Viking (18 page)

Compared to her rather mundane existence, Fiona thought he had lived a fascinating life. The more time she spent with him, the more she realized that no other man would ever measure up to Thorne.

One day, after they had been cooped up in the hut for two weeks, Fiona expressed a desire to bathe. Thorne stretched his cloak between two wooden pegs in the wall in order to make a private
place for her. Bathing and washing her hair in an iron pot wasn’t the ideal way to bathe but it sufficed. When she stepped out from behind the makeshift curtain a short time later, her face shiny and her hair hanging in loose waves down her back, Thorne was so struck by her beauty he could not have stopped what happened next had he wanted to.

Paying scant heed to Thorne’s passion-glazed eyes, Fiona knelt before the hearth combing her fingers through her hair. She was surprised when Thorne knelt behind her and pulled her against him. Through the barrier of their clothing she could feel the overwhelming heat emanating from his body.

She stiffened. “Thorne, don’t.” She feared her response to this unique man, feared the way her body tingled and her heart pounded when he touched her.

“I need to hold you, Fiona. I could have lost you for good. One day I hope to identify the thrall who told me the truth about your disappearance and reward her.” He turned Fiona about to face him.

He knew his reputation as a ruthless marauder instilled fear in men and women alike, but with Fiona he had found a place within him that was soft and nurturing. Should his brother or comrades learn of this defect in his character, they would surely laugh at the way one small woman had accomplished what no man had ever dared.

“I’m going to kiss you, love.”

Fiona felt something inside her crumble and feared it was her defenses. After an uncertain
pause, she said, “I’d prefer that you didn’t.”

He understood her fear and sought to banish it. He wanted her to want him. He wanted her to feel the same emotional storm of passion that drove him. “You’re mine, Fiona. You’ve always been mine. First my captive, then my wife. There is nothing I can do to change what happened to our child, but I can help you to forget for a time.”

His mouth took hers before she could form a protest. His lips were firm, hot, persistent, demanding a response. At first Fiona was determined to withhold her response, but as his mouth worked magic on hers and his tongue coaxed her lips apart and slipped past her defenses, her body slowly relaxed.

Thorne molded her against him, one hand solid against her spine and the other tangled in her long hair. Then his hands began to roam, cupping her firm buttocks, squeezing her narrow waist, finally settling on her breasts. His kiss deepened, his tongue seeking the heat of her mouth. Fiona sighed and wound her arms around his neck. Her moan started in the pit of her stomach and worked its way up into his mouth. He swallowed it with a tortured groan as he scooped her up into his arms and carried her to their bed of straw. He laid her down gently and followed her down.

“This isn’t a good idea,” Fiona gasped when she finally tore her mouth free.

“Is it too soon?” Thorne asked. The startling blue of his eyes had turned dark with passion. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Nay, I am healed,” Fiona said. “ ’Tis not that.”

“I want to love you,” Thorne whispered, nuzzling her ear. “Your body wants me, Fiona. ’Tis been so long I am nearly mad with need. I never knew a man could want his own wife the way I want you.”

“Perhaps you are still bewitched,” Fiona taunted.

He stared at her, chuckling softly. “ ’Tis a condition I welcome. I care not about witchcraft, or any spells you may or may not be capable of. I want you, Fiona; that will never change.”

He buried his face in the warm hollow of her throat, kissing and licking the furiously beating pulse. Fiona’s head fell back, allowing him access as her senses whirled dangerously out of control.

This man was so familiar, yet she felt that she knew him not at all. She had made love with him, slept with him, done all the intimate things a woman does with a man, and still she didn’t really know him.

“What happens when this attraction between us dies a natural death?”

“By then I’ll be too old to care. Have you already grown tired of me?”

“That’s not a fair question. You’re the one who divorced me. You claimed I had bewitched you and refused to acknowledge the child I carried.”

“I was a fool,” he said simply. “Forgive me, Fiona.”

Fiona’s eyes widened. It wasn’t like Thorne to beg forgiveness. It wasn’t in his nature; he was such a prideful man, this Viking she had married. “I don’t know if I
can
forgive you.”

“Try,” he whispered against her lips.

