Pleasured by the Viking (2 page)

She was far too good for the Normans. She was beautiful and shy, and nearly every man among his tribe and the Ó Reillys was infatuated with her. Her height rose well above most women, and when she stood, her mouth rested at his chin. She kept her hair tightly braided against her scalp, but below her nape, it hung free, down to her waist. It was a mixture of brown and red, almost like autumn leaves. Her eyes were blue and green, ever-changing in color.

“Tell me why, Auder,” he demanded. “And don't give me reasons about protecting your clan. You hardly lived among them.”

She wouldn't look at him, letting her wrists rest upon her knees. “You saw the soldiers. They want control of our
cashel
, and we can't withstand another attack. If my marriage will bring us together without fighting, it's for the best.”

“That's not your reason. I know you better than that.” He sat down beside her, reaching for her hand. It was stained red, and it evoked memories of when she'd been a girl, and he'd met her four summers ago. Each time he'd seen her, she'd had a different color of hands. One day blue, another day green. She'd been awkward then, with no curves to speak of, and a rounder face. More than once, he'd defended her against the taunts of foolish young boys.

He'd seen the promise of beauty in Auder the girl. But even then, he'd never suspected how beautiful she would be as a woman.

“My reasons shouldn't matter. It's the right thing to do, even if I am afraid.” She straightened her shoulders, and it drew his attention to her lean body and generous breasts. Her skin was smooth, her lips the soft rose color of a seashell.

He found himself studying her in the torch light. A curl broke free from her braid, falling against the line of her jaw. The strands caught the light, a fiery red shining beneath the brown. He wondered what she would look like with that hair falling around her shoulders, down to her hips.

Not yours,
he warned himself. Best to turn his attention back to Clár Ó Reilly, the widow whom he was courting. Clár had a young son, Nial, who would be sent for fostering soon. Gunnar had an affection for the five-year-old boy, and he planned to teach Nial how to fish for his supper this summer. He'd show the boy how to guide a boat out on the waves, and it warmed him to think of becoming a father. In his mind, he imagined his future children running up to him, laughing when he swung them in the air.

It was a dream so nearly within his grasp. Clár would give her vow, if he asked it of her. But something had kept him from asking her to wed, and he suspected it had everything to do with Auder.

She cleared her throat, suddenly looking embarrassed. “Gunnar…there's something I want to ask you. About men.”

He waited, unsure of what she expected from him.

There was sadness in her eyes, as if she'd experienced failure. “It's about my wedding night.” She gripped her knees with her hands, her face pale. “I didn't enjoy lovemaking the last time. There's something wrong with me, and I want to know what I should do to please my husband.”

It took a great deal of effort not to choke over her words. “The last time?” He'd always believed Auder was a virgin, untouched by all men. “When did you ever take a lover?”

“A year ago.” She shrugged. “I thought I'd see what it was like. I don't suppose he enjoyed it either. He left me as soon as it was over.”

Gunnar wanted to ask who the man was, but didn't. The idea of breaking every bone in the man's body had a certain appeal. “If you didn't enjoy it, then it was his fault. There's nothing wrong with you.”

She shrugged. “I think it's something only men like. Women merely put up with it, because they want children.”

He bit his tongue so hard, it was a wonder it wasn't bleeding. “Auder, you're wrong. Most women do enjoy lovemaking quite a bit. Why do you think they still hold festivals to celebrate the old ways?”

“Because it's tradition?” she offered. Within her eyes, he saw the innocence. Whoever had claimed her virginity had obviously taught her nothing. It made him wonder what she had endured the time before.

“Because they want an excuse to join with a man of their choosing,” he said.

She didn't return his smile, and her eyes held only suspicion, as though she didn't believe him. With a grimace, she added, “Perhaps the baron won't want to join with me after that first time. He already has a son, so I've heard.”

Gunnar's jaw tightened at the thought of her enduring the Norman's bed. But even so, he wanted her to understand what she was agreeing to.

