Blind Mercy (13 page)

She sighed. “Skari has already exhausted that defense.”

He laughed. “That old pirate is stealing every opportunity I have to explain things to you myself.”

“Aren’t you a pirate, too?”

He snorted. Vikings weren’t thieves; they conquered openly and claimed what was rightfully theirs after victory. “Maybe.”

But if plundering her body made him a pirate, he’d gladly admit it.

They laughed together.

What would she compare him to next? “Do you ever stop talking?”

Her pouty lips curled into the most attractive smile he’d ever seen. “Never.”

He’d remedy that immediately. Swooping down, he belted her with a hungry embrace and caught her lower lip between his teeth. She moaned as his tongue slowly met hers. The moist heat inside her mouth made him crave the depths of her hot wet core. Melting into him, her hands searched for the opening of his shirt. When her soft fingers plied his chest, he heated as if the summer sun were blazing on his skin. The feelings she elicited—the power of her innocent touches made him rock hard. Slanting his head so he could gain full penetration inside her mouth, he lifted her off the ground. Her legs naturally hugged his waist.

Carrying her to the farthest corner, he swept aside a curtain, then stepped into a small alcove. It consisted of little more than a narrow bed and side table with an oil lamp. Tyr laid her across the mattress. Blinking rapidly, she gazed up at him. Those blue eyes and scarce whimpers she made nearly undid him. He hastened to light the lamp, then turned to meet her stare again. Soft light illuminated her form. Her cloak must have fallen off in the main room. The pale-colored gown she wore clung to her soft curves. Her nipples were hard, ready to meet his lips. He’d been born for this moment—for her.

Already drenched in sweat, he undressed hurriedly. His cock throbbed and his legs shook with youthful anticipation. Every muscle stiffened. This woman had a debilitating effect. His gaze scoured her like a half-starved animal. He sucked in a breath. Without another thought, his hands invaded her bodice as his lips met hers again. The front of her dress ripped a little while he searched greedily for her nipples. Meeting the hard nubs of flesh, he nearly frayed them between his fingers.

“I’m sorry,” he growled, pulling back a few inches. “I cannot contain my feelings.” Bracing a knee on either side of her hips, he pressed forward—cradling a creamy breast in each hand. He suckled and stroked until she writhed helplessly.

“Stop,” she begged.

Breaking away only briefly, he assessed her face. His heart was quickened by her touch. Realizing she was simply overwhelmed with sensations and too afraid to surrender to her cravings, he shook his head. Not a chance on Odin’s life he’d stop now. He raked his fingers through her silky hair and shut his eyes. Liquid heat surged from the tip of his member. He needed to be inside her. He opened his eyes and squeezed her breasts together until they formed a perfect channel. Envisioning how it would feel sliding in and out of her sheath, he feasted on her delicious throat and shoulders.

Gripping his arms, her hips bucked violently against his body.

He bit his bottom lip and rose up. He’d test her resistance before he went any further. “Surrender your body little one . . .”

In answer, she dragged him down, tracing his tattoos with her fingertips. Her hands swept the lower reaches of his stomach, skimming his nether hair. Wishing her immodest enough to grasp his manhood with both hands, he groaned at the image in his head, swallowing the pain. Their sexual attraction was undeniable. His feelings were indisputable. Tyr Sigurdsson felt more than primitive lust. He let out a long, audible breath. Guarding her from his true feelings was becoming more difficult. He loved her irrevocably. Desperately. Possessively. His chest heaved with passion. Curse the man that tried to get in his way. He looked at her, searching for confirmation on her face. Something powerful darkened her eyes, too.

Confident she felt the same, he risked everything. “I wish to marry you.”

She froze.

His muscles clenched in response. Only idiots proposed to maidens in the middle of bedplay. Quick to correct his lapse in judgment, he captured her mouth. He wouldn’t give her an opportunity to think or speak. She returned the kiss with agitated enthusiasm.

After several breathless moments, he broke away. “Who taught you to kiss, little one?”

“You did,” she panted.

He chuckled as he palmed her breasts and nipped his way across her body, tickling and suckling until she squealed in delight. Believing he’d finally chipped away the layers of her hesitation, his mind whirled. She would be his now—willingly this time—happily. Reaching down, he hoisted her skirt above her waist. Finding her core, he slipped a finger inside. She went rigid, her eyes wide. Sensing her fear, he whispered gently, consolingly. “Let the pleasure overtake your fear. This is the greatest gift from the gods . . .”