His hands were warm, gentle, determined as he peeled away her tunic and chemise and tossed them aside. Her stockings and boots were quickly discarded. Then he stood and removed his own clothing. Fiona gazed up at him; her breath stilled and her violet eyes glazed at the sight of the most splendid man God had ever created.

He was a large, rawboned man, but there wasn’t an ounce of fat on him. His shoulders were wide and his torso thickly muscled. There was implied strength in the corded tendons stretching down his long thighs and legs. His buttocks were firm and high and hard. His manhood was already full and growing harder as it rose upward against his flat stomach. Her hands curled into fists as the urge to touch him became unbearable.

He came down on his knees beside her. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered, awed by the dark-haired beauty stretched out before him in all her naked glory. “Unless you tell me my loving will hurt you, that you’re not ready yet after your ordeal, naught will stop me from making love to you.”

Fiona shook her head. She was ready. She wanted him. One couldn’t turn love off and on at will. Had Thorne wanted her out of his life, she reasoned, he wouldn’t be with her now, taking care of her, keeping her warm, fed and safe. She’d been a fool to believe Bretta’s lies. But at the time it had all seemed so plausible, and she’d been too hurt to give the matter more serious thought.

“I’m not going to stop you,” Fiona said. “I
shouldn’t have been so willing to believe Bretta and Rolo. Bretta still wants you, you know.”

“Bretta wants any man who will have her,” Thorne scoffed. “ ’Tis unfortunate, or fortunate, however you look at it, that no man will have her. Forget that bitch. In the summer we will journey to Man. Rolo and Bretta will never bother us again.”

“You’re going to stay with me?” Fiona asked, stunned by his words.

Thorne frowned. “I thought you knew that. A husband and wife belong together. Your island is rich and fertile, much more suited to homesteading than my own homeland. The climate is gentle. ’Tis a place where crops and children will prosper. We will begin our own dynasty on Man. The one thing I regret is leaving Thorolf behind. I will miss him.”

Suddenly a picture formed in a dark void somewhere within Fiona’s brain. She pulled her gaze away from Thorne as glimpses of the future rushed past her eyes. She saw Thorolf and the woman who would one day become his wife, walking hand-in-hand on the Isle of Man with their children frolicking around them. Fiona smiled as the image faded away, for she had seen the face of Thorolf’s future wife.

“What are you smiling about?” Thorne asked curiously.

“The future,” Fiona said, her smile widening. “You will not lose your brother.”

“Is that all you’re going to say?”

“ ’Tis enough.”

“Aye, more than enough. I cannot think beyond
the fact that you’re lying naked in my arms and I’m still not inside you.”

His eyes darkened to midnight blue as he lowered his head and kissed her breasts, first one, then the other. He stroked her buttocks and thighs as he concentrated on her breasts, licking and sucking her nipples until they hardened into taut buds, so exquisitely sensitive that a sigh escaped Fiona’s lips.

She stretched her hand down his abdomen and curled it around his staff. He groaned and pushed his hips forward, pressing himself into her palm. Her fingers tightened. He went rigid, fearing he would shatter if he moved. Yet it was impossible to remain still. He let her stroke him for a breathless moment, then removed her hand.

Her fingers dug into his shoulders as his hand slid around her thigh and down between them into her nest of downy curls. She gave a choked moan as he stroked the moist cleft, and her pelvis surged upward into his hand. His fingers flexed, two of them sliding into her silken entrance, lavish with sweet moisture and so hot she scorched him. She tightened around his fingers and bit back a scream.

“I love the way you respond to me,” Thorne whispered as he worked his fingers inside her.

“You know exactly where to touch me,” Fiona gasped. “Dear God, I’m going to shatter.”

“Nay, not yet,” Thorne said, giving her a wicked grin as he shifted down her body. “Soon, very soon.” Then he lowered his head and touched her with his tongue. She went wild as he stroked and feasted
upon that intensely sensitive place. “Now,” Thorne urged, giving her leave to seek the ultimate pleasure. “Now you may shatter.”

The slow slide of his tongue, combined with the motion of his fingers inside her was incredibly erotic. Blood pounded in her temples, building to a climax as annihilating heat danced through her. Moments later, violent spasms ripped through her.

