Lady of Conquest (43 page)

“Perhaps.”

She carried the water bucket to where he sat and knelt beside him. “I was never a very good slave, but I will try to please you,” she said earnestly.

Conn’s whole body went rigid as she straddled his lap and pressed warm, yielding lips to his. His lips parted beneath hers without thought, his tongue seeking the sweet depths of the mouth that had haunted him in every dream since he had banished her. She rubbed her soft breasts against his chest like a purring kitten. He could feel the trembling of her body and thought if he could not wrap his arms around her and draw her into him, he would surely die. His hips strained upward against her warmth, pressing himself to her soft hollows until she gasped against his lips. She pulled away, her eyes as glazed and lost as his.

“Untie me, Gelina,” he said hoarsely.

She stood clumsily. With a deliberate movement her hands closed around the handle of the wooden bucket.

“Your water, sire.”

Conn gasped as the cold lake water washed over him. His eyes narrowed. Gelina backed away as if believing in some small corner of her mind that he would burst out of his bonds with the sheer force of his anger.

She laughed—an oddly off-key and breathless sound. “I pity you, Conn. You try so hard, but you still don’t hate me very well.”

“I’m learning,” he said, shaking the water from his hair like an enraged lion. “The longer I know you, the more you look like your father to me.”

“My father had black hair.”

Conn nodded. “I know. But underneath all of that bravado, he was a bitch, too.”

Gelina slapped him hard. The angry palm print on his cheek stood out against the pallor of his fury. His eyelids lowered, veiling his eyes to glittering slits.

“When I get out of these bonds,” he said, “I am going to take this rope and . . .”

Gelina backed away as he began to describe with great detail and imagination all of the things he was going to do to her when he escaped from his bonds.

“Stop it!” she commanded.

He laughed like a wild man without slowing his tirade. Gelina had never heard some of the words he used, but there were enough words she did understand to make their gist plain.

With a shriek she clapped her hands over her ears, leapt into the feather bed, and jerked the coverlet over her head. She fell into a desperate sleep long before Conn’s voice died to a hoarse mumble. He slumped wearily into the chill puddle of water.

Conn awoke to the sound of chattering teeth. Through a fog of hunger and cold, he realized it was his own teeth rattling together. His wet garments clung to his shivering skin. He started as his gaze found the slender figure bent over his feet. Gelina worked his bonds loose with both hands, the knife clenched between her teeth. Their eyes met.

Her hands caught beneath his bound arms, and she helped him to his feet, bracing him with her shoulder when his stiff legs tried to fold. She guided him to a pallet laid on the warm stones beside the hearth. She took the knife out of her mouth and laid it aside. Conn sat beside the crackling warmth of the newly stoked fire, everything unthawing but his tongue.

Gelina sat opposite him, a steaming bowl of soup cradled in her lap. She brought the wooden spoon to his lips. The lentil soup warmed a path from his mouth to his stomach. She fed him slowly until the bowl was empty.

Conn did not protest or speak when she wrapped the length of rope around his ankles and knotted it. He lay back on the pallet, feeling his clothes stiffen as they dried. He waited for sleep, his aching eyes still on Gelina.

She opened the shutters and stared into the faint light that crept over the crannog. She pushed a strand of hair out of her eyes and laid her forehead against the window frame, her face as pale and drawn as the dawn, her eyes as dry as the morning air. Conn closed his eyes in exhaustion, carrying the memory of those barren eyes into his dreams. He never felt the hands that tenderly tucked the linen blanket around his shoulders.

“Gelina?”

“Hmmmmm?” Gelina threw an arm over her eyes and mumbled a loving word at the familiar whisper.

“Gelina?” came the whisper, harsher this time.

She opened her eyes reluctantly, knowing by the way the pale sun slanted through the shutters that the morning was half gone.

“I hate to trouble you, dear, but another trip outside would benefit me greatly.”

At the clipped words she sat up abruptly, throwing the coverlet aside. Conn sat with his back against the hearth, his legs drawn up to his chest and the angle of his brows warning her that the truce of dawn had ended.

She rubbed her eyes and stretched lazily. “My king has a request?”

“One that you would grant even to a fortress hound, I am certain.”

“Ah, but a fortress hound has loyalty, has it not?” She pulled the linen dress over her head with a yawn and placed her feet on the chill floor.

“The word is an abomination on your lovely lips.”

She shook her head and clucked her tongue. “So cranky this morning, sire! Perhaps you did not rest well?”

He did not answer. His steely blue eyes narrowed, and Gelina laughed to hide the untrammeled pounding of her heart. Conn’s rumpled hair and untrimmed beard gave him the savage look of a barbarous ancestor who had never heard the words
honor
and
gentility
—a man who would have spat upon the oaths of the Fianna. A fear that had no rational link to the strength of his bonds fluttered deep in her belly.

“Perhaps a trip outside will ease your foul mood,” she said.

She knelt beside him and bent her head to the task of untying the bonds around his ankles. Her fingers tugged at the knots. She cursed softly as they resisted her pull.

“Allow me,” he said smoothly.

With one swift upward motion, he sliced through the rope around his ankles and brought the knife to rest against her throat. Gelina could only stare at his ankles, remembering that moment when she had put the knife aside so she could feed him some warm soup. The gentle but steady pressure of the cold blade against her throat guided her head up until she was forced to meet his gaze. His amused smirk brought every threat he had made last night screaming into her head. The fluttering in her belly deepened.

She returned her gaze to his feet and said the first thing that came into her head. “I was kind to you.”

Conn raised an incredulous eyebrow. “Compared to whom? Eoghan Mogh? The Roman slavers?”

“I gave you a blanket. And I fed you.”

