“The ways of my people are not the ways of yours, and I will allow no one to disrespect you or your position here.You are my chosen queen, and despite the way our story began, I will never resent your presence by my side.”
She tilted her head to the side, trying to puzzle out his intentions.“That’s very generous of you.”
“Your battle skill and acumen will be respected here, and the service you render this kingdom will be appreciated and praised.”
Chapter Eight
Everymorningforthelast fortnight, Toran had woken to his beast beating its hooves against his chest.It pounded its fury and need, demanding release.Demanding he claim the fierce shield maiden as more than someone he’d pledged troth to.
He’d lurched out of bed at dawn’s first light that morning to escape the infernal yearning, and sought the practice field.It was now midday, and he stood in the circle of swords with a heaving chest, covered in sweat and mud.
His brothers in arms had commended his victories, and now, as he reached down a hand to his formidable man at arms, Glamorgan the Giant, there was no one left to challenge him.
Glamorgan righted himself with a good natured bellow and clapped Toran on the shoulder.If his feet hadn’t been braced apart, the man’s meaty fist would have toppled him to the ground.
“Well met, your majesty,” his comrade beamed at him.“Though I have to ask what devil plagues you.”
“Nothing plagues me.I simply find myself with an excess of energy and the need to hone my skills.”
Glamorgan’s brow went up.“So it’s pining after your wee fierce wife that has ye trouncin’ us all so soundly.”
“It’s no such thing,” Toran gruffly protested.
“A man doesnae run roughshod o’er his friends unless somethin’, or someone, is plaguin’ his mind.”
“Just excess energy,” he insisted as he took a swig from his waterskin.
“If ye say so, your majesty,” Glamorgan said with a hearty laugh and a thump between Toran’s shoulder blades.“I suggest ye get washed up before the evening meal, if there is someone plaguin’ ye, ye don’t want her to wrinkle her nose at yer stench.”
He sensed she was watching him from the shadows - but he was helpless to stop what he’d already begun.He’d been lying beside her for weeks, aching.Even though he was certain she didn’t appreciate his sacrifice, he refused to dishonor her by assuaging his need elsewhere.There was something that called to him behind the fierce mask she wore, and he wondered if she was as impervious to him as she seemed.
He stood under the waterfall, his hand wrapped around his cock, stroking it swiftly.He imagined her soft cry of surrender, and the way she’d bite and claw at him as she came.The mere thought of tasting the musk of her body, of swallowing it as he pleasured himself just like this, sent him hurtling over the precipice.When he opened his eyes to half-slits, squeezing the last of his seed onto the ground, her eyes were wide and her mouth slack.
Her cheeks were flushed as well, and she’d dropped her axe.
Toran smiled with wicked self-satisfaction.
“Why do you skulk about spying on me in my bath, wife?”
She narrowed her eyes and squared her shoulders.“I came to challenge you to an axe-throwing contest.”
Toran gave her his back and stepped under the waterfall to rinse away his loss of control.When he turned back around, she was still standing on the shore with crossed arms and a mutinous expression.
He wrapped his plaid about his waist and met her gaze with an inscrutable one of his own.
“You’ve had an axe in your hand nearly your entire life.Why would I agree to a contest with odds stacked against me?”
“You’ll agree because if you win, I’ll let you have your consummation.”
Toran didn’t trust her sudden peace offering.“And if I lose?”
“If you lose, you set me free.To voyage somewhere of my own choosing.”
“That would jeopardize my alliance with your father.”
“If you lose, I will pacify my father.”
Toran’s instincts were clamoring inside his head.
