Sandra Hill - [Vikings I 03] (23 page)

“There is no time,” Eirik said, smiling ominously as he folded his arms across his chest, daring her to challenge him.

What are you up to now, my husband?

When she did not snap back as she sorely wanted to do, he added, “You will ride with me.”

“In a silk dress? Are you bloody daft?”

“Tsk tsk! Such language. I will have to teach you better ways, wife.”

Yea, I definitely think he would look good with a knot in his tongue.

Then, before she could blink, he bent down to the ground, pulled the back hem of her gown forward and upward, handing it to her at waist level. She looked down, aghast, at the billowy leggings that were formed, like a laundress’ gown. Once again, before she could protest, he picked her up by the waist and lifted her astride the horse, then mounted behind her.

Her legs were spread wide atop the huge destrier and her bare, shoeless and stockingless legs were exposed up to the calves. The horse started to move then, and Eirik wrapped his left arm tightly around her waist to hold her steady. The reins were in his right hand.

“Oh, how could you? Everyone can see my bare skin.”

“Sigurd, get my long mantle. ’Tis hanging from a peg in the hall. My lady has taken a sudden chill.” In a lower voice, he whispered in her ear, “See, Eadyth, how accommodating I can be? I think I am going to be an exemplary husband. Truly, I do.”

Mayhap two knots would be better.
Eadyth started to tell him exactly what she thought of him, but she was stunned speechless by the hard ridge of his manhood pressing at her derriere and the rocking of her most private woman parts
against the saddle as the massive horse ambled along.

And once Eirik had gathered his long mantle over his shoulders and hers, covering them both from neck to ankle, she knew what a lowly ant felt like when enticed into the spider’s web.

Wilfrid guided his horse to Eirik’s right and Sigurd to his left, the five soldiers following behind them.

When Wilfrid commented, “This is the fifth case of cattle being slaughtered, without the carcasses being taken for food, in the past three months,” Eirik’s left hand moved to her right breast, under cover of the mantle.

Eirik nodded, commenting, “’Tis Steven of Gravely’s work, no doubt.” Meanwhile his long fingers were tantalizing her breast with expert manipulations—weighing it with his palm from the underside, making large moving circles over its whole, taking the tip between his thumb and forefinger and twisting gently.
Oh, Lord.

She glanced back at Eirik over her shoulder, but he was looking at Sigurd, listening intently as Sigurd told him, “I think we must needs implement your plan to set guards at intervals throughout your lands, for the time being.”

“Yea, you are right, Sigurd,” Eirik said calmly, seemingly unaware of the havoc he was wreaking under the cloak. “I fear he will start the burnings in my lands, as he did at Hawks’ Lair, and then we may have dead bodies of people to deal with, not just cattle.” Meanwhile, he moved the reins to his left hand and was giving equal, seductive treatment to her right breast.

Wilfrid and Sigurd were totally unaware of Eirik’s actions.

“Can the king or the Witan do naught?”

“I tried when I met with Edmund, but he says I need proof of Gravely’s misdeeds—not just the word of a peasant—if I want the Witan to act against him.”

“And Gravely never leaves evidence,” Sigurd finished for him.

“I have sent for some Jomsviking knights, old comrades of my father’s, to help us guard the keep ’til we catch Steven.
They will not arrive for several sennights, however; so the men we have now must be extra diligent.”

“And the additional men you hired in Jorvik as part of your permanent hird?”

“They will be here in a few days, along with the Viking fighters my cousin King Haakon sends from his Norse lands.”

Eadyth was surprised by his news. He had failed to tell her of sending for troops. But she was even more surprised by the large hand now pressing against her flat belly, its long fingers creeping downward to the apex of her femininity. When he cupped her intimately, she made a small squeaking sound of protest.

“Did you say something, my lady?” Wilfrid asked politely.

“Nay,” she choked out, “’twas just a bothersome gnat.”

She turned and glared at Eirik over her shoulder.

He smiled innocently back at her. And began to rub the heel of his hand against her. Heat rushed to her face and swept over her body. She felt open and vulnerable with her legs widespread on the horse’s large back. And then an odd, swelling ache began to thrum there under his gentle, rhythmic touch.

“I hate you,” she hissed softly.