Her iridescent skin reminded him of a strand of pearls. And those damned blue eyes were as mysterious as the depths of the Mediterranean. He lowered himself again and their lips collided in another explosive kiss. A second finger slid inside her, he breathed heavily at the feel of her heat.

She was ready to receive him.

Focusing on her slim throat, Tyr licked and stroked his way lower, until her hips bucked frantically. He’d give her absolute pleasure and show her what she was missing if she continued to deny her feelings. An incredible moan escaped her lips as he felt the steady pulse of her release against his fingers.

He couldn’t wait to be joined. Rearing back, he withdrew his fingers and rubbed the length of his shaft across her wetness, over and over until he was slick with passion—ready to show her the things she would scarcely allow herself to feel. With her smooth skin tantalizingly close, and that velvety mound of pleasure even closer, he reminded himself not to rush. Savor the minutes—hours if he could last that long.

“
Jarl . . .”

He jolted at the sound of Onetooth’s gruff voice.

Goddamn his forgetful mind. He’d failed to lock the doors. Cursing again, he closed his eyes, then quickly snapped them open again. Rachelle remained motionless and silent. Reluctant to leave her alone, he rolled off the bed. There was no choice. If the old man discovered them together . . . He raked his hand through his hair. Throwing Rachelle a tight-lipped smile, he held a finger to his lips to hush her. “Stay here.”

She nodded.

The scent of their sex was all over his body. It distracted him. Fully naked, he stomped to the front doors.
Get rid of Onetooth and get back to the girl before she changes her blasted, virginal mind.

Onetooth grinned ear to ear as he approached.

“What?”

“Rachelle is missing,” the captain informed him.

“No,
she’s not
.”

“Oh,” Onetooth said. “Is she . . .”

“With me.”
Get out!

“Shall I—?”

“Leave and don’t look back.”

“Aye.” Onetooth bowed. “My thought exactly.”

“Good.”

Sucking in a breath, Tyr secured the door and turned, only to discover Rachelle standing fully clothed behind him. Her dull-colored cloak covered her sweet body. It might as well be a vest of locks. The chances of getting a maid undressed twice in the same night seemed futile.

Damn Onetooth and the gods. Now, he’d be forced to bargain with her to get her back in bed.

It took every ounce of courage she possessed to stand up straight in front of Tyr. He looked more the barbarian now than she had ever remembered. Peeking at his nether region, she panicked inside. She’d almost given in to her lust. That impressive member would have split her insides—like a sharp knife ripping flesh. And bedding him would seal her fate. She’d never leave Norway. That was too much to sacrifice for one night of careless pleasure.

If only she had caught Onetooth in time.

Tyr frowned at her. “Come back to bed with me.”

“I can’t.”

“Back to bed.” His voice deepened.

“No.”

“Rachelle . . .” He swallowed. “Go back to bed.”

She was freeborn, not a slave. No man would intimidate her that way.

“Your body forsakes you,” he snarled.

“My soul does not.” She raised her voice. “Believe me when I say my heart is not with you.” The large bulge between his legs threatened her continued resistance. As much as she feared his manhood, she still found herself hopelessly drawn to it.

He edged closer, claiming her left arm. “So, this is where we find ourselves again. Contrary, yet tonight proves we both desire one thing.”

Arrogant bastard. She couldn’t give in. Not to his marriage proposal or their mutual passion. The cost was too great.

She shook her head stubbornly. “It’s gratifying to know how wrong you really are. I don’t want your love. I didn’t ask for your protection.” Her heart ached from the lies she was telling. “Seek comfort in the arms of another woman. May I suggest the girl who hovers over your shoulder with a pitcher of ale?”

He hoped for things she wasn’t free to give. Uncle Henry needed her.

“Frida?”

“Is that
her
name?” She shot him a murderous look.

Smiling, he bent to kiss her. “Jealous?”

The heat from a blush crept up her cheeks. Furious, she shook his hand off. These Norseman were egotistical sods. “Worry not for me, I won’t leave my rooms again. Please send word after my uncle satisfies whatever demands you’ve set in exchange for my freedom.”

