“Stop! Stop!”
He did. “What were you talking about?”
“Baron Lord Craddock.” She squealed again, kicked harder. “Let me go! You can’t do this to me!”
“But I am!” he gasped out. “And I have to say I do enjoy it this way. Every time I tickle you, like right … here!”
“Stop!”
“Your pu**y squeezes me so hard.” He groaned. “Gods that feels good.”
“Stop! Stop!”
He took his time, but he stopped. “Tell me.”
“I’m not lying, you rude bastard. We were talking about Craddock. Rumor is he’s raising an army near the Southland coast.”
“And?”
“And what?” She squealed when he tickled her again and spit out the rest when he stopped, “All right! All right! Fearghus wants us to go and find out what really is happening on Craddock’s territory. Arrange a truce if we can, plan for war if we can’t. But with the wife’s obvious indiscretions in play, I hope a war with Craddock will be unnecessary.”
Gwenvael frowned. “Fearghus wants me to go as well?”
“He thinks we’re an excellent team. Figures I can handle the court and you can handle the merchants and get information from the working girls—which had better be all you get from them.”
Using his free hand, he touched his cheek. “And risk this pretty face by upsetting the love of my life? Never.” He chuckled when she only smirked at him. “Now … Is this the first time you two have discussed this little trip of goodwill?”
“Yes.” His fingers went at her again and she screamed, “No! No!”
“Well?”
“We talked about it two weeks ago.”
“That was around the time I was certain you and Annwyl were up to something. I’d wondered how you’d talked Fearghus into sending that little gift to your father.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
At this point she was quite aware she was goading him, but when he took her with those long powerful strokes, making her come again and again while tickling her beyond reason, she didn’t really care.
Letting out one last shudder, Gwenvael rolled off Dagmar and smiled. “Conniving cow.”
She laughed. “I was wondering why you hadn’t said anything.”
“Why would I? I love watching you work. My brothers don’t know what to make of you. And that’s just high entertainment for me.”
They looked at each other, both breathing hard, exhausted to their bones, and Gwenvael studied her. Dagmar’s hair, saturated with sweat, stuck to her forehead and her eyes blinked hard as she tried to focus on his face without her spectacles. He understood now that her mind would never stop turning, never stop planning—and she’d never be happy with a simple life at court.
“I love you, Dagmar. Every plotting, conniving inch of you.”
Her cheeks turned a lovely shade of red, but her expression didn’t change. She’d never show that he’d embarrassed her with his direct words. Words he would never speak to any other.
“And I love you,” she returned simply, the words as unadorned and perfect as she was.
Gwenvael opened his arms and Dagmar moved over, collapsing into them. He stroked his hands down her sweat-covered back, his fingers sliding against the lines of her brand. He did that often, happy and grateful that she wore his mark.
He sighed contentedly and kissed her. “Do you realize that the entire world is at our disposal, Beast?”
“Of course I realize that.” Could she sound haughtier? Then he realized that she actually could sound much haughtier. “But we’re not supposed to say it out loud. Instead we’re supposed to silently recognize the fact and use it to our will until we get everything we want.”
Gwenvael sat up and pulled Dagmar onto his lap. His hand cupped her cheek and chin as he looked into her eyes so she could know that every word he spoke—to her—was the absolute truth. “I have everything I want, Dagmar. Everything I could ever want.”
Her smile was pure pleasure even as her cheeks reddened more. “Then what’s the point of the game if we have everything we could want?”
Gwenvael watched as Lady Craddock stumbled from the bushes, quickly smoothing back her hair and making sure her gown was back in place. Tragically for her, the biggest mistake she’d made was not that she hadn’t cleaned off the mud-crusted, man-sized palm prints on the back of her dress. Nor was it her eagerness to bring war to the people she should be trying to protect. No, Lady Craddock’s biggest mistake was to focus cruel gossip on the twins. Spreading rumors and lies about the twins being unholy or the products of dark gods had drawn Dagmar’s wrath quicker than anything else could have. Now both royal husband and wife would have to pay the price. And pay they would—later.
“The point?” He kept one arm around Dagmar’s waist while he reached into the basket of food and wine Fannie had sent them off with. “The point is entertainment. And do you know what the best part of that entertainment is, my love?”
“No, but I’m sure you’ll tell me in excruciating de … what is that?”
With a wide grin, Gwenvael held up the small set of cuffs and collar he’d snuck into the basket. “What do you think?”
Outraged but laughing, Dagmar desperately tried to wiggle out of his grasp.
“The best part, my sweet Dagmar”—he pinned her to the ground and leered into her smiling face—“is that they’ll never see us coming.”