had actually formed unity within his own house—these men might have come from different places with varied backgrounds, but they had all decided that this was their home. They would work well together.
When Odo arrived to visit with him, the two Franks rode immediately behind him, showing their staunch support for the man who had wed Manon"s heiress.
Conar discovered quickly that he admired Odo. The man was a decade his senior, far more action than words, and a wise, far-seeing warrior. He was not as tall as Conar, but Conar had gained his height from his father"s people, and few men were so tall. Odo was broad-shouldered, husky, a well-trained man, dark-haired, hazel-eyed, impressive.
They spoke of the fact that Alfred had so successfully held his piece of England that the Danes were turning elsewhere. Then Odo broached the subject of peace within their own realms, and Conar answered him as honestly as he could.
“At this time there is no peace I am willing to sign with Geoffrey. Perhaps he is innocent and eager to sue for peace. But trust must be earned anew, Count Odo. His father tricked and slew my wife"s father. Perhaps in time …” Odo nodded, then leaned forward in the great hall of the fortress. “Perhaps some arrangements could be made to make you feel more at ease with Geoffrey being so near a neighbor.”
Conar arched a brow, willing to listen.
“Perhaps you and Melisande might renew your vows before a bishop in Rouen, and you would receive greater recognition from the Pope and the people.”
“Perhaps such a thing can be arranged,” he had agreed. “I will pursue it, as you suggest.”
“You and Melisande must be my guests. We will not let this matter go too long.”
Conar agreed. When Odo had left, Conar discovered that his household had been at the various doors, listening. He quickly found himself joined at his table by Brenna, Philippe, Swen, Gaston, and Ragwald.
“You are the Frankish astrologer,” he told Ragwald. “What is your opinion of this man?”
Ragwald looked at Brenna. It seemed that the two of them had come to some deep understanding and could speak through their eyes and mind. But Ragwald quickly turned to Conar, ready to answer what he had been asked. “It is my belief that Odo will prove to be the most powerful of all Frankish barons.” Conar looked to Brenna. “There is no treachery in the man?” She shook her head slowly. “No, not within the man himself. He—” She paused, seeming troubled.
&nb
sp; “He what?” Conar demanded.
“I believe that in his quest for a united front, he may upon occasion put his faith in those who are not deserving of it. But I agree with Ragwald. Perhaps the fate of the people will rest in his strength. He is a good ally.”
“I believe, then, that I will send for Melisande as he has suggested.” He winced inwardly. He had finally ceased to think of her and had gone about the business of living here and strengthening his hold upon the land. He had discovered the fascinating widow of a Flemish baron residing in the town just west of the fortress, and though he had been dismayed to discover himself wondering about his wife upon occasion while he visited his mistress, he had begun to sleep again. He did not want his life haunted again by his wayward young wife.
But it was necessary that she come here. He intended to write to his father"s house, asking that she be sent, but he decided that he did not want her sailing without him. He would go for her himself. He did, however, send her the message that he was coming. He did not tell her that he would be bringing her home, only that he was coming for her.
Let her stew with worry a little while. He was quite certain that though she managed to learn a great deal in his absence, humility and obedience would not be among the virtues she might have acquired. Melisande was ever proud, and far too independent.
But when he arrived at his father"s house, he discovered to his great fury that his omission of where he was taking her had apparently not set well with her.
His father was not there to greet him when he arrived, and that in itself was curious. Nothing was prepared, and Erin was the greatest believer in the importance of Irish hospitality. A stranger was offered the finest display, therefore a returning son was offered all but the moon itself.
Distressed, Erin sat in the great hall, ordering a meal, and looking at him with her emerald eyes in a tempest. “We"d no idea you were coming!” she said.
“I very specifically told Melisande when I would arrive.” Erin frowned. “There must be some mistake. Melisande sailed with Daria and Bryce for Wessex just a week ago. Conar, your message must not have reached her.”
Conar stood, feeling as if Jupiter himself were casting lightning bolts against his temple.
“No, Mother,” he managed to say evenly. “I"m quite certain that Melisande received my message.”
“Conar, I allowed her permission to sail, your father and I, for that matter.
She was with your sister Daria and Bryce, and well under Eric"s roof. They would go nowhere near the coast of France—”
“It"s all right, Mother. She will be entirely safe under Eric"s roof, I agree.”
“I"m sorry, Conar! It"s just that I have had her for so long that she is nearly a daughter. When she begged us to see Alfred"s England, we saw no harm in it.”
“There is surely no harm in her seeing Alfred"s England, especially since my brother will guard my interests well,” Conar assured her. He managed a smile.
“We shall send a message to Eric and have him return her immediately.” Conar shook his head. “Never mind. I will go for the girl myself. Perhaps Bryan will want to sail with me since it seems things are well in hand here for the moment. I will sail again in the morning.”
“We can easily have her returned—”
“I think it important that I go for the girl myself,” Conar said softly. He kissed his mother"s forehead and started to leave her. Erin called him back softly.
“Conar!”
He turned to her. “Perhaps you deceive yourself, my son, to refer to Melisande as a girl. She"s a woman now, and you must bear that in mind.” Conar nodded. “Aye,” he agreed. “Aye, mother.”
And so, years after he had been so determined to send her away, he was coming for her. Now she was gone when he was ready to retrieve her.