“If you wed him, he's going to want you each night.” He stared into her eyes, willing her to understand what would happen. “Your body will belong to him. And he'll not hesitate to claim you.”

She shivered, her lower lip dropping slightly. “Will I learn to like it?”

He edged in closer, until his forehead nearly touched hers. The urge to kiss her, to tempt her into experiencing her first taste of pleasure, was undeniable. If she belonged to him, he'd coax her until her body arched with need, trembling on the brink of release. He'd use his mouth to tease her flesh, until she was wet with wanting him.

“You might,” he murmured.

A slight smile tipped at her mouth and a shaky breath escaped her. “Good. Then there's hope.”

And she stood, walking away from him, back to the
cashel.

 

“The contests are beginning,” Morren said, and eased herself beside Auder, wincing as she sat. “I suppose we should enjoy the view.”

Auder frowned, not understanding what she meant. But a moment later, she saw the men stripping down to their trews. Some had smeared animal fat onto their bodies, to make the wrestling more challenging.

She stared at the oiled skin, and something within her stirred. Although she'd seen the men bared before, there was something different in the atmosphere tonight. Now that the sun had set, torches flared all throughout the
cashel.
There was a primeval sense of barbarism, as though the men had become warriors of old. Some of the visiting Norsemen had dark runes tattooed into their skin, while others wore a gold arm band that gleamed in the torchlight.

But it was Gunnar Dalrata who made her breath catch. When he pulled off his tunic, baring himself from the waist up, Auder shut her mouth to keep from gaping. His wide shoulders were firm, his ridged muscles tight. The physical strength of his body was nothing she'd ever imagined, almost as if it had been carved from a piece of granite. She wondered what it would be like to touch his skin. Would it be warm and firm?

Even more, what would it be like to feel his body moving upon hers? Without warning, she thought of his promise, that a woman truly could enjoy joining with a man. Her imagination conjured up the vision of Gunnar lying with her, his hands sliding over her skin. A chill rose up, and she shifted her legs together.

Stop this. He's a friend, nothing more. He doesn't think of you in that way.

As if in answer to her self-chastisement, Gunnar approached Clár Ó Reilly, who sent the man a vivid smile. Petite and fair-haired, Clár was pretty enough that she could have nearly any man she wanted. An unexpected jealousy lashed out from within her, and it startled Auder, though she knew there was no reason for it.

Gunnar was free to choose any woman, whereas she would be married to the Lord of Maraloch within two days.

She reached for a cup of mead and swallowed quickly, while the men faced one another in the contests. One by one, they wrestled each other, their muscles flexing as they drove their opponents' faces into the dirt.

Match after match Gunnar won, until at last, he was offered the chance to kiss a woman of his choice. His gaze searched the crowd, many of the women calling out to him and preening. But then, his gray eyes settled upon her. Auder lost her breath, half-afraid Gunnar would approach. Her pulse quickened, and several of the others let out whistles of approval. She clenched her fingers together as the crowd parted, and he walked toward her.

Oh Danu, he was going to do this.
Auder knew she should protest, say something to remind him of her betrothal. But her body was frozen in place, and she couldn't have moved if she wanted to.

He walked right past her, until he reached Clár, who was standing just behind her. Gunnar caught the widow's nape and kissed her hard, as though he wanted to drag Clár off to his bed.

Auder wanted to hide beneath the table. How could she have thought he'd meant to kiss her? Clár was the woman he wanted. Not her. Embarrassment flooded her cheeks, and she prayed Gunnar hadn't noticed her mistake.

A shiver trembled through her as she imagined Gunnar's mouth trailing down the curve of her neck. She crossed her arms, and the pressure against her breasts evoked another unintentional response. Between her legs, she felt an unusual ache and the moisture of arousal.

Even if you weren't betrothed, Gunnar never wanted you
, she reminded herself. And…she didn't want to share any man's bed.

A loud cheering noise caught her attention, and she found herself rising from the bench, crossing through the men and women to see what was going on.

