Sandra Hill - [Vikings I 05] (10 page)

“Ha, ha, ha. That’s not how it’s done.” She tried to get up, but was fenced in by his arms, and could not get her balance with the constant motion of the stone.

He shrugged indifferently. “Whether a stone deems you guilty or not matters not a whit to me. The important thing is that I still have the blue mark. You expect me to put my life and that of my men at risk, whilst you give naught in return. Well, no more. You have put your mark on me. Now I intend to do the same to you.”

“What… what do you mean?”

“I mean that I intend to have you, witch. My
mark
will be put on you …
inside
you … in the way that men have been marking women for ages. By the time I leave the Highlands, you will yearn for me like an opium eater for his pipe. That is how I will mark you. In essence, your virtue is forfeit from now on.”

“That is so outrageous, it does not merit discussion. You are far too pretty for such as me.”

“Pretty, eh?” He laughed, and it was not a pretty sound.

His mirth was not of comfort to Maire, especially since he was staring at her with eyes that could only be described as smoldering. No man’s eyes had ever smoldered for Maire before, and she had to stifle the impulse to be pleased.

“Do not attempt to tell me what interests me when it comes to the man-woman arena. In truth, I have been watching you move about all day in that pink blanket-gown you are wearing—”

“It’s not a blanket. It’s an
arisaid.”

“Whatever you call it, its pinkish color reminds me of a confection I ate once in the home of an Eastern potentate. It was so sweet, I remember licking the spoon afterward and my fingertips, as well.”

Maire was getting truly alarmed, not just by his
lecherous words, but by how they made her feel. “My gown is not pink, it is faded red. And I do not understand this licking business. Now let me up.”

Of course, he did not obey her order, but kept the stone rocking with a mocking grin upon his face. His eyes were heavy lidded, burning intensely. “Let me explain this
licking business
, then. Never let it be said that Vikings do not make themselves clear. You look good enough to lick, Maire the Fair. All over. Stark naked. Starting with your nipples, which have already hardened with my words and ache for my attentions.”

“They do not…. They are not.” She glanced down, guiltily, before she could catch herself. Of course, there was no way he could see through the thick fabric of her
arisaid
. He had been guessing. The brute.

“You are a perverted man, Rurik.”

“Yea,” he agreed with a half smile. “That is one of the good things about me. Women love it.”

“Never let it be said that you are an excessively modest man.” Her upper lip curled back in a snarl. “Well, I am not one of your women, and will not be.”

“You were once.”

“Never again.”

He put up a hand, his eyes sparkling with the love of combat. “Protest all you want, Maire. This is my promise to you. Every day I bear your mark, you will bear mine. On fair days, I will work with your men and mine to build up the defenses of your castle against the MacNabs, but I will devote the long nights to you and you alone in your bedchamber. On rainy days, there will be more time to devote to your marking, and we might just spent day
and
night in bed. I have so much to teach you … so many ways to mark you.”

She gasped. She could not help herself.

“Somehow, after a few days of this, I think you will remember your dark arts, or find another witch to stir up a remedy for you. Surely, you are not the only witch in all the Highlands.”

“You don’t scare me, Viking.”

“I don’t?” The jut of his chin and the determination on his face did not bode well for her. Then, with deliberate insult, he let his gaze move down from her face to her chest. “Speaking of your nipples … and licking …”

Nobody is speaking of nipples. Please do not bring up that horrid subject again. I can feel that part of my body reacting already
.

“… there is another place I would like to lick on you, sweetling,” he said. Before she knew what he was about, he rocked the stone more forcibly, causing her legs to flail, and he landed with deliberate intent between them. His sex pressed intimately against her sex, and it mattered not that there were several layers of cloth betwixt them. His lips were lowering to hers.

To her embarrassment, she heard a panting noise, and it came from her.

But Rurik was equally affected. She could see that in the sensual hazing of his eyes, his half-lowered lids, and the way he stared at her.

Maire knew then, without a doubt, that Rurik did want her in a man-woman way. She also knew that when he was done with her, she would indeed be marked.