Girl … woman, his mother had said.
He did not think that things between them had changed so very much.
A shudder suddenly rippled through him. Perhaps, he thought, now they would.
The coast of Wessex lay before him, Alfred"s land, his brother"s land.
His hands were suddenly itching. He simply couldn"t wait to set them upon her.
So she hadn"t received his message, eh …
Oh, she had received it. And returned it in her very special fashion …
“Lower the sails!” he cried to his men. He could hear the ripple as his command was obeyed. From where he stood he could see his brother"s fortress, even closer to the sea than his own.
Eric had come down to greet him. He saw his golden-haired brother, towering over Rhiannon, his wife, his hands lightly upon her shoulders. Bryce was there, too, waving an enthusiastic greeting. Even Daria had come to welcome them to shore. They were all there, the children, as well, his brothers young son at his knees, his infant daughter in his wife"s arms.
Others were about. His brother"s men, old friends. In fact, there was a goodly crowd awaiting them.
The only one missing was Melisande.
Deep within him he felt his blood begin to burn. Where, in the name of all the gods, was his wretched little minx?
He would find her. By God, he would find her!
And when he did, she would greet him.
Chapter Ten
“He"s come, you know.”
Melisande jumped up. She had been sitting by the side of the stream, her shoes off, her feet in the cool water, just letting the beautiful summer afternoon pass her by.
She hadn"t come here alone. Gregory of Mercia was distant kin to Alfred of England, a guest in Eric"s house, as was she. He was one year her senior, a handsome young man with reddish brown hair and a very quick smile.
He was constantly charming to her. They"d hunted together, ridden together, and talked endlessly together since she had come. They were even able to spend long moments of very comfortable silence together, as they had done here now, by the stream. Silence was a wonderful way in which to allow fantasies to grow. She"d actually been enjoying a few rather pleasant daydreams until Mergwin, the very strange old man who had once been the Irish Ard-Ri"s close friend, interrupted the beauty of her lazy thoughts.
She had thought for a while that Conar might not come, that he might reach his parents" home at Dubhlain and decide that while he had managed to spare himself her presence this long, a little bit longer would certainly be advantageous to his peaceful state of mind.
She wished that he had stayed away. She was actually enjoying herself very much for the first time in years.
Even the simple matter of coming here. She had so enjoyed the stream since the first afternoon she had arrived. It was just beyond the castle walls, and no one seemed to think there was anything wrong with her riding here with Gregory since he was the very example of what a young nobleman should be.
Not even Conar"s brother Eric, the lord of the place, who bore an uncanny resemblance to his sibling. Melisande had nearly jumped away the first time she had seen him, she had been so startled by the resemblance. Except that this cub of the Norwegian Wolf seemed of a far more even temper than his brother. He had politely welcomed her to his home and inspected her with a certain amusement, arching a brow to his wife and wondering aloud why on earth Conar would be in France while sending his wife here. Melisande quickly reminded him that Conar hadn"t sent her, that she had come because Daria suggested that she sail back with her, and because Bryce had assured her that she would be welcome, and that he would be glad to escort his sister and sister-in-law. She was very pleasant to Eric, of course, and refrained from mentioning that it was Conar"s letter warning—very coldly, she reminded herself—that he was on his way home that had inspired her trip.
Eric seemed to accept her desire to travel, and they all appeared to consider it exceptionally proper for her to do so when she chose to travel where her brother-in-law could act as her guardian and protector. Olaf and Erin had given her their permission to come here, and so to Eric her being here must seem quite natural.
If that w
as the way that he saw it, then Melisande was glad. Upon closer inspection of Eric, she realized that Conar was a little bit different. He was several years younger, and perhaps his eyes were a slightly lighter, cooler shade of blue. The brothers were very much alike, though, built alike, even moving alike, and in that, Melisande decided, they both must be very like their father.
She certainly had no intention of ever telling Conar, but she hadn"t been able to spend the months—years!—living in his father"s household and not come to care greatly for the man. He was stern, she had learned, but fair. She had constantly been amazed by his easy shift in languages, his attentiveness to others when they were speaking, and the sense of fairness that seemed to hold his strange kingdom of Norse and Irishmen together. Since the night she had failed in her attempt to reach home as a stowaway, she had known that her father-in-law had been keeping a watchful eye on her. He had even taken her out one day to try to explain just how dangerous it could be for her to fall into the wrong hands. That warning, however, had brought a curious smile to her lips, and she had asked him softly, “Dangerous for whom? The land is my inheritance, the people are mine to care for and guard, and yet for me to keep it, Conar imprisons me across a sea!”
“You are not imprisoned,” the king of Dubhlain had assured her, yet he had seemed to assess her anew. “It is simply the way of things. You"ll return home soon enough,” he promised her. “You see, you"ve grown up now,” he said very softly. “In time you"ll have sons to inherit after you and Conar have gone, and that will give you both the strength to hold what you love so dearly.” She paled slightly at that, unwilling to tell the man who had come close to being a father to her that the last thing in the world she wanted to imagine—and certainly the last thing that would make her feel secure about her future—was that she and Conar should have children together. All she could think of was the cool blue fire in his eyes when he had caught her that night, and how she had lain awake for hours, shivering, feeling the heat of the man beside her.