The chieftain Trahern motioned for her to come forward. “We have our first! Who will join her?”

“First what?” she asked, uncertain of what he was asking her to do.

“The first in the women's contests,” he said, grinning. “I'd say you have a definite advantage, Auder.”

No. She was
not
going to be the center of everyone's attention, making a fool of herself. “That isn't why I—“

But her words were cut off by the men cheering. She thought she saw a few men exchanging money, placing bets.

“What sort of contest is this?” she demanded, fully intending to leave.

“A race,” the chieftain answered. “If you win, you may claim a favor from any of these men.” Trahern sent her a teasing smile. “You might as well torment them in the last two days before you leave.”

“No, thank you,” she said, and turned to leave. At that same moment, Gunnar stepped into her path. The faint stirring rose up again, at the sight of his sleek muscles and handsome face.

She glared at him. “Gunnar, let me pass.”

“I thought you wanted to learn how to please your husband.” He took her by the shoulders and turned her back to face the gathering women. “This is your chance to practice on the other men. If you're fast enough to claim a kiss, that is.”

Though he spoke with the casual air of a friend, the weight of his hands pervaded the wool of her gown, the heat of his touch distracting her.

“There is no man here whose favor I want.” She was about to push her way free of him, when she suddenly spied Clár Ó Reilly joining the women, her laughter mingling with the others. The widow winked at Gunnar as she prepared for the race. Seeing the woman's happiness provoked even more jealousy.

Right now, Auder craved release from the physical frustration and anger that filled her up. A hard run was exactly what she needed. Though she loathed being at the center of anyone's attention, she lined up beside the other women.

After a deep breath, she raised her shoulders back, trying not to think of how much she towered over the others. As the chieftain prepared to start the race, her attention stole back to Gunnar. She found herself studying his mouth, wondering what it would be like to kiss a man like him. Would his lips be soft and yielding? Or would they take command, forcing her to surrender?

Enough,
she warned herself.

When the chieftain brought his hands down, signaling the start of the race, Auder picked up her skirts and ran hard. Her long strides cut across the
cashel
while the other women lagged behind.

No longer did she care that everyone was watching. Nor that she would have to wed the Norman baron in only two days more. She ran as though she could flee from the unwanted marriage, tearing herself free of the obligation. And when she crossed the line in the dirt, she heard the roar of approval from the crowd.

Everyone around her applauded, and Trahern took Auder's hand, raising it high. “The winner!” Laughing, he led her forward, adding, “Choose the man who will grant your favor. Your last favor, perhaps, before your marriage to Miles de Corlaine.” He smiled. “And we are all grateful that you've agreed to this alliance.”

The praise sobered her mood, for she'd wanted to forget all about the Norman. Several of the wrestlers lined up, each smiling as if he wanted to claim her kiss. The devastating shyness took hold, and more than anything, Auder wanted to flee again.

Gunnar stood on the outskirts of the men, in a clear message that he was not among those who wanted her favor. There was amusement in his face, along with a look of admiration at her win.

“Well?” the chieftain demanded. “Who is it you will claim?”

Her heart was pounding within her chest, and though she knew any of the men would accept her kiss, the fear seemed to solidify and freeze within her veins. This wasn't the sort of woman she was. If she offered a kiss to any of them, they might believe it was an invitation for more. And she wasn't prepared to take another lover.

This dilemma was Gunnar's fault. Were it not for him, she wouldn't have run this race. Suddenly the solution was easy, for there was only one man it was safe to kiss—someone who didn't want her.

She strode towards Gunnar and saw his amusement transform into apprehension.

“I'm sorry,” she apologized to Clár, who had come to stand beside Gunnar. “But since this was his idea, this will be his punishment.”

Lifting her head to meet his, Auder dropped a light kiss upon Gunnar's mouth. Then with a friendly smile, she turned away, leaving him to stare at her.