Right now, she did not care.

Quickly, Rurik eased himself atop the startled wench who lay like a sacrificial victim, arms and legs akimbo, where she’d landed when he’d rocked the stone. He’d intended only to scare the witch, who would not disclose the remedy for removing his blue mark.

That was what he’d intended.

But, oh, the consequences of a foolish man’s warped intentions.

As soon as he’d settled himself betwixt her inadvertently parted thighs, it was as if a thunderbolt struck him. All thoughts of intimidation or revenge fled his head. He should have known that a favorite part of his body would thicken with a will of its own. He wasn’t absolutely positive, but Lance appeared to be actually throbbing. Whilst manhood pressed against womanhood, and his senses grew as fuzzy as
the moss he’d just been handling, he could not remember why he had hated this woman for five long years, why he needed to have her fearful of him, why it was important that he remain aloof and unmoved by her.

Unfortunately, everything that was male in him moved, of its own accord. Lance—
the bloody lackwit!
—was nigh smiling with anticipation.

I just want to show her who is in charge. I am going to stop… in a moment
, he told himself. And he was serious.

“Nay,” she whispered.

“Yea,” he responded, his arms already reaching out for her.

I am going to stop… in a moment.

Really
.

She went stiff as he gripped her head with two hands by tunneling his fingers into her hair… hair so fine it formed a cobweb of red about her face. Smudges of scarlet bloomed on her cheeks in a most becoming manner, making her seem younger than she was, like a sun-drenched maiden, which he knew too well that she was not. She dropped her green eyes under his steady gaze but not before he admired their misty illumination. Like pale emeralds, they were, shaded by thick lashes of a darker hue, in this light more brown than russet.

“Ert mjg falleg,”
he told her in a voice he barely recognized for its huskiness. “You are so beautiful.”

Her chin shot up at his words, and her eyes locked with his, wide with surprise. “I am no such thing,” she protested hotly, but he could tell she was pleased at his compliment.

Women! They are so predictable
. He took a deep breath for control, and girded himself with resolve. I
am going to stop
… in ?
moment. I swear before all the gods that I will… well, some of the gods… Loki, perchance. That lighthearted jester of a god is having a good laugh on me now, I would wager
.

It must have been Rurik’s long period of self-denial—he could not recall the last time he’d lain with a woman—for Maire was becoming compellingly attractive to him. The consummate woman. All that was feminine and desirable. She made him want her body, but it was more than that; she made him want… he felt mysterious yearnings he could not name, which tantalized and terrified him at the same time.

I am going to stop … in a moment. I am, I am, I am
.

His lips were lowering to hers beginning the mating ritual that came instinctively to all men and women when the sap thickened in their bodies and pooled in certain places. In truth, it was almost as if he could feel the blood flowing, torrid and insistent, from his fingertips, all the way to his toes, and some important places in between.

I am going to stop… in a moment
, he repeated to himself like a litany, trying to ignore his thundering heart.

But almost immediately, under the assault of a million lustful impulses, he exclaimed to himself,
To hell with stopping!

“By your leave, my lady witch, be forewarned. I am going to kiss you senseless.”

“I do not give you leave,” she said on a gasp.

“Oh?” He pondered her protest, but not very seriously, then replied, “More’s the pity.” With a sigh he set his course to do what he damned well pleased, her wishes notwithstanding. That decided, he settled his mouth over hers. Wanting to be slow and gentle, he entreated and persuaded her into the love play by moving his lips against hers, back and forth, till they slickened and fitted together perfectly. When her lips turned pliant, his senses flamed and he güded the tip of his tongue along the seam.

She obligingly parted for him with a moan.

That moan was his undoing. He made a rough growl deep in his throat and entered her, his tongue lightly touching the roof of her mouth.

Instinctively, she sucked on him, and he almost catapulted off the boulder. Tearing his mouth from hers, he stared down, stunned by the turbulent passions that swirled betwixt them, at just that one kiss. A hunger for her assailed him, so intense he could scarce breathe. He panted, trying to rein in his burgeoning desire.