Thorne slid up her body and inside her while she was still climbing the heights of ecstasy. He thrust upward; Fiona’s eyes widened when that small motion intensified her pleasure. He rocked against her and she responded with short, savage thrusts of her loins. His fingers dug into her thighs; he drove violently upward, raw, frantic sounds echoing from within his chest.

“Fiona!” Her name was ripped from his throat as he gave up his seed.

Not quite ready to withdraw, he rested his forehead against hers. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“You didn’t hurt me. That … that was incredible. Will it always be like that?”

“Only for the rest of our lives.” He rolled to his side and gathered her against him, pulling his fur cloak over them. “I have just one piece of unfinished business to take care of before I bid farewell to my homeland.”

Attuned to his mood, Fiona knew exactly what he was thinking. “Forget it, Thorne. There is little pleasure in revenge.”

“I cannot. What Rolo and Bretta did is unforgivable.”

Fiona sighed. Life was so complicated. If only Brann were here to advise her. Then her thoughts scattered as Thorne began to make love to her again.

The next day the sun made a welcome appearance. Two days later the weather turned unseasonably mild, and Thorne made preparations for their departure. Fiona had fully recovered from her miscarriage and was as anxious as he to leave the limiting confines of the hut.

The day they left was cold and crisp; no sign of a new storm loomed on the horizon. That night they sought shelter with a friendly farmer. Overnight the weather changed abruptly from clear to gray and overcast, but no new snow had fallen when they resumed their journey. The first sign of trouble arrived unexpectedly about mid-afternoon. Thorne heard the baying of wolves in the distance.

“We have to find shelter,” Thorne said, startling Fiona with his urgency.

“Why?”

“Wolves. They’ve caught our scent. I don’t know how many there are, but I’d prefer not to be caught out in the open when they attack.”

His words sent chills down Fiona’s spine as she searched frantically for some form of shelter. There was nothing but trees, distant mountains and open areas of smooth snow. Then it was too late.

“Quickly,” Thorne said, “into that tree.” He boosted her up into the crook of the nearest tree
and turned to face the wolves, who had just caught up with them.

There were four of them. They circled Thorne warily, their jaws gaping open, their mouths slavering in anticipation. Thorne displayed no fear as he clutched his battleaxe in one hand and Blood-drinker in the other. The wolf closest to Thorne crouched, then sprang. Thorne vanquished it with a single stroke of his battleaxe. The remaining wolves sniffed around their fallen comrade, then turned their glittering eyes upon Thorne. Two wolves leaped for Thorne’s throat. Thorne killed one before he was brought down by the second. He tossed aside his battleaxe and reached for his knife.

Fiona screamed as wolf and man rolled on the ground in mortal combat. When the fourth wolf joined the fray, Fiona cried out a warning. Fortunately, Thorne was prepared. Slashing upward, he cut the throat of the third wolf, then he rolled to his feet to confront the fourth. The wolf must have realized he was alone and likely to end up like his hapless companions, for he turned and loped away, his tail between his legs.

Thorne stood ready to attack should the wolf return, but the forest was silent. The enemy had fled. Panting, Thorne did not relax his stance as he fought for breath. The attack had happened so quickly he was having a difficult time mastering the surge of adrenaline still pumping through his body.

Fiona couldn’t believe what she had seen. Thorne had been magnificent; his strength and courage were incredible. She knew of no other man who
could singlehandedly defeat four hungry wolves.

“Are you all right?” she asked, noting with alarm the numerous scratches on his arms and face and the bloodstained rip in his woolen trousers.

“These scratches are nothing. I’ve had worse.”

“Help me down. I have some salve that will prevent infection.”

He lifted her from the tree and stood patiently while she removed a small jar of salve from her pouch and spread it over his wounds.

“That was an incredibly brave thing you did,” she said, reaching up to plant a kiss on his mouth.

His arms came around her, hugging her tightly. “I would slay dragons for you, Fiona. But not today, I hope. I’ve had my fill of wild beasts. Let us be on our way before the fellow that fled returns with his friends.”

That night they arrived at a small fishing village and were given food and a bed by a widow who took in travelers. They continued on the next day and arrived in the village of Bergen before nightfall. Upon inquiry, Thorne learned they were but an hour’s walk from the homestead of Garm the Black. They arrived amidst a great outcry of welcome. Tyra and Rika were so happy to see Fiona that they fell upon her, weeping with joy.