Gunnar had known she was going to kiss him. And though he'd wanted to tell Auder no, the words remained caught in his throat. It was a kiss, nothing more. A brush of her lips against his own, in a light gesture that a friend would give another. Easy enough to forget.

Only it wasn't.

Auder didn't know how to kiss a man - there was an innocence beneath her lips, of someone unawakened to the ways between a man and a woman. Like a spring bud, tightly wrapped, she kept herself hidden, not letting anyone know her.

She'd openly admitted that she didn't know how to please a man or how to gain his affections. Her shyness had held her back on more than one occasion. With such a powerful lord as her husband, Gunnar suspected Auder would fade into the shadows. The man would use her and discard her. There was no guarantee that the baron would keep the peace, either.

He still couldn't believe she'd volunteered for this. Were Auder as strong-willed as his sister-in-law Katla, she might have stood a chance. But she was softhearted and timid, too afraid to make trouble.

Clár reached out and took his hand as he walked her back to her house. “Why did Auder kiss you?” she asked. Though the widow's tone was friendly, he recognized the suspicion beneath it.

“I don't know. It was nothing.” He pulled Clár into an embrace, dropping a kiss upon her cheek to reassure her.

Clár's arms slid around his waist, and there was no doubt of the invitation she offered when she pressed her body closer. But the widow's kiss did nothing to him. It didn't warm his skin the way Auder's had. It was pleasant enough, but it conjured up no desire or need.

The truth was, a simple press of Auder's lips had made a far greater impact.

Gunnar broke away, unsure of the troubling thoughts brewing inside. Clár seemed to sense his unease, and in her face, he saw disappointment. “It's late,” she murmured. “I would invite you to stay, but I can see that your thoughts are elsewhere. Good night, Gunnar.”

He couldn't bring himself to deny it before the door closed behind Clár. Honor demanded that he forget about Auder. She wasn't the right woman for him, nor could she belong to him even if he wanted her to.

But the memory of her kiss haunted him, making him wonder why she had provoked him in such a way. And what on earth he was supposed to do about it.

 

In the morning, Auder blinked at the harsh sunlight. She'd hardly slept at all last night, for today was her last day among the Ó Reillys. It also marked the feast of
Bealtaine
, a time when prayers were spoken to bless the land and the animals. A time honoring the fertility of women, when the old ways were remembered.

Men and women would lie together this night, and many children would be born the following spring. More of the Dalrata tribe members would join them, and several men and women would handfast, marrying for a year and a day, if not longer.

A sense of isolation shadowed her, for she would not participate in the celebrations. In the morning, she would travel to the Norman settlement, and this night would be her last among friends and family.

Near the outer gate, she saw the glint of chain mail armor. Two of the Norman soldiers were speaking to Trahern. One stared at her, and her lungs seized with fear. Though she knew it was irrational to be so afraid when she would be living among them soon enough, she couldn't cage her feelings. Trahern's hand rested upon the sword at his waist, while Gunnar was nowhere to be seen. Several of the other men were approaching the soldiers, their hands gripping weapons in a silent threat.

“Auder, go back and remain hidden,” came a female voice. She saw Morren standing behind her, and the woman's face was pale. “Let Trahern handle this.”

“Why are they here?”

Morren shook her head. “Just go. Quickly.”

Her heart was racing, but Auder turned her back and obeyed. She didn't want to leave yet—it was too soon. But if the Norman baron commanded it, she doubted if she could refuse.

With the uneasiness weighing down upon her, Auder entered the storage hut that led to the hidden
souterrain
passage beneath the
cashel
. Though it was likely unnecessary to hide there, it was the safest place she could think of.

She climbed down the ladder until she reached the stone-lined chamber below the earth. The air was cooler, and she sat down against the frigid wall, flinching as she wondered how long she should remain here. With her knees drawn up, she exhaled, shivering as a cloud formed from her breath.

“Auder, what are you doing here?” came a voice. Gunnar returned from the opposite side of the
souterrain
passage, his face shadowed in darkness.