Her long, sweeping lashes lowered over green eyes that held a glint of wonder. She, too, must be experiencing the selfsame emotions. He should get up now from where he still lay sprawled over her. He had accomplished his goal. He’d scared the spit out of her. But her lips were moist, and, oh, so inviting. He could not resist her allure.

Had she bewitched him with a spell, or one of her love potions?

“You taste like mint,” she said in a breathless whisper.

Damn, damn, damn! Did she have to say that?
He
could not resist her now. “You taste like heaven,” he countered. And she did.

Lacing his fingers with hers, he stretched their arms overhead. At the same time, he ground his hips against the heart of her, which lay open to him betwixt her cloth-covered thighs.

“Oh … merciful… Mary!” she rasped out and arched herself up toward him. “What is happening to me, you wicked man? You are turning me into an inferno.”

Her artless admission of arousal stirred all that was masculine in Rurik. And, indeed, a red flush did color her skin… skin that was deliciously warm and tempting to touch. He murmured against her parted lips, “I have always wanted to play with fire, m’lady.”

When he reclaimed her lips now, there was nothing gentle or slow in his approach. Rapacious and devouring, he pressed his lips and thrust his tongue. Rurik had always prided himself on being an inventive lover who ofttimes followed specific, tried-and-true steps to bring his women to ecstasy. Now, he was barely able to focus through the haze of his excitement. He was a man out of control, and he did not care. Maire—
bless her soul
—gave herself freely to the fervor of his kisses. When he forced her lips open even wider, she made soft sounds of pleasure into his mouth … whimpers that spurred his invasion to be even bolder. He could not swear that it was so, but he suspected he might have whimpered back.

Rurik had never known that kissing could be so intimate or so glorious, and he told her so… in words that were sinfully explicit. Maire did not seem to mind. Actually, an erotic tremor rippled over her
body in response. He even saw goose bumps rise on her bared forearms. In his experience, goose bumps on a woman’s flesh during lovemaking were a good thing. Some men disdained all the preliminary exercises and gestures in lovemaking, wanting to get right to the tupping, but there was no doubt in Rurik’s opinion that this kiss he and Maire shared was love play of the grandest sort.

But, wait, Maire’s hands were fluttering with dismay, and he noticed her eyes darting from side to side. She was starting to think, he would wager, and a thinking female was not a good thing when the male sap was running high.

Swiftly, before she could spout all the reasons why this was not a good idea, Rurik laid a line of nibbling kisses along her jaw, up to her ear, which he exposed by brushing back her hair. At first, he just flicked his tongue against the shell of her ear, wetting its grooves and crevices. When she made a mewling noise, he knew—
he just knew
—that he had hit upon one of Maire’s most sensitive spots. All women had them—leastways, those he’d come in contact with did—but they were ofttimes in different places … the ears, the back of the knees, the nipples, the sensitive flesh betwixt the woman-folds, the navel, even the arch of a foot. Now that he knew Maire’s ears were susceptible to titillation, he launched a full assault. Using the tip of his tongue, he circled her ear, then gently blew it dry. He stabbed and withdrew, then sucked the lobe. All this was accompanied by whispered words of praise and encouragement to her.

Maire grew wild. “I am so ashamed,” she cried out at one point. “Look what you do to me. Again.”

“Nay, do not say so. Your passion is my pleasure, and there is no shame in that.”

She shook her head in denial, even as she reared her neck up with continuing ardor. “I hate you, Rurik.”

Rurik knew that. Hell, he hated her himself. Still, the words hurt. “Do you hate my kisses, too?” He could not keep himself from asking that question.
How pitiful I am!

Her eyes were cloudy with arousal when she met his direct gaze. For a moment, it appeared as if she was going to lie, but then she stopped herself. “Your… kisses … are … sweet… agony,” she admitted through gritted teeth.

“Ah, well, then we are equal partners, dearling,” he confided back to her, “for you make me tremble.” And that was the truth. On the other hand, mayhap his knees on the hard stone could be weak due to his landing on those joints so often during combat; they did tend to creak betimes. She did not need to know that, though.