The Viking's Woman (47 page)

She started walking in the direction from which he had come.

“Rhiannon!”

She kept walking. He did not stop her but slowly
walked the stallion behind her. “I thought you might need some assistance.”

“Whatever gave you that idea?”

“The mare that rushed by me, for one thing.”

“Oh. Well, I had thought that I wanted to ride. Once out here, I realized that I far preferred to walk, and so I sent her on home. You are quite welcome to leave me.”

“Am I?”

“Indeed.”

She had not heard him dismount, she had not heard his footsteps in the snow, but suddenly he was behind her and sweeping her up into his arms. She struggled against him, but he ignored her flailing fists. “You’re soaked! You’ll be ill!” he scolded her. In seconds he had lifted her up with him onto the stallion. Still she fought his hold.

“What difference should that make to you!” she raged. “You find your entertainment where you choose.”

“Garth would be quite heartbroken!”

“Let me go … Viking!” she charged him.

The sky suddenly seemed to break. From the darkness came millions upon millions of snowflakes. Eric swore, then urged the stallion forward. Even as they moved, Rhiannon regretted her impetuous run from the house. The weather was worsening. They would never make it back. The thick, wet snow was beating upon them mercilessly now.

But Eric was not heading for the house. She realized a moment later that he was headed for one of the small hunting cottages that nestled in the woods before the cliffs. He led the stallion beneath the eaves,
then dismounted from the horse and dragged Rhiannon down into his arms. He battled the wind to bring her inside, then nearly cast her from him to close the door once again. When that was done, he turned and leaned against it, and his blue gaze fell upon her with a sharp and dangerous gleam.

“Ah, my love! Here we are! On a night when we could be safe and warm before our own fire!”

She ignored him, turning her back on him and trying to wring some of the dampness from her skirts. He strode past her, and for a moment she froze, but he did not touch her. He came to the central fireplace and swore anew as he built up the tinder, then brought out flint and striker and managed to start a blaze. The warmth was hypnotic. She did not want to come near it, yet she shivered mindlessly.

Eric rose and looked about. Straw pallets lay in the corners of the small room, covered with fur blankets. There was a large, simply carved table to the left of the fire, several drinking horns upon it. He strode to the table and tested the first horn. Then his eyes fell upon Rhiannon again, and he moved toward her. She backed away and he paused, a devil’s gleam in his eye as he passed the horn to her. “Mead. Drink it. I am planning on bringing you back alive.”

“I don’t—”

“I said to drink it!”

She took a long swallow of the mead. It was warm and delicious and raced down her throat and to her stomach. She took another swallow, then handed the horn back to him. “Your every command obeyed, milord,” she drawled sarcastically. “Is there anything else?”

“Indeed. Take off your clothes.”

“I will not!” she spat out furiously. But he had already left her, dropping the horn onto one of the pallets and pulling a fur blanket from another.

“Let’s see, how shall I phrase this? Milady, you may remove your clothing of your own accord or I shall do it for you. Actually, it’s been quite a while. I should dearly relish the task.”

“Oh!” she cried out, rage sweeping through her. “Bloody invader, Viking bastard!” she lashed out. Smiling, he caught her arm, dragging her toward him. She fought to free herself, and her mantle came away in his hand. She raced to the corner of the room, but he came after her, pinning her there. She pummeled his chest, but he caught hold of her wrists and held them high above her head, bracing her there in the corner. With his free hand he rent the blue wool of her tunic and the linen of her shift beneath. She tried to kick him and in her fury cried out anew. “It seemed to me that it was Judith who was to ‘do’ your front, Viking!”

His laughter was husky, his breath on her cheek was warm and sweet with the mead, and his body was very close to hers. “Rhiannon—” He broke off, as she managed to slam up a knee and inform him, “Milord, that is all that I shall do for your front!”

A second later she was lying flat upon the pallet, winded, desperate. She flailed about to maintain her meager hold on the remnants of her clothing, but he snatched them from her with an awesome force. Shivering fiercely, she clasped her arms about herself, but then a fur landed atop her, covering her and warming her. Startled, she scrambled up to discover
that Eric was peeling away his own soaked clothing and reaching for a fur for himself.