Chapter 10

Test of Faith

Left standing alone with a mouthful of angry words and a raging erection, Tyr took out his frustrations on a pile of logs outside the bathhouse. He swung a heavy axe over and over again until he sank to his knees. This time, the wench had gone too far, unfairly provoked and teased him. After exposing him to her passion, she’d ripped it away before he had a chance to show her what he could do to please her. 'Twas obvious she intended to disgrace him. His words and actions hadn’t been persuasive enough. Anger slithered up his spine. A drop of water on a bone-dry tongue only deepened his thirst.

Damn her.

Her words wielded the same destructive force of a sword. He’d asked for her hand in marriage, only to be dishonored with absolute silence.

Recovering from the physical punishment, he wiped his face on a towel and threw it on the ground. Relief awaited him inside. He staggered into the great hall. Frida brought him a glass of wine, then sat down at a table near the fireplace with him. Was he so inept? How could he have misinterpreted the girl’s signals? Sucking down his drink, he held up the glass. Frida obediently refilled it. Tyr admired her; soft in all the right places and always eager to please. She possessed the physical attributes most men admired in a woman, why shouldn’t he bed her?

She touched his cheek. He didn’t discourage her affection. In fact, he struggled to maintain control. Nothing could stop him from taking her on the tabletop. No oaths existed between them. If Frida was summoned, she came. And when he was satisfied, she left him alone. A perfect arrangement for any man. The Saxon had deserted him, he owed Rachelle nothing. Headstrong, conceited, irresistible, perplexing, heart-stealing bitch . . . The vision that passed through his mind—killed his raw needs. No matter how much he craved the soft mound between a female’s legs, only one woman would do.

“Leave me.” A muscle twitched in his jaw.

“Milord?” Frida’s big eyes searched his face.

“Go,” he repeated gruffly.

Frida touched him again, shaking her head.

His jaw clenched. Didn’t she understand? After warming his bed for six years, she deserved his respect and he didn’t wish to hurt her. Tucking a stray hair behind her ear, he spoke softly. “Our relationship must change.”

She jerked her hand away from his face. “What are you saying?”

“I cannot share my bed with you any longer.”

She laughed. “You’re confused.”

That was the farthest thing from the truth. “No, I’m not.”

Tears filled her eyes. “That girl doesn’t return your affection. I’ve seen resentment on her face.”

That was about to change if he had anything to say about it. “Don’t mistake fear for hatred. And if I’m wrong about her, I accept that it might be too late to seek your favor again.”

“She’s not suited for life here. So pale and thin—a Saxon witch.”

His lips tightened at the insult, but he kept a grip on his temper. Rachelle possessed more grace and beauty in her fingertips than Frida possessed in her whole body. Not that he’d compare the two. Frida had given him years of companionship. Good years. And for that he’d be eternally grateful. But men change. And what he wanted now was a wife.

“Imagine what the king will say after he finds out one of the great princes of Norway has fallen in love with a Saxon. You’ll be marked as a traitor.”

If she were a thrall, he’d whip her. But Frida was a freewoman, paid to manage his household. “Go.”

She gestured angrily. “Be careful what you ask for.” Her body convulsed as she stood up. “You’ll change your mind.” Her voice was as unsteady as her body.

“Have you ever known me to regret a decision I’ve made?”

She shook her head.

“I mean you no insult.”

“How else should I take it? You’ve dismissed me as carelessly as a whore.”

“You put words into my mouth.”

“Do I?” she asked morosely. “Amongst other things . . .”

If he were sensible, he’d ignore that last statement. “I would never deny the pleasure we’ve shared. I made no promises, Frida. Neither did I declare my love for you. If I’ve misled you, tell me now.” No matter what he said or did, his former lover wouldn’t leave satisfied.

With her hands clenched at her sides, she shook her head violently, Tyr accepted this as acknowledgement of his honesty with her.

“Good.” he said. “I do not wish to strip you of your honorable position in my household or your dignity. Let us part peaceably.”

Everything in his life had changed without warning. What else could he have done, made love to Frida once more and risked deepening her attachment to him? No. He’d made the right decision. Bedding two women at the same time dangerously complicated things. He refused to breed rivalry and hatred between females and have it overflow onto him.