“Mayhap I can correct that,” he whispered back, and she knew he had been aware of what he was doing to her the entire time.

“Let us see how good an actress you can be now, my lady of the charades.” He turned back to Wilfrid. “I see all the western fields are planted with new wheat.” And his hand lay on her thigh, gathering her gown, bunch by bunch, until its hem lay in her lap, exposing her bare skin.

“’Tis the work of your lady wife,” Wilfrid informed Eirik. “Ask her how she badgered me into getting a spring crop in whilst you were away on the king’s business.”

Eirik’s long fingers skimmed the smooth skin of her thighs, then inserted themselves in the hot liquid that pooled embarrassingly between her legs. She would have shot upward off
the horse then if Eirik’s left hand, holding the reins, was not pressed firmly against her waist, holding her in place.

“Is that true, wife?” he asked silkily.

She could not speak, just nodded.

All the other men kept glancing surreptitiously at her now that her disguise had been unmasked.

“Why, Eirik, your lady turns crimson with modesty. Did you know your wife had such a humble side to her disposition?” Wilfrid teased.

“Nay, I did not,” Eirik said with a chuckle. “She usually tells me what a dunderhead I am and how there is naught I can teach her about anything. Is that not so, wife?” His middle finger found a spot on her body then that she had never known existed, and he proved she did not know everything.

A red haze blurred her vision as a sweet, almost painful, need began to build from that bud of sensation he was touching so gently. A new and unexpected warmth spiraled throughout her body. She groaned aloud.

“My lady,” both Wilfrid and Sigurd exclaimed at once. “What is amiss? Are you ailing?”

Eirik removed his hand, and she felt as if she were hanging on a cliff of anticipation. She rejoiced that he had removed his torturing fingers. She wanted to pull them back.

“’Tis her monthly time,” he lied unabashedly.

Eadyth sputtered indignantly and ducked her head self-consciously. If she ever survived this ordeal, she would take great delight in killing her husband, very slowly.

“Why do you two not go on ahead with the other men? ’Tis only a short distance yet,” Eirik offered solicitously. “I will take my lady over to that stream there. Mayhap a drink will refresh her sensibilities afore we follow you.”

Uh oh.
Eadyth was not too besotted with Eirik’s lustful touch to know she would be in even bigger trouble if they were left alone. “Nay, I am all right now. ’Twas just a…a stomach cramp,” she said quickly.

But the men were already moving ahead of them, and Eirik was smiling down at her with supreme satisfaction as he
guided the horse toward the stream. But he did not stop there. Instead, he crossed the stream, moving the horse into a secluded spot on the other side. Deftly, he dismounted and tied the horse’s reins to a small tree near the water’s edge.

She started to pull the hem of her gown down now that Eirik was no longer at her back with the protective cover of the mantle, but Eirik reached up a hand, restraining her.

“Nay, I want to look at you,” he demanded huskily, and Eadyth saw now that he was not as cool and composed from all his fondling as she had thought. His pale eyes glimmered with passion, and his firm lips were turgid and parted with longing.

Oh, Lord.

Forcibly he pushed her hands to her sides, then lifted the hem of her gown to her waist. Silently he stared at her most intimate woman parts, glistening with a strange, dewy moisture. He inhaled sharply, probably in shock at her vulgar display.

Eadyth bent her head in shame, and a hot tear slid down her cheek and onto his hand which lay on her exposed thigh.

“Eadyth! Why do you weep?” he exclaimed softly, picking her up off the horse by the waist and standing her in front of him. Putting a fingertip under her chin, he lifted her face and asked again in a puzzled tone, “Why are you crying?”

Tears were streaming from her eyes now. “Because I am ashamed.”

“Of what?” he asked with surprise. “The way I touched you?”

“Yea, but more than that…” Her words trailed off. She could not finish her shameful confession.

Eirik cocked his head quizzically, and then his face brightened with understanding. “Oh, Eadyth, there is no shame in a woman’s passion, especially with her wedded mate. Look how my body shows its need for you, and I am not at all ashamed.”

