The Viking's Woman (29 page)

Rhiannon swallowed tautly as she saw his naked back and buttocks, the taut muscles that rippled with his every movement. She turned, staring at the wall as she heard him step into the tub.”

Endless minutes seemed to pass. “May I go?” she inquired, fighting to keep her voice level and low.

“May you
what?”

“Go! Leave this chamber! Attend to our guests.”

“Attend to our guests? You mean that you are anxious to hostess that horde of Vikings out there?”

It was impossible to maintain her grasp upon her temper. She wasn’t going to grovel and beg. She wasn’t even going to ask his leave any longer. With an impatient oath she swung about and started for the door.

His voice cracked out at her like a whip.

“Don’t do it,” he warned.

To her great annoyance she felt her breath catching in her throat, her heart beating too quickly.

She did not open the door; she remained paused before it.

She was not a coward, she assured herself. But if she tried to leave, he would step naked from the tub and stop her. And after that … she did not know what he would do.

She swung around, crossing her arms over her chest, and stared at him. “You said that if I assisted you—”

“But I need more assistance,” he said pleasantly.

“What do you want?”

“Come scrub my back. The rigors of battle are exhausting. I crave some comfort and peace.”

Comfort and peace, my arse!
Rhiannon thought, but she did not say the words aloud. Instead she waged war with the seething tremors inside of her and strode to the tub, trying very hard not to look upon his nakedness. She wrenched the cloth and soap from him and went around to his back. She scrubbed him with a desperate wish to remove his skin. She swallowed tightly as she covered the bronzed breadth of his shoulders and felt the vitality and sinewed heat beneath her hands. His golden hair lay dampened upon his flesh, curling over her fingers.

“There! I am done!” she told him impatiently, dropping the linen cloth and the cube of soap.

But he caught her wrist and dragged her around until she was beside him. The pressure he bore upon her brought her down to her knees, where his heavily lashed gaze met hers.

“But you are not done. You have only just begun.”

“I—”

“Your touch upon my back was so very gentle and tender. I do know that I am well bathed. My chest now desires such a gentle caress.”

Rhiannon lowered her eyes because she could not take the feel of his upon them anymore. Tensing her jaw, she caught hold of the cloth again and began to scrub his chest, averting her gaze from the parts of his
anatomy that lay beneath the water. Huge expanses of muscle rippled beneath her fingertips, and her hands shook so that she could scarcely continue her task. “I did pray for you to die!” she whispered fiercely to him. She still could not meet his gaze, but she knew that his eyes were hard upon her.

“Ah, you must have been praying to the Christian god. You should have been praying to the gods of my father and the Danes. Perhaps Thor would have taken me in battle then, and carried me away to the halls of Valhalla—instead of delivering me unto your bedchamber.”

“Perhaps,” Rhiannon said. “I shall remember that next time.” She started to stand, but he caught her wrist again. “My love, you’re not finished.”

“But I am.”

He made a tsking sound. She knew that she reddened as he watched her, but there was no escape; his fingers were like iron handcuffs wound about her wrists. “To think of the long, lonely nights when I lay awake thinking about you and your sweet promise.”

“You lie, milord. I’m sure that you rode to battle and did not give me a second thought. Perhaps you thought about your newly acquired lands, but—”

“Aye,” he interrupted gravely, “I did think about the land.” Their eyes touched and he smiled slowly. “I love the land. I love its ruggedness and its beauty and its bounty. I love the laughter of children at play in the meadows. I ache to see the people at peace so that the richness of the earth might increase. You love it too,” he told her.

He did love the land; she had always sensed that about him. And she had to admit he seemed to have a
high regard for human life—for a man who spent so many of his days at battle.

But Alfred battled too. Alfred, who cherished learning, his family, his home, his hearth, his god. Alfred was a warrior-king. He was still a compassionate man.

It was not easy to realize that this man, her enemy and yet her lord and husband, could also be a compassionate man. One who knew her perhaps better than she would care to have him know her.

Her eyes fell. “I love my people, milord.”

