“My queen, with the taxes you have raised, I now have every sea wright in the kingdom of Ireland constructing drakkar warships. Hundreds of knights training here at Castle Connaught, with thousands more preparing for battle with my men-at-arms.”
Where was he leading with this? What was he saying? Morag’s heart hammered in her chest.
“My raiding expeditions have been most profitable. I have made you a very wealthy queen.”
His deep green eyes blazed with fire. Her mouth went dry as she lost herself in their verdant depths.“But I wish to offer you more than jewels and gold. A gift to lease you immeasurably. A treasure you will value beyond all others.”
He strode forcefully across the room and halted abruptly right in front of her. The indomitable Viking warrior who cowered even the most courageous kings. She locked eyes with him, the hum of power filling her veins.
“The Cornish crown.”
He took her hand and lowered his lips to caress it. Her knight raised his eyes to meet hers, his full lips upon her hand, cradled in his own.
Intrigued, Morag withdrew her hand and placed it at her side, stroking the soft silk of her lavender gown. To calm the tremors of thrill rippling up her long, lean legs.
“I have been raiding Cornwall for months. Pummeling them with incessant, brutal attacks. Weakening their forces. Capturing slaves.”
He began to pace. A lion ready to roar.
“The men, I force to row our Viking longships. To plow the fields and harvest the crops to feed my expanding army. Thewomen, I give to my soldiers. To produce more slaves and make us all the richer. The beautiful ones, I sell to wealthy nobles who tire of their boring wives and long for the heat of passion to warm their frigid beds.”
He strode across the room and seized her, bending her over one arm as he lowered his lips to her throat, covering the swell of her breasts with his warm, wet lips. Lips that every inch of her body ached for.
He stood her back up, his eyes fierce as they bore into hers.
“But, to give you the Cornish crown, I must first beg your leave.”
Her mind raced. He wished to leave? Why?
“I do not understand. Morholt, explain.”
He began pacing again, a fury simmering beneath his rugged muscles. A power yearning to be released.
“I wish to transform the seaport of Dubh Linn into a Viking fortress, where I can launch slave expeditions in full force. Where my drakkar longships can have direct access to the Celtic Sea, while still being protected by the harbor and stone defense walls surrounding the city. I can store hundreds of vessels there. Fortify the naval forces of Ireland. And conquer Cornwall for you, my queen.”
Morag saw the potent desire that blazed in his eyes. That’s why he thrilled her. His lust for power matched her own.
He would bring her the Cornish crown. Thank the Goddess she’d eliminated her simpering stepdaughter. To think that she’d considered marrying the girl to King Marke, when her Black Knight could accomplish so much more!
He’d bring her gold and silver, flawless gemstones, slaves to empower the kingdom of Ireland. And her Morholt would bring her the Cornish crown. She nearly swooned with desire.
His feral gaze never left hers. He was waiting, her virile red lion. Her Viking warrior, the Scourge of the Celtic Sea. Herindomitable knight, ready to crush the Cornish king. And bring her his glittering crown.
Morag could no longer hold back. She flung her arms around his neck and pulled his face down to hers. Her chest was heaving, her body quivering against his. She could feel his desire, straining against her hips.
“You have my leave, Morholt.” She exhaled into his face, tugging his lip with her teeth.
“Transform Dubh Linn into the most powerful seaport in all of Europe. A Viking stronghold for your merciless slave raids.”
She teased his lips, sucking them into her warm, inviting mouth. He pressed firmly against her hips, his desire enflaming her own.
“Weaken the Cornish king. And bring me his crown.”
Her beloved Black Knight growled into her neck, unlaced her corset, and slid the lavender silk gown to the floor.
He scooped her up into his arms, carried her nude body across the room, and threw her down upon the lavender scented bed. He grinned ferally as he unstrapped his sword, letting it clatter to the tiled floor.
He removed his boots and his tunic, which he flung across the room, his savage eyes locked upon hers. Her breath hitched as he offered her the magnificent view of his expansive chest, covered in dark russet hair, brutal scars, and tensely coiled muscles, poised to strike.
