Ruthless (44 page)

Putting his longest finger into her hot body,
he explored around then inched a second finger in. He plunged so
fiercely it lifted her. His other hand came to join in the play,
working itself between their bodies and finding her hard nub. He
rubbed then squeezed gently. She contracted around his fingers and
groaned. He rubbed harder and faster, smearing her wetness around
her opening.

She begged. "Please!"

He had to know what she wanted! When his cock
didn't enter, she grabbed a braid in her mouth and tugged.

"Vixen!"

He rubbed hard on her nub until she squirmed
and kicked his back, tried to find his prick, but he didn't let
her.

"I am the master, my love."

Magnus pulled her nub with just the right
pressure and her body quivered and shook in a fierce climax. Her
body grasped his fingers in an iron grip. He plunged deep and
waited until her spasms weakened.

She gasped for breath and expected him to put
her down, but he did not. He started over. She was twice as
sensitive as before, and in a few short breaths was near to
pleading again. This time, he lifted her buttocks and lowered her
slowly onto his steel-hard cock. Though she was weeping for him,
the year without sex had tightened her pathway. When he filled her,
she could think of nothing, could feel nothing, but his steel-hard
prick inside her.

Each time, he built her to a pitch then
stopped and soothed her only to begin again when her quivering
slowed. She was about to scream when he walked over to the bed. Her
arms and legs tightened and clung to him as he crawled with her
until he reached the center of the bed. Once there, she loosened
the iron grip of her limbs and settled on the sheets.

He pounded inside her, rocking her until her
head met the headboard. She thought her mind had exploded for a bit
there, for light came through her eyelids. Or it could have been
the fireplace, for Magnus didn't cease his rhythm. After a few
breaths, it was dark again.

When he finally allowed himself to come, he
didn't pull out as he had at Kinbrace. Plunging all the way in, he
spurted his seed. Her body's spasms milked him of every drop.

Sweat covered them both when he finally
pulled out and fell to her side. He held her close and put her head
on his shoulder.

They didn't get much sleep. In fact, if she
started to drift off, his tantalizing hands awakened a new
excitement in her. He took her in a variety of ways, each of them
as satisfying as the last. She drowsily thought being on top was
her favorite, for he had allowed her some control. But she knew he
meant this night to be a lesson she would remember.

In a most delightful way, he showed her he
was in command

They fell asleep as the sun began to
rise.

o0o

"Ye are up early, brother. Hunger must have
made ye leave the bed with such a beautiful wife still fast
asleep."

Magnus plucked a bannock from the kilt
gathered above his belt and wiggled it at Graemme. "Had two of them
already. Check the knights' equipment while Sweyn and I see to the
warriors'."

As he walked away, Graemme laughed and called
to him, "Ye best adjust the end of yer kilt to cover the claw marks
on yer back!

Magnus shrugged. They wouldn't be noticeable
amongst the old scars there. He had worries far more pressing. He
expected Chief Olaf and his army to appear at any moment. They
posted lookouts throughout Ben Clibrick at their back 'Twas the
most likely way to attack the castle since an army could hide in
its lush forests. Loch Naver was to their front. Their sides were
low hills down to the waters of the loch.

When Magnus joined him, Sweyn had already
started checking the warriors' weapons as they stood in two long
lines. If a sword didn't cut a blade of grass they held out, the
warrior had to hone it again. They checked the chains and wood
handles of the morningstars, the shaft on the war hammers, studied
the points on the spears and the feathers on arrows and the strings
on bows. They immediately fixed anything appearing to have any
weakness.

Magnus ignored the men's teasing about his
back. He didn't mind. His wife was the only woman he had ever
swived who matched his passion with fervor. He smothered a grin.
They would truly be startled to see her telltale marks on his
arse!

Who would think such an elegant woman could
be so wanton?

When they had done all they could, Graemme
and his father joined Magnus beside the well as the two young men
doused their heads with cool water.

Chief Angus cleared his throat when Magnus
finished and draped the damp drying cloth around his neck to cool
him down. He met his father's dark gaze and tilted his head.

