Blind Mercy (21 page)

She palmed his chest—loving the feel of flesh and springy hair. His lean, muscular body awed her. She couldn’t tear herself away if she wanted to. He purred under her shy ministration, encouraging her to reach deeper inside his tunic. With both hands, she fondled his hot skin, exploring the muscles that seized under her touch. She hadn’t thought herself capable of fully enjoying sensual pleasures. There’d always been mental obstacles in her way, her heart closed off from the rest of the world.

His deep voice vibrated in her ear. “I want to thrust inside you. Make you mine.”

She stared at him, silent.

“Do you know what I’m going to do to you, Rachelle?”

She knew what she wanted him to do, but dared not verbalize it. “No.” She still played the innocent.

“I think you do.” He hiked her skirts up, then nudged her legs apart with his hand. “I want to taste your sweetness,
now
.”

How could she do this with her Uncle only a few yards away? Oh no . . . she shouldn’t . . . she couldn’t.

Before further protest was made, he buried his face between her thighs. His beard scraped against her sensitive flesh. He stroked her stomach rhythmically, until she moaned with uncontrollable pleasure. She writhed and tossed her head, bit her lip to keep from screaming. A tongue and fingers shouldn’t be in the same place at the same time.
Oh, sweet heaven.

She grabbed fistfuls of his long hair to steady herself as hot sensations ripped through her body. He licked and sucked the sensitive nub between her legs so hard she convulsed. His hands moved skillfully—faster and faster. Rachelle welcomed the invasion, riding his hand.

“Peak for me, Rachelle.” He flicked his tongue along the rim of her core, rotating his fingers inside her.

Her hips jerked as pressure slowly built inside her belly. The vibration from his satisfied laughter felt so good. He sucked harder until she finally surrendered. The tiny pulses gradually subsided, leaving her in a mindless heap. She stared at the roof of the tent, blindly reaching for him as he back away from her. Tyr had captured every sensation of her sex with his lips. Surely that didn’t satisfy his needs. She knew it didn’t—he’d waited so long for her. Further proof this Viking god adored her.

“Are you all right?” He sat down gently beside her.

She turned her head toward him. “Aye.”

“I’ve wanted to do that since the day I met you.” He kissed her lips. “That’s only the beginning,” he warned with a grin. “We’ll explore together.”

She nodded.

“Meet me outside when you’re ready.” He stood, then picked up his weapon belt. While securing it around his waist, he walked to the table on the other side of the tent and washed his face and hands. Then he poured a glass of wine, took a long sip, gargled, and spit on the ground. “I love your scent and taste, but it’s only for my pleasure.” He smiled, leaving her to collect her wits.

Executions and weddings weren’t supposed to happen on the same day. But there was no avoiding it. The renegade priest and guards who abused Rachelle were hung. After Onetooth rewarded the vainglorious Edwin with several lashes, he quickly repudiated the validity of his marriage to Rachelle. With nothing else preventing the ceremony, Tyr nearly refused to let another moment pass without exchanging wedding vows. But first, he offered his betrothed a gift. Onetooth and Uncle Henry smiled at Rachelle.

“What is it?” she asked excitedly.

“You have the patience of a child,” Tyr teased.

“Look at their faces.” Rachelle pointed at her Uncle and Onetooth. “They look as guilty as you.”

“You’re sadly mistaken,” Henry said. “I’m smiling because I’m happy, nothing more.”

“Cover your eyes,” Tyr commanded.

She did. Tyr watched impatiently as Mercia emerged from one of the tents. She walked to Rachelle’s side, waiting quietly.

“Open,” Tyr said.

Laughter turned to sobs as Rachelle stared unbelieving at her best friend. She flung her arms around Mercia. The joy the two women shared made his heart swell. He swore as long as there was breath in his body he’d endeavor to maintain that magnitude of happiness with his young bride.

Not long after the ceremony, Bera and Mercia prepared Rachelle for her bridal bed. They combed out her long hair. Dressed in a lacy chemise and soft slippers, they wrapped her in a fur, then escorted her to the tent where Tyr waited.

Pausing at the entrance, Rachelle eyed her friend. “No one ever prepared me for this moment.”

