Page 5
“Whist!” Brodwyn kept her voice low, untrusting of everything, including the leather curtain muffling their voices. Why else had she dragged Harald behind the curtain into this dark dusty corner that hid worn stairs winding down from the far end of the hall?
“Kathryn’s calling for you,” Harald warned, his voice coloured with that tinge of whininess it took on when he thought he wasn’t going to get his way.
“And we both know why,” she whispered, stretching up to reach his ear, “but I’m not her maid, no matter what Miss High-and-Mighty thinks. Kathryn’s all excited, but you and I, we’re not worried over a few cateran who have no chance of scaling the palisade. All you have to do is shove yon fancy helm on your head and stand by Kathryn’s side, like a braw, brave knight.”
Brodwyn felt him draw in a sharp breath, felt the rough edges of his chain mail scrape the tops of her breasts and knew her job wasn’t done as he let out a low groan, “I’d rather fuck than fight.”
“Whist, now. Someone will hear you,” shushed Brodwyn, stretching up on the tips of her toes. Her cousin’s breath stirred the red curls beneath her veil, escaping where the leather circlet slid up her forehead. He was so much taller than her, broad of shoulder and slim of hip, a lad whose thighs bulged with muscle, handsome. His voice rumbled on above her head with suggestions of what he could do to her, and she to him.
Christ’s blood , she blasphemed silently, for she could truthfully say the same of his brain, more muscle between his ears than nous; however, he suited her purpose.
Why else had she cozened Kathryn into letting him return to Dun Bhuird after Erik the Bear had banished him to the northwest, to Caithness and the Orkneys.
The three of them were related. Cousins by the grace of God and grandsires who were brothers. Kathryn Comlyn had more Scots blood than Norse and none of the close connections to the high Jarls of the northwest settlements that Harald and Brodwyn shared. Harald claimed family ties to Thorfinn the Mighty. He certainly had the brawn Thorfinn had been famous for, but Brodwyn knew fine she had the brains as well as the ambition. All it took to make sure Harald followed her promptings were the varied salacious types of gratification she used to bind him to her.
At the moment she pressed against him in the dark, covered opening atop the steps wending downwards to one of the cellars. Brodwyn, wise enough to know their voices could carry out into the emptying hall, whispered, “You ken there’s naught I’d like better, but first you must fight. Put on a good show of manliness, and afterwards I’ll gratify you in all the ways you desire.”
She peeped through a small gap in the curtain, her gaze slanting towards the master chamber, knowing Kathryn would be behind the door preparing to become a hero to her clansmen—aye, either that or a bluidy fool.
The latter would serve Brodwyn best and give Harald a chance to step up as a hero. There was nae doubt he knew how to put all yon fine muscles to good use in a fight, but the sword he’d rather wield jutted proudly from his groin. That was her hold over him. She had learned a while ago that no matter how strong and braw or tall they stood, she had a mouth that could bring a warrior to his knees.
A spear of annoyance guided her hand. She slipped it betwixt the padded tunic that lined his chain mail to a split made for sitting astride a horse. As she clutched his sack through the plaid circling his hips, his balls tightened against her palm. Under the rough worsted plaid, his cock poked at her forearm. She tightened her grip on his balls, squeezing hard. “This is but wee peck of encouragement to hurry ye on yer way.”
“Odin’s blood, Brodwyn, I want more.” He pushed down on her scalp with a huge hand, making his needs understood.
Brodwyn quickly dropped to her knees. “Keep watch on Kathryn’s door,” she said, freeing him from his plaid. Fingers shaping his length with its thick rounded head, she bent to her task and lathed the tip with her wet tongue, tasting the first drop of his juices. It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy pleasuring him, but she didn’t let herself get caught up in more than that moment, which she always reminded herself was but a means to an end.
Leaning back, fitting her lips around him, she looked up at his face. His eyes were closed. She smartly released him, showing her displeasure, snarling at him like an auld dog deprived of a bone. “Keep your eyes on Kathryn’s door.”
His eyelids popped wide open, his lashes dark against the red-blond of his brows. “Dinnae stop!”
“Do as you’re bid then.”
She replaced her lips and began to suck, pumping the balls filling his sack in time with her mouth. Soon, he became greedy, gripping her head with both hands, thrusting his hips close to her face.
Time to bring this persuasion to an end.
Enough was enough. With a vicious squeeze, she pushed her middle finger into the place behind his sack that she knew would release his juices. Harald moaned and shuddered as she sucked him dry. Finished, she rose to her feet, licking her lips.
And smiled.
Let him think she’d enjoyed their latest encounter. He had no notion of her plans to control him, to lead him onto the paths of power and riches for them both. Fate had robbed their mutual forefather of the position he had deserved. It would take a woman’s hand—hers—to redress the error.
For now, Harald needed to stand shoulder to shoulder with Kathryn, in the place where her husband should be, proof of his devotion. He needed to let the clansfolk see him standing by her and gain their trust and admiration. And one day, not so far away, she and Harald would be standing together, side by side, in the place that was rightly theirs.
Kathryn and the Raven had Dun Bhuird only by the King’s say-so. She and Harald were the true heirs. The grandsire they shared from the same Comlyn lineage as Erik the Bear had been cheated of his birthright.
Redressing that wrong had become the goal that shaped her thoughts, her every action.
No sooner had Harald straightened his plaid than she saw Kathryn leave the chieftain’s bedchamber. “There you are. After her now, and show willing.”
Make Kathryn think yer a warrior to be counted on, instead of the rutting stag led by his prick that you truly are .
She watched him hurry to catch up with Kathryn, praying he wouldn’t let her down this time. He’d failed to kill Euan McArthur for her, which had led to Erik the Bear banishing him. However, that was in the past, and she admitted the notion of killing Euan had been wrought out of her spite toward her cousin Astrid, his wife. Euan was the only man ever to refuse Brodwyn. Another reason she had shed nae tears when Astrid, his third wife, died and he got his comeuppance once more.
Aye, Harald had failed her there. Best the dolt made good use of this second chance.
Following him, she heard his loud, “I’m here for ye, Kathryn,” as Harald pushed between her and Magnus. “My sword arm is at yer command.”