“I think you are right, sir, and that Berikos deludes himself,” Cailin said honestly. “Will you help him?”
“Turn around, Cailin Drusus, and look at me. It is difficult speaking to your back,” he replied, and there was just a hint of laughter in his deep voice as he cajoled her gently.
“I cannot,” Cailin admitted. “You are naked, are you not? I have never seen a man naked … completely naked,” she amended, remembering the wrestlers who had entertained at her brothers’ Liberalia feast.
“I will keep my half of the furs wrapped tightly about my body,” he promised her. “Only my arms, shoulders, and head will be visible to you. And you must be as tightly wrapped for your own comfort. I would not embarrass you, Cailin Drusus, but I would like to see your lovely face when we speak. It is very dim in this sleeping space. I feel as if I am speaking to some disembodied creature,” he teased.
She thought a long moment, and then said, “Very well, but do not look too closely at me. I cannot help being shy, sir. This is all quite new to me, though not quite as frightening as I earlier thought.” Cailin rolled over carefully, clutching the furs to her chest. He smiled encouragingly down at her, and she blushed to the roots of her auburn hair. “Will you help Berikos?” she repeated, struggling not to burst into tears, for her fear had suddenly returned at the sight of him, and her heart was pounding.
For a quick moment he caught a glimpse of her eyes. They were like wet violets. Then her lashes swiftly lowered, brushing her pale cheeks like dark, dancing butterflies. “Berikos, it would seem, is not willing to meet my price,” Wulf Ironfist answered her.
“Land,” Cailin said, and suddenly she had a marvelous idea. “I will meet your price, sir,” she told him, “and in exchange I will ask but two things of you. You will find, I believe, that mine is the better bargain.”
“You will give me land for training and leading the Dobunni?” he said, quite confused by her offer.
Cailin laughed. “No. You are correct about the Dobunni’s chances of restoring the Celtic tribes to their former prominent position; there is no chance. But I would be revenged upon the man who engineered the murders of my family, and would have killed me but for happenstance. The lands of the Drusus Corinium family are mine by right as the sole, surviving member of that family. Alone I can do nothing to claim my rights. My cousin, Quintus Drusus, would find some way to kill me to hold on to what he has stolen. But you could kill Quintus Drusus for me, Wulf Ironfist. And if you wed with me beforehand, then my lands would become yours, would they not? It is a far better opportunity than my grandfather can give you,” Cailin concluded, surprised at her own daring in even suggesting such a thing. Perhaps she was learning how to survive without the Dobunni after all.
“Are your lands fertile? Is there sufficient water?” he asked, amazed that he was even considering her proposition, but then why shouldn’t he? He wanted lands of his own, and he would need a wife. The girl’s idea was a perfect solution to both their problems.
“Our lands are fertile,” she assured him, “and there is plenty of water. There are good fields for grain, and other fields for grazing cattle and sheep. There are orchards, too. My family’s villa is gone, but we can build another dwelling, sir. The slaves belonging to my father will also be mine. Berikos will have to give us a generous bridal gift as well. Ceara and Maeve will see that it is a good portion.”
Wulf Ironfist needed no time to consider. Her offer was an excellent one, and only a fool would refuse it. “I will do it,” he told her. “We will wed, and then I will regain your lands for you, Cailin Drusus. I will even aid that old reprobate, your grandfather, somewhat. We will be forced to winter here. During the next few months I will train any young Dobunni who wishes to learn the arts of war. The final test of their skills will be when we retake your lands from your wicked cousin. Then Berikos may have them. If you are right about these people, they will not follow him any farther than the boundaries of their own fields.” He looked hard at her. “You are clever, lambkin.” Reaching out, he tipped her face up and touched his lips briefly to hers. “We will not tell your grandfather of our plans, though. I will tell him only that I want you for my wife.”
“He will not refuse you that,” she said, feeling a flush suffuse her whole body at the touch of his mouth on hers. “Indeed, both he and Brigit will think it fitting that the mongrel bitch, as they like to call me, has mated with a foreigner, as they call you Saxons.”
“We have not mated yet,” he said softly, his gaze direct.
“We have not wed yet,” she countered quickly, her heart skipping a beat.
“We cannot insult your grandfather, lambkin, nor will he believe me overcome by my hot passion for you if we do not do what is expected of us tonight.” He tangled his big hand in her hair, cupping her head. “I like the color of your hair, and the charming confusion of your curls, Cailin. Saxon girls have straight, blond hair. They wear it in two plaits, and it is often cropped to their skulls when they wed, to show their subservience to their husbands. I could not do that to your sweet curls, so it is fortunate you are a Briton and not a Saxon,” he finished with a smile at her. Gently, but firmly, he pulled her head back, exposing the line of her throat. Then pushing her onto her back, he pressed slow, hot kisses on her milky flesh.
Cailin clutched her furs desperately to her breasts. She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know if she should do anything. Suddenly his blue eyes were staring deeply into hers. She found she could not look away. She was growing warm again, she thought irrationally, longing to toss off the coverlet, but not daring to do so.
Wulf Ironfist was absolutely certain of the answer he would receive to the question he now asked her. “Are you a virgin, lambkin?” Of course she was a virgin. Her face mirrored her confusion, as she alternated between fear of the unknown and curiosity.
“Yes,” she said low. “I’m sorry I won’t be able to give you pleasure. I just don’t know what to do.”
“I like it that you are a virgin,” he told her tenderly, “and I will teach you everything you should know to please us both.” He pressed a handful of curls to his lips for a moment.
“I don’t even know how to kiss,” she said dejectedly.
“It is an easily learned art,” he assured her seriously, but his blue eyes were dancing with amusement. “In many it is instinctive. When I kiss you, just kiss back. Let your heart guide you. I will instruct you in certain refinements later on.” Lowering his head, he kissed her gently, and after a moment of hesitation Cailin kissed him back. “That is very good,” he praised her. “Let us try again.”
This time his kiss was firmer, and she felt her lips give way slightly beneath his. She gasped faintly as the very tip of his tongue brushed sensuously and lightly over her mouth. The sensation caused her head to whirl dizzily. Cailin put her arms about him to steady herself, for she felt as if she were falling.
He released her lips and buried his head in her hair. “You taste delicious, lambkin, and you smell delicious. I never met a girl who smelled as good as you do. Why is that?” He now looked down into her eyes, and Cailin colored once more. “Will you always blush when I look at you?” he asked her softly. “You are so fair!”