Mistress of the Wind (7 page)

“Do as I ask you, and you will be helping me very much.” He opened his hand and slid his palm over her hip, held it there, warm and shockingly familiar in the dark.

Poor Bear. He had taken the wrong girl if he thought she would accept that.

Whatever happened between them in this bed would not weaken her will. Just as she knew no matter what comfort he took from her here, he would not bend to her need to be outside.

So she would find her own way.

Chapter Ten

H
e needed to keep the oath he’d sworn clear in his mind. Remind himself he would not have her tonight. Nor even perhaps the night after this.

But through her nightclothes her skin was warm and firm, and he wanted no barriers between them. Knowing it would make his oath harder, Bjorn slipped a hand beneath her hem and ran it up her leg.

She stilled. “Please stop.”

Bjorn sighed, and pulled his hand back. Leant forward in the dark and kissed her, his hands gripping her waist, his thumbs just below her breasts.

She trembled as his lips touched hers, but she did not pull back.

“Don’t be afraid. Just lie here and let me show you what it could be like,” he whispered to her.

She lay still a moment, and he heard her take a deeper breath, sensed a calming.

“Show me, then.”

This would be a sweet torture, Bjorn realized as he lifted up on an elbow, heart thrumming in anticipation. He cupped a breast he longed to see in his hand, and bent to kiss her again.

His sweet Astrid, laid out for him, willing, to a point, and the only picture of it he could have was in his mind.

So be it. It was up to him to make their eyes unnecessary. To create a picture of taste, touch and sound. And by the gods, to remember his oath.

* * *

The dark lulled her and confounded her. Bjorn’s mouth left a trail of fire down her body as he kissed and nuzzled. She was burning up for a man she had never seen.

Did it matter?

As she trembled beneath him, pulled between an urge to arch up against him or run, she couldn’t think clearly enough to come up with an answer.

But why will he not let you see him? What is he afraid of?

At breaking point, unable to explain the tension growing within her, she cried out and rolled away, coming up on her knees on the far side of the bed.

“Hush, hush,” he whispered, and only then did she realize she was all but sobbing.

“I don’t know . . . what is happening to me,” she gasped out.

“I know. I move too quickly for you, but not as quickly as I would like. Come here and I will hold you a while. Start again more slowly.”

She didn’t want to. And she wanted to too much.

“I am constantly pulled in two with you,” she told him, hesitating. If only she could see!

“I have stirred your body awake, and it wants me, but your brain is warning you that you don’t know me well enough to accept me yet.” He spoke quietly.

When had she ever accepted anything she hadn’t wanted to? Even when it was the easiest course, the least trouble.

She had always taken the hard road.

She sighed, lay down and let him gather her close. This waiting game was at her discretion, and he’d proven himself to her by agreeing to it at all.

He had kept to his oath, and given the control in this bed to her.

He stroked her hair, his hands gentle, even though she could feel his hardness pressing against her.

She wanted to pull him even closer, taste him, ease the ache that he had coaxed to life in her body.

She fisted her hands. Did she commit to this like the north wind blowing a gale, or the east wind, barely stirring the warm air about? Full tilt or gently does it?

She heard the steady rhythm of his heart, felt the smoothness of his chest against her cheek, smelt his essence. She stuck out her tongue, touched the tip to his skin to taste him, and he jerked.

“Take me,” she whispered.

North wind it was.

He reared up, making her heart pound with nerves.

“Now?”

“Unless you’d rather wait—” She didn’t know if that was disappointment or relief she was feeling.

“No.” He cut her off. “I would not rather wait.” He felt for her hand, pulled it down to his erect penis and closed her fingers around his length. “I have been like this since I started down the passageway to this chamber. Be sure, Astrid.”

She drew in a shaky breath. “I am sure.” But she trembled.

He was quiet, and then he pulled away, lay back down on the bed beside her. She could feel his body, stiff and tense.

“The truth is, we have plenty of time. It is good, lying together like we did last night. We don’t have to rush this. I have no right to ask you to go faster than you find comfortable.” She heard the regret in his voice.

She felt her cheeks heat. “Yes. It is good.” She reached out to him again, running a fingertip along his jaw, tracing the arch of his eyebrow. She levered herself over him, and bent to kiss him, becoming bolder as he groaned in encouragement.

And she found she did not want to wait. She wanted to leap into this, for once unfettered by rules or disapproval, and follow her instincts. She was safe with him.

He wanted her so much, she could feel him shaking beneath her, and yet he had exerted control. Respected her.

She lifted her lips from his. “Show me how it could be between us—”

He cut her off with a kiss of his own, his hand trailing between her breasts, over her stomach and down between her legs.

She gasped in shock as his fingers found the secret core of her, as her body responded to his touch. It may be the north wind, she thought as she arched into his hand, but for once, it was blowing hot.

* * *

She was free.

Astrid perched on the ledge below her skylights and felt the wind in her face. She lifted her arms out to her sides and closed her eyes, felt the warmth of the sun’s rays on her eyelids, the chill bite of the snow-caps in the breeze lifting her hair.

It was a new day in every sense. From the ache between her legs, to standing in the sun at last. She was ready for anything.

Ready to find out what mysterious world she’d chosen for herself. What secrets there were to find.

Life with her father had schooled her well for this strange battle of wills Bjorn seemed determined to wage with her. Her Bear’s disadvantage was he had no idea how deep her well of determination ran. The speed with which her father handed her over should have warned him.

She smiled, but she recognized the weight in her chest for what it was. Sadness.

