“A Scot would be naturally tempted by an English lassie,” he said sarcastically in his best highland brogue.
This affirmation aside, he would put an immediate end to it. He headed straight for Brandon, maneuvering around dancingcouples. He bowed sternly at Brandon’s side and offered his hand to Noelle.
“If you would consider giving me the pleasure of this dance.” Not a request.
Brandon smiled charmingly and swept a hand toward the lady. “She’s all yours, my friend.”
Randvior curled her into his arms and kept moving until her cheeks glowed as red as berries. He knew Noelle worked doubly hard to keep step with him on a couple of dances she had never performed before. Breathless after four songs, he led her away from the dance floor.
“You are a vision in that gown,” he commented gruffly, meaning to compliment, but wanting her to realize how irritated he was. He took her by the arm and pulled her further away from the crowd.
“And you, lord,” she said cheerfully. “I never imagined how well you could dance.”
“If I find the need, I am a most willing partner.”
“And you found a need tonight?” Her eyebrows arched inquisitively.
In one move, he could pin her against the wall and have her at his complete mercy. “Aye.” He nodded.Not because I’m overly fond of dancing, but near lopping heads off for the way these men stare at you.
He searched her face while stroking the base of her neck. Randvior ran a finger between her breasts that were so temptingly pressed together and spilling over the lace bodice like two ripe melons begging to be plucked from the earth. She gasped, positively radiant. Noelle was completely unaware of the bitterness choking him at seeing another man with his hands all over her, even if that man was his best friend. He breathed deeply and tried to focus on something more pleasant.
“Did you enjoy the bathhouse?”
“That water possesses restorative powers.”
So does my cock…He wanted to rip her clothes off. What man could contain his feelings after tasting that virgin flesh?
Noelle drew back and showed him her hand. “I must thank you for this bracelet, it was so unexpected.”
He grazed her knuckles with a kiss, while eyeing the shiny metal. Her hands were more the size of a child’s than a woman’s.Mine.He stepped closer—obsessed with her lips. His dark mood flared and he pushed her inside one of the many curtained alcoves along the west wall used forprivateconversations. Out of sight now, he latched onto her hips and hugged her close. She trembled as he covered her mouth possessively with his and stole air from her lungs.
He broke away, leaving her dazed and open-mouthed. “If you find yourself craving male companionship beyond the feast table,” he growled into her ear, “ask my permission first.” Randvior turned to leave.
“Sir McNally convinced me to dance with him. He told me you were like brothers.”
He threw his head back and laughed violently. “That would be as careless as a shepherd placing his prized lamb before the mouth of a wolf’s den. Brandonismy brother, but still a man. No,min lille dukke, don’t fret. I’m not angry with you. Brandon will always try to outdo me, it’s in his nature.”
“I’m not a helpless creature. I can fend for myself.” She crossed her arms over her chest and sulked.
“Forgive me.” He thumbed her chin. “I failed to identify you asmylamb. Does this distinction suit you better? Come, let us find refreshments.”
He parted the curtains and she followed him.
Lauga bit her lower lip as she spied her son and Noelle emerging from the alcove. She agonized over his lack of propriety—how he flaunted the girl so shamelessly.
No matter how disciplined a man, in her mind, if he abandoned honor to pursue a woman of questionable reputation, the woman was always to blame. This particular tart thrived on his attention. If Randvior needed to whet his sexual appetite by sleeping with exotic women, let him choose from amongst the Danes or Rus, even a Spaniard. Not a filthy Saxon! Her heart nearly burst at the thought of her son bedding such a wench.
The family bloodline was in jeopardy, one of the purest in Norway. And if her son possessed a sliver of conscience, he would forget this girl and marry one worthy of his name. He needed to produce an heir. Lauga sighed at her misfortune in life—the gods closed her womb after Randvior was born. In her heart, she knew she could have birthed at least a dozen sons.
She hovered predatorily and seized the first opportunity to get Noelle alone. She slithered to the girl’s side after her son left her standing while he headed for the tables on the other side of the room.
Lauga gave Noelle a glass of wine she’d poured with her own hands. She accepted the drink.
“I know you are unhappy with me,” Noelle said, sipping delicately. “I know you think I’m an outlander unworthy of your son’s affection. If you’d only give me a chance, I promise—”
Lauga didn’t want to hear her lies and cut her off immediately. Noelle had seduced her son, plain and simple. She raised her glass in salutation, refusing to participate in the conversation. “This wine is not from my son’s stock, but from my personal collection. Rennish wine, the most delectable in the world.”
Noelle drank more sparingly. “Sweeter than any I’ve ever tasted.”