Mercia thumbed her cheek. “You’re beautiful. What more do you need to know? He loves you. Nature will take care of the rest.”

“When did you become so knowledgeable about these things?” Rachelle needled.

“When I saw how Jarl Sigurdsson looks at you. I’d like to feel that way someday about a man.”

Holding hands with Mercia, Rachelle took a deep breath. “You will,
I promise
.” She couldn’t believe the uneasiness in her stomach—even her palms were sweaty from anticipation. “I’m ready.”

Mercia pulled the flap open and Rachelle entered the shelter. Her gaze darted nervously around the enclosure—mesmerized by the flames in the large open brazier. It cast shadows across the freshly stuffed mattress on the ground. She shrugged off the fur and shivered. This is where her life truly began.

Tyr smiled devilishly at her. As she stood at the entrance, he gave thanks to Odin for his beautiful wife. Dusk-colored nipples peeked at him through the transparent chemise she wore. Her silky tresses hung loose around her shoulders. A gold choker hugged her delicate throat. He fought back the animalistic growls that wanted to escape his lips and closed his eyes. This scene had played out in his mind over and over again. From the moment she’d leaned over him on the battlefield, the soft scent that radiated from her hair had fascinated him. Almost immediately, the faces of the women he had bedded in the past were long forgotten. No female would ever occupy his thoughts and heart again.
Only her
.

He opened his eyes. “Look at me.”

Her gaze met his.

Pride surged through his body. What man wouldn’t be elated at this triumph—capturing the heart of the woman he loved. He’d spent the last few weeks waiting for the moment she’d come willingly to his bed. He’d give her more than a night’s passion—he’d offer her a lifetime of it. Tyr stretched his hands out.

“I give you my heart,” he choked. “Let me share the words that have been building inside me for so long.” The ones she had refused to hear before.

You are the great silvery North Star,

the everlasting light that guides my ships home through the void.

A beacon of hope against the plights of man.

No curse can slow your steady march through the nine realms.

Frigg has wrapped you in her golden mantle.

Allfather’s hands guide you through the mists of time.

Life and death are rendered powerless in your presence.

Creatures of the universe praise your bravery and wisdom.

Like Odin’s own daughter—you feast amongst the greatest warriors.

Your hair is spun silk, as gold as the sun.

Your breasts are the highest peaks of any mountaintop.

Your lips are more potent than the amber mead the Valkyries serve in Valhalla.

Your eyes as crystal clear as the warmest sea, beckoning this Viking onward.

Sing for me, my Norse siren.

Your voice melts the frigid layers of my heart.

Dream for me, sweet goddess, and share your secrets.

Breathe for me, my beloved, give life to this old warrior’s soul.

Abandon not this Berserker, unless you wish to cast me into the depths of Hel.

Stay with me forever . . . until Ragnarǫk claims us all.

Rachelle cradled her stomach with both hands. He’d gifted her with poetry, yet she didn’t feel worthy. For the first time in her life, her gut didn’t roil at the thought of intimacy. His love would shield her from the painful past, and promised a joyous future.

“What are you thinking about? I want to know you, Rachelle, every part.” He approached slowly, like a man trying to gain the trust of a skittish animal.

Towering over her, he wrapped his arms about her. The warmth from his body had a healing effect.
I’m finally safe
, she rejoiced. Her body ached for him.

He framed her face between his hands. “You are so beautiful.”

Her heart pounded in anticipation of what might come next. Then his hands wandered, circling downward, playing with loose strands of her hair, skimming her earlobes, and following the curve of her neck.

“Ooh . . .” Her sigh came out unexpectedly. His touch felt so good. She sucked in her breath as he straightened, gazing at her. His blond hair was a tangled mess and a lazy grin played on his face.

“I think you want me. Say it for me, Rachelle.”

She swallowed. Saying it wasn’t as easy as thinking it.

“Say it,” he coaxed.

“I . . . I . . .” Why couldn’t she bring herself to do it?

He leaned in, brushing a hint of a kiss across her mouth. “Say it.”

In that moment, she realized how vulnerable he truly was. Past experiences with women hadn’t prepared him for his wedding night. More than just their hearts were at risk now.