Angus nodded before he spoke. "The priest can
truthfully tell Chief Olaf and King David he personally saw the
vows consummated last eve."

"I heard the door opening and its closing.
Had Muriele known, she would not have taken it lightly." Lightly
was putting it mildly. He was glad she had been in the throes of
passion; else, she would have torn into him with teeth and
claws!

"Er, are ye sure ye made yer bride swoon with
joy last eve?" Graemme's eyes widened.

Magnus looked behind him and saw his bride
charging toward him like a Valkyrie ready to collect his soul and
fly it to Valhalla.

Before she was halfway to him, he felt her
fury.

"What right did ye have to take my
weapons?"

Muriele skidded to a stop, frowned briefly at
his father and brother and came so close to Magnus her nose near
bumped his chest.

"A man shouldn't get his toes cut from
beneath the bed when he climbs onto the mattress. Nor should he
have a finger severed when he puts his hand under a pillow to grab
the end of the bedding whilst striving to satisfy his wife's hearty
appetites" His lips twitched at the corners. "Did ye plan to clip
my tarse with yer short sword under the mattress?"

"Deny me my weapons again and ye'll find yer
stones missing one morning." With hands on her hips, her eyes shot
angry sparks at him.

"That seems quite harsh. Gille took them to
hone and polish the blades. Ye have neglected yer weapons since I
last saw ye." He rubbed his chin as his dark eyes somberly studied
her. "But I am quite fond of my stones, large as they are. With
such a dire threat to them, I am inclined to have yer weapons added
to the armory."

"Do so and I'll acquire others." Her chin
jutted stubbornly.

When her stomach growled from hunger, it
spoiled her determined demeanor. She blinked and blushed when the
men laughed at her surprised look.

"Come, 'tis time for the noon meal. Everyone
else has already gathered and they canna eat until Father's
seated," Graemme said. "After yer
active
night, ye both
need sustenance."

"Aye, love. Ye must build up yer strength
before night falls."

When Muriele gasped, Magnus laughed. His
brother and father looked at each other and smiled at the hoarse
sound.

It was near two years since they had heard
him laugh.

At nightfall, Magnus guided Muriele to stand
on the fur rug before the fireplace so he could enjoy the firelight
dancing over her velvety skin.

"Let me," Magnus brushed Muriel's hands away
and began to untie the laces on either sides of her tunic.
"Unveiling a woman, piece by piece, is an aphrodisiac."

Proving it, he removed each item of clothing
with his lips, teeth and tongue. His breath rasped when her smock
lingered on the hardened nipples of her creamy breasts. With his
tongue, he flipped the cloth over the nipple, closed his lips over
the turgid flesh and gently aroused it with his teeth. Not wanting
to neglect the other breast, he did the same. When her smock
slithered to her feet, his lips trailed from her chest down her
soft skin. His tongue's tip dipped in her navel, teasing it while
his hands reached up to tweak her nipples, letting them know he had
not forgotten them.

Feeling his hot tongue on her taut belly, her
legs quivered. His lips caressed over the hollow where her legs
joined.

"Ah, so soft. So sweet."

He gripped her knees and urged her legs to
open. She grasped his shoulders, no doubt fearing she'd lose her
balance and topple over.

Cupping her buttocks, his lips explored
amongst the blond curls there. She jerked when his nose moved aside
the curls hiding her hard nub. He groaned as his lips closed over
it. Softly, he plucked it then tormented her by swirling his tongue
around and around it. When he drew it into his mouth and gently
scraped it with his teeth, her hips thrust at him. She needed more
than gentle kisses now.

Hands that had been rubbing and squeezing her
beautiful nether cheeks, reached between them to plunge his fingers
in her center while his mouth did its magic. When he removed his
fingers, he widened her stance and explored her with his tongue.
She gasped and tried to pull back. He didn't let her. He wanted to
taste her skin from head to toe. She was so sweet. Like hot
honey.

Muriele tangled her fingers in his hair, not
knowing if she wanted to pull him away or bring him tighter to her.
Shamefully, she knew the answer. She rocked against him, keening
low in her throat. Quivering now, she thought the torment would
never end.