“The Norman soldiers are here.” She gripped her arms, steeling herself against the cold. “Morren ordered me to remain hidden. What about you?”

“Trahern asked me to guard this exit, in case anyone tried to invade the passage.”

She glanced back at the ladder leading to the storage hut. “Should I go back?”

“No. I'd rather be the one to guard you.” He set down his shield and leaned against the wall beside her. She couldn't read his expression, since the only light came from the overhead entrance by the ladder, but she could hear the tension in his voice. Whether he was angry at the soldiers or at her, she didn't know.

Several minutes passed before he demanded, “Last night…why did you do it, Auder?”

“I didn't want to kiss any of the others,” she admitted. “I thought you wouldn't mind. Besides, it was your idea for me to enter the race.” She turned her gaze away, not wanting to hear any reasons why he hadn't wanted her kiss.

Gunnar shifted his weight against the wall, and she heard him expel a sigh. “Auder, I don't know. As friends, we—“

“I know what you're going to say.” She hugged her knees tighter, cutting off his excuses. “Gunnar, you don't need to explain why I don't interest you as a woman. I know it already, and it doesn't bother me. Your interest is in Clár.”

“I'm glad you understand that.” But there was something else in his tone, almost as if he wanted to say more.

“Good.” She waited for him to go, or to make some sort of pitying remark. Instead, he reached down and helped her to stand up. He took both of her hands in his, as though he were trying to make a decision. “Is something wrong?”

Gunnar didn't answer. The heat of his skin warmed her, and she had the sense that he was choosing his words carefully. Long moments passed before he finally asked, “Did you believe that was a real kiss?”

“Of course.” She frowned. Was he criticizing her lack of experience? She'd been nervous enough, and she'd gotten it over with as quickly as possible. “It won't happen again,” she promised. “You can go back to Clár with a clear conscience.” She tried to pull her hands back, but he refused to allow it.

“The problem is,” he said slowly, “I've been thinking about it ever since yesterday. And I don't know why.”

Against her better judgment, her heartbeat quickened. She tried to keep her tone unassuming. “Gunnar, I meant nothing by it. Truly.”

Never in a thousand years would she admit to him that she had imagined him kissing her back, the way he'd kissed Clár. There was no reason to humiliate herself, not when it would never happen. Best to pretend it was of no importance.

Gunnar released her hands, but she didn't move. He leaned in so that his mouth rested against her ear. “I don't believe you.”

A chill rose upon her flesh, a tightness at the lie. His fingers moved lightly up her back, and an almost violent tremble poured through her. He was so close, she could smell the light scent of oak and wood ashes upon his skin.

She didn't dare move, terrified he would stop. Within his posture, she sensed a mixture of interest and shielded anger at himself. It took everything she had to take a step away from him. “I'm going back now. And I think you should return to Clár.”

But he took her hands and trapped them against her own waist. She could feel his warm breath against her mouth.

“What are you doing, Gunnar?” she breathed.

“Damned if I know.”

 

There was hesitation in Auder's eyes and a shocked awareness. Though there were a hundred thousand reasons why Gunnar shouldn't kiss her, the doubts about Clár were growing darker. He liked the widow, but before he made any commitment to her, he needed to know if he was making a mistake. If perhaps, there should have been something more.

Auder's gentle brush of lips lingered with him still. It had haunted him last night, and perhaps kissing her again would end all of the forbidden thoughts. It might solidify his decision to choose Clár and settle for a quiet, pleasant handfasting.

He slid his palms upon her nape. Strands of her hair had fallen about her face, despite the braids pulling it away from her cheeks. When he bent his mouth to hers, she caught her breath, their lips merging in softness. He nipped at her upper lip, coaxing her to open more.

She faltered at first, as though uncertain of what he wanted. But then, when he kissed her harder, she melted into him, her hips seeking his. Her arms wrapped around his neck, as though she needed him to keep her balance. The softness of her breasts pressed into his tunic, and he couldn't stop the roar of desire that awakened.