“I want you,” she said.

His mouth opened and closed wordlessly. He reached out to touch her, but hesitated inches from her cheek. “Why do you still fear me?”

“I don’t,” she whispered. “I fear what comes after our union.”

“And what is that, my beloved?” Deep concern laced his voice.

“Something will happen, you’ll be forced to leave me.”

“You cannot thrive under the weight of tragedy. Do you believe your mother and father want you to grieve for the rest of your life? Or would they celebrate your marriage?”

She answered with more confidence. “They’d tell me to be happy.”

“Aye,” he said, grasping her hand.

Tyr tugged her to his chest. “This marriage will produce more than joy. Our children will serve as a living monument to your parents, sons and daughters who will carry the memories and blood ties of both our families. Our offspring will be as numerous as the stars.”

She giggled unexpectedly.

He stepped back. “You find that humorous?”

“I do,” she confirmed. “As lascivious as you are, I have no doubt we’ll have dozens of children together.” Her eyes glittered.

“Shall we start now?”

Her fear disappeared like smoke.

Hearing her laugh nearly undid Tyr. He didn’t want her to control her passion any longer. His bride valued independence—he’d teach her to be free with her love. “Undress for me.”

Looking up, she slowly untied the shoulder laces of her chemise. The covering pooled at her feet. Now she boldly faced him and her body sprang to life like fire, so fragile and unpredictable.

“I plan on making love to you every night for the rest of your life,” he warned. Pleasure spiraled up his spine—he couldn’t wait to touch her—love her. He undressed quickly, then stood face-to-face with her, his erection pressed against her stomach. Rachelle curled her fingers around his shaft. Jolts of lust shot through him. He’d underestimated her; she wasn’t a timid virgin after all. The fierceness of her desire darkened her features as her breathing grew shallower. Tyr covered her hand with his, urging her fingers up and down.

After a few minutes, she tipped her chin. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you after the bathhouse . . . I had to touch you again.”

He pressed his lips to hers. “Quiet, my love.” He silenced her with another breath-stealing kiss.

Weeks of wanting had slowly chipped away at his patience and sanity. And she’d come to him willingly this time. He cupped her arse with both hands, then gently lifted her. Their mouths collided hungrily as he walked to the mattress, carefully laying her on the furs. Then he lowered himself on top of her, careful not to crush her with his weight. His raging heartbeat thumped against her breast like a drum. He felt a stirring deep within him. Desire and lust. Love and joy. The moment to make her his had finally arrived.

He coaxed her legs apart. She couldn’t tear her gaze away—riveted by the emotions on his face. Something wonderful was about to happen. He smiled again, pressing another kiss on her lips.

“Every inch of your body is drenched with excitement for me,” he groaned.

As he centered the tip of his shaft between her legs, she quivered. She had dreamed about being joined with him, waking up in the middle of the night covered in sweat—wet with desire. The moisture at her core made it easy for his shaft to slide across her belly. The friction excited her. He brushed his lips over hers, whispering her name, nipping her breasts. His scent, touch, the sound of his voice drove her crazy. She latched onto his shoulders.

Desire turned to desperation. She didn’t want to wait. “I’m not afraid anymore.”

Hearing those words transformed him. He leaned back; his heated gaze swept her body. Butterfly wings fluttered inside her stomach. He locked her hips in place with both hands, then thrust inside her. It hurt so much, but she bit back the scream as her membrane tore. She felt the muscles in his shaft contract inside her. The odd sensation eased the burning. Tyr whispered something in her ear she couldn’t understand, but it sounded so loving. The last of her pain evaporated as his hands caressed her breasts reverently.

She’d sacrificed her life to sorrow for too long. This is what she wanted, needed more than anything. “More,” she whimpered.

“Anything you want.” He responded passionately, claiming every inch of her body with his mouth and hands.

When he surged forward again, bringing his face flush with hers, Rachelle captured his lips. Her tongue swirled inside his mouth, matching the fervent motion of their hips. She locked ankles behind his back, never wanting to let go. “I love you.” It felt so natural speaking those words to her husband for the first time. With their bodies gloriously entwined, Rachelle knew her prayer had finally been answered.