Then he turned back to her. She tried to shoot up, but he pushed her back and straddled her. Tears lightly stung her eyes again. The fur just covered his shoulders. His naked chest was rippled with muscle, smooth and sleek and fascinating, and it had been so long since she had seen him so. His sex rested upon her belly, and that, too, filled her with warmth and desire, and seemed to cause a scalding liquid to dance deep within her. But now that she had come to need him so desperately, to desire him during her every waking moment, to long to touch him with tenderness and yearning; now that she loved him, he betrayed her. He wanted the harlot Judith.

“Don’t you touch me!” she whispered, afraid that her tears would soon fall, that her pride would be broken.

Again he caught her wrists, then leaned low against her body. Her breasts touched his chest and she longed to have him cup them, caress them. His lips paused just above hers, and he whispered huskily, “However can you do my front if I don’t touch you?”

“Damn you—”

He silenced her with a kiss. Deep, passionate, then sweet and tender. Coercion became seduction. He stole her will and her breath with his honeyed kisses, and he gave warmth against the storm. When he broke from her, he touched her lips still again and again with his own. And then the tears were about to spill from her eyes and she twisted her head aside and begged him, “Eric, don’t!”

“Rhiannon, I knew that it was you.”

Her eyes met his, wide and disbelieving. “How could you—”

“Because you have a sweet scent all of your own. Like roses. It is the soap you use, and the fragrance always lingers about you. I know it as clearly as I know the color of your hair, the hue of your eyes. I know it because it has haunted me since the day we met. It drifts into my dreams and calls to me when I am away. It covers me like the softness of your hair when we are together. No other woman will ever wear it.”

“But … Eric, she was in your room while you were bathing!”

“She brought up towels. My love, she is a servant in our house.”

“And you have …” She paused, then inhaled deeply. “You have stayed so very far away from me!”

“I did not wish to hurt you or the babe.”

“But it’s past the time!”

“Rhiannon, you told me that the birth was very hard. I thought it best to keep myself away for a time. And then … well, you made no suggestion that I should return.”

She moistened her lips, staring at his eyes. “Because I thought you did not wish to come back!”

“Do you want me back?”

She inhaled again, torn, afraid, wanting to believe the tenderness in his eyes. “Oh, my God!” she breathed. “I do not believe that I am saying this to a Viking! Yes, yes … I want you back. I want you … I …” She paused again, shivered, and then she felt the startling warmth of him and all the beauty that she had missed for so long—the hardness of his thighs, the thunder of his heart, the searing heat of his
body fitting against hers. And his features, striking and strong, hewn from two cultures brought together at their very best. His eyes … so endlessly blue, so gentle now upon hers. She dared to whisper, “I want you, Eric. So badly. I love you.”

Eric started violently at the whispered words, staring down at her then with wonder and amazement and a love that matched hers for him. Her eyes were slightly damp, and they glistened in the fire’s glow, silvery blue and beautifully fringed by the thickness of her dark lashes. Her hair, always her crowning glory, swirled around their nakedness and the furs, entwining them in the flame-colored tresses. Her lips were the color of mead, her face slightly flushed, and her body was even lovelier than the memory of it that had taunted his dreams during the long nights. Her breasts were still enlarged and very full, her nipples a deep rose and turgid with desire, and her limbs creamy and smooth beneath him.

And she was whispering that she loved him ….

“By God, I was so afraid!” he told her. “Afraid, too, that I had lost forever what little of you I held when Rowan died. I could best the man, you see, but never his ghost. I thought that he would lie between us, and so I waited, but I …” He paused, and her eyes searched his out, confused and questing. “I was so afraid to love you, Rhiannon. Love leaves a man vulnerable. It is such a wicked weapon to be wielded. I fought against it, yet I know not when I lost that battle, only that I did. Perhaps it was lost from the start, from that day I first saw you high upon the wall. Perhaps it was when I held you beneath me. Or when I watched you move and sway when you taunted men
to violence. Perhaps, then, it was only the desperation to have you, to possess you, and then again, once I had done so, I was indeed lost forever. I do not know when it came about. But, my wife, I, too, love you—with all of my heart, all of my life, all of my soul.”