She had an instinct of what to do, and as he deepened the kiss, her tongue slipped against his. “That's right,” he encouraged her, threading his own tongue with hers.

Sleek and wet, she let him invade her mouth, kissing him back as though he were the only man left in the world. There was an eagerness, a willingness to please, that made him forget all the reasons he was courting Clár. His hands moved down Auder's back, over her taut bottom. He kissed her until his mouth grew numb, until he caught himself rubbing his shaft against her, needing to satiate the rigid lust.

Gunnar let go, jerking away as though she'd caught fire. Auder's breathing was unsteady, her shoulders trembling. Her hair hung over one shoulder, against the breasts he wanted to touch. He wanted to peel off her gown, to expose her skin and watch the nipples pebble in the wind. To take the tight buds into his mouth, making her moan with the same lust he was feeling right now.

God help him, he needed to cease this madness.

“Was that…a real kiss?” she ventured. She clenched her waist as though trying to hold herself together.

“I'm sorry.” He strode past her, to the exit of the
souterrain,
furious at himself for starting this. He'd been caught up by her innocence and the way she'd responded to him. If he hadn't stopped himself, he'd have taken her right here, claiming her with his body.

Gunnar didn't look back, for his thoughts were in complete disarray. He wished he'd never kissed Auder, for it had only driven home what he'd already suspected.

It couldn't be Clár. Not anymore.

The light at the edge of the
souterrain
was shielded by the underbrush. The sound of voices outside caught his attention, and Gunnar's hand went to the battleaxe at his waist.

Without warning, the branches moved, and men charged inside the
souterrain
.

“Auder, get out!” he roared, as he unsheathed the axe and swung hard.

 

They were going to kill him. She was sure of it. Auder didn't know what power moved through her, but instead of obeying Gunnar, she ran for one of the torches near the ladder that led above to the
cashel.
If he couldn't see, he couldn't fight.

A scream tore from her throat as she raced with the torch, using it to illuminate the narrow passage. She saw the Norman soldiers, their swords drawn, as Gunnar defended the
souterrain
with his battleaxe and the shield he'd dropped earlier.

One of the soldiers tried to move past him, but Auder swung her torch, the fire nearly singeing the man's beard. “Is this how you honor your lord's alliance?” she demanded. “By sneaking into our
cashel
like thieving animals?”

The leader of the men met her gaze, his expression furious. “We could take this
cashel
by force within a few hours. Then there would be no need for an alliance.”

Gunnar shoved the point of his sword at the man's throat. “Try it, and you'd be dead.”

Auder's voice froze within her throat as the soldier dove away from the blade, slicing his sword at Gunnar's stomach. At the last second, the man's weapon bit into the wooden shield, and Gunnar slashed the battleaxe at the man's face.

Auder watched in startled fascination as Gunnar unleashed the force of his rage, like one of the legendary berserkers. One of the Norman soldiers fell to the ground, and whether he was dead or alive, she didn't know.

When she saw another soldier coming up from behind, she cried out a warning. Gunnar spun, and caught a shield against the side of his head. Blood poured from his temple, and God help her, she couldn't let the soldiers harm him. Not when she held the power to stop it.

“Don't,” she pleaded. “I am the woman betrothed to Lord Maraloch. Release Gunnar, and I will go with you back to your camp.”

She lifted the torch, meeting the leader's gaze. “We will keep the alliance and avoid further bloodshed.” Swallowing hard, she stared at Gunnar. His expression was like stone, impenetrable and furious.

A movement from the
souterrain
exit caught their attention, and she saw Trahern arriving with half a dozen men. More of the Ó Reillys came from the ladder above, surrounding the Normans on both sides.

“Go back to Lord Maraloch,” Trahern ordered the soldiers. “And tell him that he will only have his bride if he honors our agreement for peace.” In the torchlight, the chieftain's face was rigid with anger. “I will have words with him about this treachery.”