“Aye, but the people are intricately interwoven with the land, are they not? And obviously you deal with this inheritance of yours well. The place has thrived in my absence.”

Her eyes met his once again, locked in challenge. “But it is no longer my inheritance, is it?”

He smiled, leaning back comfortably, a smile curling his lips as he closed his eyes. “You are mine and the land is mine. I cherish you both.”

“As you cherish Alexander.”

“He is a remarkably fine stallion.”

She lifted the bath cloth, heedless of repercussions, ready to douse his face with the soapy water. But his relaxed appearance was deceptive. Before she could move, he had opened his eyes and wound his fingers around her wrist. He held her tight, speaking in a deep, husky voice that held her to him with an even greater strength than that of his powerful arms.

“My wife, I did think of you. Night after night. I thought of the words of your sweet promise. You asked me not to slay your lover and he lives. Let me see if I can recall your exact words. Alas, I cannot, yet
I do remember you telling me that you would grant me anything, anything at all.”

“You tricked me.”

He shrugged. “I’ll have what I want,” he told her. “And I don’t think that you mind your wifely duties so much as you protest you do. I do remember our wedding night with the greatest pleasure. Those soft, sweet—and not so soft and sweet—sounds that escaped you haunted my dreams when I lay alone in the darkness.”

Again waves of crimson seemed over rush to her face. “Viking menace—” she began with all the dignity she could muster. But then she emitted a startled gasp as his arm suddenly snaked about her, dragging her, fully clothed, into the tub with him. Water sloshed out upon the wooden floor and she pressed hard against his chest, but he laughed, ignoring her. His fingers threaded into her hair, and he held her still as his mouth descended hungrily upon hers and his tongue began a foray over her lips and mouth that was both savage and seductive. Her heart hammered, and the steam of the water and the hard heat of his body surrounded her. And then his lips broke from hers as his fingers found the laces of her tunic. “You promised to come to me, to seduce and enchant as you did that day in the woods with your lover.”

She caught his powerful fingers where they lay atop her breast. “You want what you cannot have, what you never earned, what I shall never give you! I was in love with Rowan—”

“In love!” He snorted derisively. “You toyed with a lad. You need a man.”

“Ah, so you, sir, are so very old! Alas! Give me the
youth! What maid would require such a decrepit lover?”

“Not so decrepit yet, I think!” He laughed, then caught her hand and slid it slowly down the length of his body, adjusting her weight upon him. She gasped as he brought her fingers low beneath the water, over the steel planes of his belly, to close around his masculine shaft. Life and pulsing heat surged beneath her fingertips, seeming to swell ever larger with an awesome strength and desire. She wanted to wrench her hand away, but his remained over it. She wanted to turn from him, to cry, to protest. Her eyes remained locked with his and she did not cease to touch him.

He smiled slowly. Impatiently he shoved free the laces of her tunic, baring her breast. He pulled her close, and his lips closed over the fullness of her soft, feminine mound. His tongue bathed the growing hardness of her nipple and he suckled fiercely there, bringing a startling wave of intense pleasure to her. She cried out, and her fingers delved of their own volition into the length of his hair as he availed himself passionately of the sweet fruit of her body. His hand was beneath the sodden length of her garments, sliding along her bare flesh, stroking her upper thigh. His touch teased the very heart of her heat, then swept within her, deep within her, stroking, rotating, bringing her to the edge of abyss where she shuddered fiercely, alive with fire, longing to fight, knowing that she was lost. Stroking, stroking, touching so softly, so deeply … words caught within her throat and she choked and gasped, and then his lips were upon hers, sweeping away her protests and her cries.

He rose from the tub, cradling her within his arms.
Great sheets of water spilled from his naked body, as well as her sodden-clothed one. His eyes remained upon hers for long moments as the water drained from them, and then he set her down before the tub, caught her garment at the bodice, and rent the wet fabric with such strength that the many layers of her shift and once beautiful white gown fell in a heavy heap to the floor. She silently railed against herself for the color that came again to her cheeks and flooded her body, but she did not turn from him; she met his gaze with all the boldness and challenge that she could. And she was even somewhat glad of the slow, admiring smile and the light that touched his eyes as he gazed upon her. Aye, they were enemies, but despite herself, she was gratified that he admired her and was elated by the sight of him, by the sheer masculine beauty of his size and strength, by the raw and exciting power that lay within him. Aye, she was even glad of his arrogance, for perhaps it was that very confidence within him that lit the fires within her.