Something had happened. Long ago, when she was too young to remember. Something about her frightened her father and he could not look at her without also feeling the fear. She had understood that slowly, hurtfully, as she’d grown older. Despite the shield of Mother and Tomas.

And since last night, she was sure it had to do with the wind.

“Come then,” she whispered to the breeze. She scrambled down the rocks, making sure she could return the same way. It wouldn’t do to have to ask Bjorn to let her in at the secret rock entrance.

Astrid didn’t intend to lose this freedom to roam.

Chapter Eleven

S
he was changeable as the wind.

The thought made Bjorn uneasy, even though he was more than pleased with the result. Leaving her chamber had been a physical wrench. He’d stood over her for long minutes, dangerously close to dawn, just to hear her breathing, hear each small movement she made.

The first human closeness he’d had in too long.

The chill of an autumn breeze cut through his thick fur as he stood waiting in the forest clearing. Since he’d found Astrid, the wind never left him alone. Blasting him with cold air, blinding him with sand and leaves.

He’d suspect Norga, but even she did not have mastery over the wind. Though he had no doubt she’d kill to get it.

Just then the wind died away, as suddenly as it sprung up, and for a moment Bjorn enjoyed the warmth of the sun fingering through the trees, and the peace of the forest.

“You are weary.”

He jerked at the words, realized he’d closed his eyes and had no idea whether minutes or seconds had passed.

Jorgen stood amongst the trees, so still he was almost invisible, and Bjorn understood if his old ally had taken Norga’s side, he’d be dead.

The chill at his lapse stole the sun’s heat from his skin.

“Where are the others?” He could show no chink in his armor, no matter whether Jorgen was true or not. He was their leader, and while it was not through choice, he had accepted his role.

“They are coming. But there is something in the woods today. Can you feel it?”

Bjorn shook his head, and Jorgen stepped into the clearing, his bearing alert.

He was clad in the brown and green of the vedfe, the fine cloth stretching across his broad shoulders and muscled arms, his skin dark as pine bark. Even in the open clearing, Bjorn knew if Jorgen stood still enough, most would pass him by without a second look, so well did he blend into his surroundings.

Unlike me, Bjorn thought, looking down at the white of his fur. Although, given the chill, in a month or less, he’d be the invisible one. Indistinguishable from the snow.

The branches stirred around them, and Jorgen cocked his head to listen. “There is a troll. Perhaps the others aren’t coming after all.”

Bjorn listened too. Not to the whispers of the trees, he could not understand their language, but for the troll. For once he was grateful for his bear body, with its sharp hearing and finely tuned nose. “Ask the trees where the troll is.”

“They are not able to answer me that specifically,” Jorgen smiled. “They are not talking to me at all. And it isn’t the trees I’m listening to, anyway. It is a harmony of the wind and the trees together. I overhear some of it, and understand only a fraction.”

Bjorn grunted. Pity. He’d like to narrow down where Norga’s minion was, but if he had to do it the hard way, so be it. He was lucky to be forewarned as it was.

Jorgen folded his arms in front of his chest, the light hazel of his eyes startling in his dark face. “The forest has not ceased its whisperings since you returned with your lady.”

Bjorn swung his full attention to his friend. “What does it say?”

Jorgen shrugged. “I haven’t understood any of it. Just that there is much excitement. Your lady isn’t the Wind Hag, is she?”

Bjorn thought of his ethereal blonde beauty and smiled. Shook his head. “She is not.”

Jorgen smiled too. “You would know if she was. The Wind Hag’s face is upside down.”

Would he know? Bjorn felt his amusement drop away. Hadn’t his father done just that? Taken a beauty, who turned out to be the opposite of what she seemed?

Jorgen seemed to sense the blunder. “I will go, then, if there is a troll. Be sure we will watch out for you and yours, my friend.” He bowed, as if they were once more back in the palace hall, and Bjorn was the liege lord over the natural order.

“No need for that, Jorgen. That time has come and gone.”

“It will come again.” Jorgen hesitated on the edge of the clearing.

“Perhaps. But with changes. My father showed us what mischief could be wrought the old way. I won’t let this costly lesson go to waste.”

“And you have paid more than most,” the vedfe acknowledged. “Stay away from the troll, Bjorn. You do no one any good if you die.”

“I plan to protect my mountain,” Bjorn said to the empty clearing, because he knew Jorgen was still there. “And if anyone dies today, it won’t be me.”

Chapter Twelve

T
he sound of vicious fighting made her freeze. It was coming through the trees to her left, and she hesitated. Was it Bjorn?

She needed to avoid him, but could she walk away from this? Leave him to fight whatever it was he fought and not help?

A snarl, low and rumbling, sent a prickle of fear up her arms. That was Bjorn as she had never heard him. Dangerous . . . deadly. She shivered.

What was it he fought?

Grateful for the dark brown of her cloak, and the soft soles of her leather boots, Astrid crept forward, staying close to the trees.

“Bearman,” she heard a strange, grating voice say, and she crouched down, working her way slowly around a large tree to finally see the arena.

Out of the corner of her eye, a branch moved to her right, and her heart stopped with fear. She turned slowly to look, but it was nothing but a strangely shaped trunk, the height of a man.

She turned her attention back to the clearing.

Bjorn faced off against a strange creature. A hulking thing almost twice Bjorn’s height; its eyes black beads, tiny in the massive head, with a long, misshapen nose below. Its body looked like a rock stained with moss and lichen, covered with layers of gray-green rags. But it moved too lithely, was too quick to really be rock and she saw the slash of a bear claw on its side. It bled red, just like every other living animal.