“Eric!” she whispered, and then the tears were spilling down her cheeks and she was speaking so quickly, he could scarcely understand her. “I loved you long before Rowan died. He was still dear to me and I grieved for his death, but I’d have rather had you back a thousand times in his place. I could not understand how I could love you when you ordered me about constantly, arrogant and demanding—”

“Arrogant?”

“Indeed.” She laughed, and then her words died away and she whispered, “Oh, Eric, can this really be?”

“I know that you are now my life and that I love you beyond understanding or reason!” he whispered. And then he groaned, and his knuckles moved over her cheeks as he told her, “I watched time and again as my son lay at your breast, and I longed to be there myself!” His lips touched hers once again, then moved to her breast, tasting her as he caressed her. She cried out with the deliciousness of it, cradling his golden hair against her. Then he rose above her and whispered that he loved her eyes and the sweet entanglement of her hair and the beautiful swell of her breasts. He fell against her, touching her, exciting her, and rising to whisper again with crude, blunt, evocative words just what else he loved of hers, and with his every whisper he touched and tantalized and stroked and caressed and aroused with kisses and the
great, hungry sweep of his tongue her limbs, her flesh, her most intimate and secret places. In turn she rose from the nest of the furs and wrapped her arms around him, and her whispers caressed him, as did the soft, fragrant tendrils of her hair. Boldly she stroked and touched and explored him, assuring him sweetly that she was delighted to serve and obey in any way, that she was eager and surely competent to do his front; then she proceeded to prove that it was so. He laughed until the breath caught within him, and he swept her to him and beneath him. Before the glow of the fire, they consummated the words and vows they had exchanged that night, this new thing admitted between them, the wonder of their love.

Late into the night they held each other and listened to the snow fall and the fire snap and crackle. They touched again and made love again, and when Rhiannon at last expressed concern about their son, Eric was certain that he would be all right until the morning and that no one would worry, for they were all aware that Eric had come after her.

“And they know that we will be all right because you are invincible?” she asked teasingly.

He laughed. “Aye, perhaps.”

“You are very arrogant.”

“And always will be, I’m afraid. Do you mind so very much?”

She sighed with mock resignation. “I shall try to live with it.”

“Will you? Bear in mind that you, my love, are willful and proud and impetuous, and that I will forever wear a scar from your arrow!”

“You are demanding and autocratic as well as arrogant,”
she reminded him sweetly, stroking the area of his scar and assuring him smilingly that she would spend many nights trying to atone for the deed. Then he held her again, loved her again, and they drifted into a lazy half sleep.

Dawn came, and she turned in his arms and told him worriedly, “Eric, I never did betray you—or Alfred. I swear it. He is my king and was my guardian, and I love him and never would have defied him. I did not betray you.”

He caught her hand and kissed it. “Hush, love, I know that.” He said no more, but his mind raced back, and again he saw Rowan alive and well in his saddle as they fought the Danes, and then he saw Rowan again, dead upon the ground, and he saw the dagger.

He pulled her close and kissed her forehead. “I know, my love, I know.”

Minutes later they rose, and he dressed her in his mantle and wrapped her in furs. Then they came outside, where the snow had stopped but where the world lay, a beautiful, pristine white cocoon. They mounted the white stallion and the great animal carried them home.

A time of peace ensued, so very sweet that Rhiannon could scarce bear knowing that Eric would ride out any day. She clung to him through the nights, wishing that time could be magically arrested, the future kept at bay.

But it could not. One bright spring morning the men prepared to leave. Rhiannon waited within the courtyard, Adela and Daria at her side, Garth within
her arms, and she watched as Eric led the white stallion toward her. His mail covered his chest, his mantle emblazoned with his arms was draped about his shoulders. His helmet sat atop his head, and through the open visor she could see the startling blue of his eyes. She trembled, thinking how deeply and dearly she loved him and just how magnificent he was, even as he prepared to go to war.