Swiftly, he grasped her waist then pulled her
down to the fur rug beside the fireplace. Kneeling, he pulled her
legs on either side of him, lifted her body to meet his tarse and
thrust all the way, bringing a sigh to her lips.

Spread beneath him with his heavy-lidded eyes
gleaming at her, she felt wanton. He stared at her body. Watched
his tanned hands exploring her breasts. She watched him watching
her, and the tight look on his face was enough to make her convulse
with her climax. She reached for him, wanting him to cover her, but
he did not.

As her climax slowed, he turned her on her
stomach, reached an arm under her waist and lifted her to her
knees. She tried to fight him. Her back was bare to his eyes. The
fire's light was bright and he'd see every ugly mark of Feradoch's
belt.

"Shh, let me."

One hand reached to her shoulders and forced
them to the rug while he slowly entered her from behind. She felt
vulnerable. More so than at any time in her life. For the first
time, she felt his power over her mind and body. Knew he more than
matched her.

His hand traced each mark. His thrusts became
faster and he adjusted her so she was no longer on her knees but
flat on the rug, his one hand beneath her sex holding her up to
meet his thrusts.

His lips kissed the scars imprinted by the
wicked belt. She felt his tongue lathe the shameful brand from her
stepfather. He slid his face over it and up to her shoulder. His
mouth opened wide and he clamped his teeth on her right shoulder
beside her neck. It didn't hurt. He didn't mean it to. It was a
sign of possession as they both released their passion. When he
spurted his seed into her, she felt it more than at any other
time.

His climax went on until he filled her.
Reluctantly, he slowly withdrew from her body.

When she rolled over on her back, he had
already risen and brought over a basin of water and a cloth. He
rinsed off his tarse then knelt. She would have taken the cloth
from him, but he shook his head. Nay, he wanted to do this.

'Twas strange allowing him to do this woman's
job. The man everyone feared as Magnus the Ruthless was as gentle
as a troubadour when she least expected it.

He put the basin aside to lie down beside
her. With his arm under her head, her back tucked neatly against
him, they slept.

They must have slept much of the night, for
daylight came quickly. Magnus stirred, uneasy. Jumping to his feet,
he went to the shuttered window. Muriel awoke, hearing shouts from
the guards upon the curtain walls surrounding the castle. When she
reached the window, she saw why.

The mimic of dawn came from the west, shining
light above the hill leading down to the waters of the loch. Magnus
gave out a bellow to the guards below to sound the alarm.

Coming toward them was Olaf's army riding
through the night. Every man bore a torch aloft as he galloped his
horse through the shallow water where the loch met land. Water
splashed, the torches making the droplets as brilliant as jewels.
The horses stepped high as they charged toward the castle.

Magnus threw on the tunic he'd dropped on the
floor earlier, picked up his sword and wound his belt around him
until it hung at the right level.

"Get dressed and strap on all yer weapons.
Gather the women into the great hall and stay close to Esa and
Grunda. I'll send the older men who can no longer fight on the
walls. They can still use their weapons."

"Can't I help on the walls? I have my bow and
arrows, and you know my aim is accurate."

"Nay! I need ye here to protect the women and
the aged. Dinna show yerself to Olaf unless I call for ye."

"But..."

"Obey as ye vowed!" He grabbed his Claymore
propped against his wooden cabinet and was out the door.

She'd obey him as long as it was reasonable.
If she could help, he would just have to accept that. She dressed
in her oldest kirtle, one much like the one she'd had on when
climbing the tree. It gave her legs freedom to run or jump astride
a horse if need be.

She stood by the window as she strapped her
two knives on her legs and her short sword around her waist.
Watching the happenings below, it looked like Olaf and his men were
flying over the water. They shouted Viking war threats or curses.
She didn't know which. Carrying torchlights, they appeared warriors
from an ancient age!

Animal pelts covered their shoulders; leather
belts held scanty bits of wool around their waist. On their stocky
legs, they wore animal hide boots up to their knees, the fur
against their skin. They carried torches in one hand and spears and
swords in the other.