“You have utterly destroyed my gown,” she told him dryly.

“You have others.”

“Ah, sir, but I am your wife, your property, your chattel! What is mine is yours, and therefore, destroyed, is a loss to you. You will not always best the enemy. There will not always be new riches to conquer!”

“Alas, no, for my dear wife will now pray to the proper gods to see that I am destroyed!”

“You will not always win!” she persisted.

He reached for her, lifting her from the remnants of her clothing, sweeping her high into his arms once
again. His eyes caught hers with their endless crystal-blue power, and his smile curved the fullness of his lip. “But, my love, I beg to protest. I do always win, and I promise you I will always do so.”

She longed to deny him, but he was already moving, striding on long, muscular legs to the bed. This time when he deposited her upon it, he lowered his body along with hers. And she would have spoken, but he again claimed her lips. When his mouth moved from hers at last, it was to travel with tempest and heat to her earlobe, where he whispered that she was damp and delicious. His hand caressed her as his eyes met hers again, and he told her huskily where he would kiss and caress the lingering dewdrops of the bath from her body. His palm touched lightly upon her breast, and then his lips were there, and he laved the tightening sweet bud with his tongue, swept it into his mouth, grazed it with his tongue, and bathed it anew, leaving her gasping, surging against him, and tearing her fingers into his shoulders and hair. Any thoughts of denying that she wanted anything other than all that he offered her slipped away like the last, lingering rays of the setting sun.

He licked a final drop of water from her navel and traversed down the length of her belly, planting his weight between her thighs. And then he dared her to protest as his strong hands slid beneath her thighs, parting the sinewy length of her legs still further, and then began a soft, full caress of the pink petals of her deepest longing. His touch was light, sweeping, exploring, so taunting and seductive that rather than protest, she felt herself surge against him. And he obliged the sweet demand of her body, thrusting,
sweeping, seducing with the touch of both his fingers and his tongue.

Deep, dark fantasies she’d never imagined began to burst forth within her. Soft cries tore from her throat once again, and she undulated without inhibition as he brought her higher. Great, shocking waves of ecstasy began to sweep through her. She shuddered violently as the peak began to rise within her like myriad starbursts on a velvet sky. And just when she thought that the pleasure was beginning to fade away, he caressed her deeply, all the way into her womb, and then he rose above her, filling her with the throbbing fullness of himself, and as he drove fiercely into her the waves of rapture began anew.

She bit into his shoulder, her fingers raking over his back. Shamelessly she clung to him, winding her legs around his waist, moving with him as he commanded her, finding the drive of his rhythm.

She did not want this, she thought very briefly. She did not want to give to him; she had promised to do so, but he had tricked her and betrayed her ….

Yet he was what she wanted more than anything in the world. Her kisses fell against his chest; she met the ardor of his mouth with an all-consuming passion. She marveled at the strength of the muscle beneath her fingertips, and she reveled in the strength of him that thrust with such great thirst and power between her thighs. The great, staggering waves of pleasure began to grow and build within her to renewed heights. Then it seemed that a sweetness so good that it was nearly unbearable filled her. The world blazed with light, and she was aware that he entered her even deeper … and deeper ….

The ecstasy peaked, sweeping through her. The shattering light turned to darkness even as she heard the harsh, guttural cry of her Viking husband, and he found the violence of his own release within the sheath of her body.

The light returned slowly. She still gasped for breath, and her body was being racked by tiny after-shudders.

He lay by her side upon an elbow, watching her. A wild tangle of her hair, still partially damp, created binding skeins of fire and gold between them.

He touched her cheek gently. She knew that he studied her, but she closed her eyes and did not move. She still trembled inwardly, wanting nothing more than to lay her head against him in exhaustion and find peace.