Lady Of The Lake. Elizabeth Mayne

      “So?” Tala replied hotly.

      Edon smiled wickedly, taking a small taste of satisfaction in her discomfort over that news. She was truly naive, a mere innocent in the ways of wielding power. He leaned deliberately closer to her, inhaling her sweet fragrance as he allowed his fingertips to stroke soothingly across the satiny skin of her bare arm.

      “Nor did you deny being a witch when the question was put to you at the beginning of this meal,” he said huskily. “So tell me, Tala ap Griffin. How does that slipper fit now?”

       Chapter Four

      Tala’s answer came as a resounding slap on the jarl’s face. Refusing to stay and be insulted further, she bolted from his table.

      Halfway to the bottom of the steps, Edon caught up with her, jerked her off her feet and flung her over his shoulder.

      “You bastard, put me down! How dare you touch me! Selwyn! Stafford! I need you!” Tala screamed. She pounded her fists into the jarl’s massive back, aiming for the soft flesh at his kidneys.

      “Bar the gates!” Edon commanded the astonished soldiers standing in the keep’s lower chamber. “Arrest any man who draws a weapon in her defense. Detain him for questioning.”

      Without further words, Edon spun around and marched back up the stairs and through the hall, bearing the screaming, struggling woman on his shoulder. She was not easy to contain, fighting him with all her might. What she lacked in muscle and weight she made up for in sheer determination.

      The moment Edon entered his chamber and dropped her on his box bed, he caught hold of her hands and flattened her to the feather mattress. In spite of the great difference between their weights, she continued to whip about, as slippery as eels in a bowl of oil, twisting and bucking beneath him, screaming her throat raw, piercing his eardrums with her shrieks.

      Her terror increased tenfold as her struggles caused her simple gown to tear from the brooches at her shoulders.

      Still angered by her effrontery, by the insult she’d delivered him in slapping him publicly, Edon let her wear herself out. His grip upon her hands remained firm, keeping her spread beneath him.

      Sarina bounded into the chamber and jumped on the bed. The wolfhound stuck her wet nose in the howling princess’s face, whining and wiggling, distressed by the woman’s ear-piercing shrieks.

      “You are only making it worse for yourself,” Edon said at last. He felt no sympathy whatsoever for the headstrong woman. Did she think he had no pride? Had she not given a single thought to the fact that he, too, was an atheling, the son of a king? Striking him in the face was an unforgivable insult. “Get down, Sarina!”

      The wolfhound whined and nuzzled his cheek. Then, concluding that Edon would not play, she bounded off the bed and sat, thumping her tail on the floor.

      Tala commanded, “Release me at once, Viking!”

      “Lady,” Edon warned her, his patience dwindling fast, “speak to me again in that tone of voice and I will have no choice but to teach you to respect the man you see before you.”

      “Strike me and I will kill you with my bare hands, Viking!” Tala gulped, struggling for her breath.

      “And how will you do that, hmm?” Edon taunted. “With what weapon will you slay me, woman? Your viper’s tongue? These hands that you cannot remove from my grip?”

      Edon nodded to her bared breasts, exposed in the beam of moonlight that spilled into the chamber from the open window. “The only success you have had thus far is in baring your bosom. Continue the show. I shall enjoy seeing what other charms your struggles reveal.”

      “Barbarian!” Tala screamed. “You tricked me. I will not be mocked.”

      “You do not dictate terms to me, woman,” he responded with terrifying severity.

      “Selwyn!” Tala gave her all to one last scream, knowing full well it did her no good. In her arrogance, she had come alone. There was no valiant warrior lurking in the shadows to take down this Viking. Alone, she would defeat him or surrender to him.

      She bucked in a futile attempt to unman him, thinking she would leap out the window if she got the chance. Raising her right knee only increased the intimacy of their position, centering his hips more firmly on hers.

      “You are crushing me, Viking. I will be bruised from head to foot.”

      “The damage is of your own doing. Cease your struggling and it will go better for you.”

      “I would rather die now and be done with you, cur.”

      Edon shifted her wrists, forcing her hands into the bedding beside her head. “I think you will not die tonight, Tala ap Griffin. That would add injury to insult. I have a much different plan for you. You are to be used to heal the breach between Wessex and the Danelaw.”

      She clawed at his forearms, scratching at the golden bands he wore for protection. “You will not use me!” she declared vehemently, revealing the pride inherent in her soul. She needed to be taught a lesson, that much Edon saw quite clearly.

      He wanted to kiss her fury from her mouth, taste her lips and slip his tongue inside. Astutely, he knew conquering her by force would not satisfy him. There was no pleasure in having his tongue or his lips bitten. So he tipped his head to the vulnerable column of her throat and tasted her heated flesh. His teeth nipped at her ear. The sharp sound of her breath whistling against her dry lips pleased him.

      “Please get off me.” Tala swallowed enough of her pride to make a request out of necessity. He had her pinned to the edge of his crude bed. “The wood of your bed is cutting me in two. I do not lie.”

      “Open your legs and the pain will cease,” Edon drawled, preoccupied with the soft exposed flesh of her pebbled breasts. A shiver skittered down her spine as he deliberately stroked his chin across her nipple. Then his hot, wet mouth closed upon her breast.

      “No!” Tala jerked her head back violently. She tried to twist out from between the wood and his hips.

      The intimacy of the cradle she made for him was not lost upon her. Nor did her altered position give her anywhere near enough relief. It made matters worse.

      “Viking, you come dangerously close to violating me,” Tala hissed, her words strained. “All of Mercia will rise in revolt to avenge the dishonor you do me.”

      Edon took his own time answering. He enjoyed toying with her breast, which was as responsive and sweet as any he’d ever fondled. He left it a wet and quivering pebbled peak when he raised his head at last and gazed into her narrowed, angry eyes.

      “All of what once was Mercia has sued for peace, Tala ap Griffin. You are the talisman King Alfred offers to pacify the Danes. There will be no man standing forward, challenging my rights over you. The pacts have been sealed and accepted by two kings. You will surrender to their will…and to mine.”

      “I will kill you with my bare hands if need be, Viking,” she promised.

      Edon dropped his head to her breast again. She was powerless, but her pride was such that she would not admit it. As he nibbled a sensitive trail across her chest and began to lave and kiss her other breast, she called down a rain of insults upon his head, imploring her gods to avenge her and strike him dead. But no thunderbolt fell. No keening spirit took shape and form and stirred the wind.

      In due time his ministrations began to have their effect. She squirmed deliciously against him, moaning involuntarily against the pleasure of his intimate touch. Through the thin linen of his tunic, Edon felt her belly tighten exquisitely and her loins begin to dampen, readying itself for the conquest that was still to come.

      That she could not control her desire satisfied Edon for the moment. It was