Even as he spoke, Conn’s other hand gathered the ropes scattered behind him. “I shall do more than give you a blanket. I shall give you a bed.” The flat blade of the knife tilted her trembling chin upward. His lips curved in a smile. “And I shall feed you well.”

Before Gelina could breathe a word of protest, he had thrown her on her stomach and straddled her. He jerked both of her arms behind her and wrapped a length of rope around her wrists with hands that were anything but gentle.

“Conn?” she said very softly. “I suppose this is an inopportune moment for an apology but I was going to free you today, truly I was. I was so angry. ‘Twas just a game. I meant no harm. I would not have . . .” Her words sputtered to a stop as the rope sliced into her tender flesh. She felt tears start in her eyes.

His hands moved to her ankles with cool competence, stilling a rebellious kick with an elbow pressed to the back of her knee. The floor tilted beneath her as she was hefted to his shoulder and tossed to the bed like a sack of meal. She landed on her face and sank into the feather mattress like a stone.

She felt cool air rush over her legs as he threw open the door. Panic tightened her throat. “Conn?”

She knew from the expectant silence behind her that he had paused.

Her words were muffled into the mattress. “Are you going to leave me here to starve . . . or smother?”

“You may wish I had when I’m through with you. If you will excuse me, milady, I am going to attend to my horse. He cannot feed on stones and marsh grass forever.”

“You never told me Silent Thunder awaited you.”

“I may have been stupid enough to swim to you, my dear, but I was not stupid enough to walk to you. Do not fret. I will return. Tonight.”

Gelina flinched as the door slammed. She wiggled her nose until she managed to dislodge it from the smothering softness of the mattress. Her arms and legs rocked, driving the bed into a creaking frenzy. Drawing in a deep breath, she flopped over, realizing too late that Conn had thrown her on the edge of the bed, not the center. She rolled onto the floor, landing hard on her stomach. A sigh escaped her as she rested her cheek against the stones and wondered why she had bothered to get out of bed at all.

Gelina awoke to the sound of the door slamming and feet moving rapidly across the floor. She smiled, knowing Conn had seen the empty bed. Drops of water spattered on her bare feet. She peered up with the eye not pressed to the stone to find Conn standing over her in the shadows of evening, one fist clutching a skinned rabbit by the ears. Shaking his head, he tossed the rabbit to the hearth. He peeled off his sodden garments until he wore only a soft leather loincloth. Glistening beads of water clung to his unruly curls. Gelina’s eyes were drawn against their will to the dark hairs coiling over his muscled thighs.

She suppressed a shiver as he bent and lifted her to the bed, strength warring with tenderness in his hands.

Her mouth moved against the soft, wet fur of his chest. “Did you hope to find me penitent or rebellious this night?”

He rested his chin on top of her head. “I hoped only to find you miserable and hungry. Are you?”

She nodded, and he let her fall back among the feather pillows. She watched him warily. He untied her feet, then crawled behind her to untie her hands. Before she could bring her aching wrists around to rub them, his warm, powerful hands closed on each side of her head and drew it back until she was forced to look up into his smoldering eyes.

“I must warn you, Gelina. There are instincts bred into me that I would be hard put to restrain if you should try to catch me unawares again. I could have kicked your face to a pulp when you had me bound but chose not to.” His lips brushed her temple. “‘Tis such a sweet face.”

Gelina hated herself for trembling. Conn loosed her and busied himself at the hearth, whistling cheerfully. She drew her knees to her chest and watched him, fighting the urge to scan the room for a weapon. Conn speared the rabbit with a deft motion. His wicked grin started her trembling anew. The aroma of roasting meat filled the hut, and her stomach rumbled.

He carried her plate to the bed and sat opposite her with legs crossed. She stared at the meat, her appetite decreasing in direct proportion to the benevolence of Conn’s smile.

“I cannot—” she started.

He whipped the plate out of her hands and set it on the floor. “I dare say you’ve had enough.”

She stared at him. “But I haven’t had any. I was going to ask you for a knife.”

He shrugged sadly. “No knives and no meat. ‘Tis all gone.”

Gelina glanced at the half-carved rabbit sitting on the hearth and wondered which one of them was losing their senses. Conn continued to beam at her. He produced a canteen from behind his back and held it out to her.

She reached for it slowly. Her fingers closed around the cracked leather. Cool water wet her lips, and the canteen was snatched out of her grip. Conn tossed it over his shoulder.

“There now. You musn’t overindulge.”

Gelina stared into her lap, impotent anger tightening her jaw.

Conn’s smile lost none of its radiance as he said, “Strip.”

Gelina’s breath caught in her throat. “Pardon me?”

“Strip,” he repeated patiently. “Give me your dress.”

She shook her head. Conn’s fingers traced the delicate curve of her earlobe.

“But why not? You disrobed for me with such abandon when I was bound.” His smile vanished, and Gelina stared into blue eyes darkened with desire.

Before she could gasp, he had locked his hands in the linen of the dress and rent it from shoulder to waist. One strong finger caught in the sheer fabric between her breasts and she knew the shift would follow the dress into her lap. She jerked away. The cotton shredded in his hands. He slammed her into the mattress and jerked her wrists over her head.

His voice was as cold and smooth as she had ever heard it. “Tell me—have the nights been cold on the crannog, Gelina? Have you ever awoken in tears these long months, aching and moist for my touch?” She flinched as his lips brushed her temple, her cheek, her throat. “You may have hated me but you cannot tell me you didn’t want me.”

He loosed her hands. She lay still and afraid beneath his burning gaze. His bruising fingers captured her chin, and he stared into her brimming eyes. His other hand slid beneath the remnants of the shift and glided upward along her trembling inner thigh. He touched her intimately, and she bit her lip, trying desperately not to cry. Anger and shame welled up in her throat until she knew she must cry or choke to death. Childish sobs broke forth, and tears streamed down her face.