“Anything so pleasurable must be a sin. And I am as perverted as you, for surely women would be shouting the news
to the world if they were getting as much…as much…delight from a man’s touch. Sweet Mother of God, you turn me mindless with your devilish fingers. Mindless! Oh, I will never be a good chatelaine again, or manage my business affairs wisely, knowing I am as weak as any other woman.”

“It pleases me immensely to know that my touch makes you mindless,” Eirik said softly, and for once he was not laughing at her in boast. “And somehow I think you will manage to be as strong-willed as ever.”

He pulled her toward a flat, grassy plot away from the stream and threw his wide mantle onto the ground. Then he removed his silver belt and sat down, slipping off his short leather boots.

“What are you doing?” she asked, wiping the last of her tears with the sleeve of her gown.

He drew his tunic over his head and stood before her, bare-chested and barefoot. “Taking off my garments.”

He undid the laces of his braies and was about to pull them down when she cried out in alarm, “Why?”

“So I can make love to my wife, good and proper,” he said matter-of-factly and dropped his leggings to the ground.

“Here?” she squeaked out. “Outdoors? In the daylight?”

He just grinned and nodded, then stood before her with maddening boldness, totally naked. She saw more bare skin than she had ever seen on a male, from his wide shoulders to his tapering waist and slim hips, past a staff so erect she thought he might burst, to long muscled legs and narrow feet. He held out his arms to her in invitation, and Eadyth thought she might just die.

The man was outrageously handsome. And he was her husband. And her body thrummed with the hot fires he had ignited with his flaming touch. And she wanted him. And she didn’t want him. And, oh, Lord.

He smiled enticingly and crooked a finger, coaxing her closer.

The intense physical awareness building between them res
onated in the stillness of the silent glen.

How could she surrender?

How could she not?

Hesitantly, Eadyth moved one step closer. “You have ensorcelled me,” she whispered.

“Yea, but ’tis a sweet enchantment.” He gave her a soft smile that set her pulses racing, and she stepped a little closer.

She loved the fact that he was not forcing her to mate with him, that he gave her the choice. Not that she had any choice now, really. A new inner excitement filled her with wonder. “You make me…uninhibited, out of control.”

Eirik’s lips quirked with humor. “Ah, Eadyth, do not lay that sin at my door. You were uninhibited long afore we met. You just channeled your passion in other directions.”

“Oh.”

“’Tis naught to be shamefaced about, my lady. A woman’s lack of inhibition is a man’s pleasure.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Eirik gazed at his wife and knew the time for talking was over. His patience and his self-control were wearing thin. “Come, Eadyth, ’tis past time.” He reached out a hand to bridge the gap between them, and she allowed him to pull her forward into his arms, finally. He sighed deeply with satisfaction.

“I feel as if a million butterflies have jolted to life in my stomach and are threatening to break through my skin,” she confessed shakily, her warm breath caressing his neck.

Eirik felt a jolt of his own, between his legs. He chuckled against her hair, her wild mane of silver blonde curls, and wondered how he could have ever been so blind to her beauty. “Butterflies are good,” he said, pulling back to gaze at her. “Let us see what we can do about freeing them.”

He removed her gown slowly and forced her to stand still while he feasted on her beauty. Her hair tumbled carelessly about her shoulders and down the smooth skin of her straight back, matching the tight curls of her nether mound. Eadyth
was tall and long-legged, with a narrow waist and breasts just big enough to fill a man’s hand. She pressed her finely defined lips together nervously, calling attention to the delightful mole.

“You are so beautiful,” Eirik said in wonder, “and you are mine.”

“I have marks on my stomach from giving birth,” Eadyth said shyly, trying to be honest about her defects, under his intense scrutiny.

“Yea, but your breasts are glorious.”

“The nipples are too large.”

Eirik almost choked on his tongue. “Nay, I do not think they are too large,” he told her when he calmed his senses to the point where he might not spill his seed upon the ground.

“Truly?”

“Truly. They are just right to fill a babe’s mouth for suckling. Or a man’s.”

Her eyes lit up at that, but then she bit her bottom lip in hesitation before adding with misery, “But my breasts do not wobble.”

“Wobble?” He burst out laughing then. “What do you mean, wobble?”

“Bertha says men like women with wobbling breasts.”

“And you suddenly take advice from Bertha? Ah, Eadyth, I think I am going to enjoy having you for a wife.”