Walpurgis Night (8 page)

“This is mine,”
Henrik
told her with some pride as he ushered her through the door and into the structure. “I built it myself, though I spend more nights with my father than here. I’ve had need of a place where I could go and be alone to think and plan.”

They were in a large center room that had a fire pit at the far side. Doors on either end, to her left and right, gave access to smaller rooms off this main one. The furniture wasn’t elaborate or extensive, but what there was appeared well-crafted.

As she was looking it over, he came up behind her and slid his arms around her, cupping her breasts in his palms.

“I want you so much I can scarce bear it,” he said softly to her. His tone sounded more pained that joyful, however. “I know not if I should do anything about it, though. My brother is ill and may be dying. Is it right that we take pleasure while he suffers?”

Fianna
considered it, though thinking was difficult with his hands caressing her breasts, making the heat gather in her loins. “I know not. But…if you were in his position, and he in yours, what would you tell him?”

His hands stilled. “I suppose I would tell him to go on. Life does not stop because I am ill. Why should my brother be miserable because I am? It benefits me not that he’s grieving and unhappy.”

Fianna
turned within the circle of his arms to face him. She reached upward to place her hands on either side of his face, running her fingers into his hair and kissed him.

“Then so shall we respect him,” she said, “for I suspect you two are much alike.”

The fire of excitement raced through her body, sparking an explosion of desire in her loins. Moisture gathered between her legs. He adjusted his hold on her, swung her up into his arms, and carried her through the door at the far left, into a room that held a bed big enough to accommodate two people easily. He set her down gently on it and began to remove her clothes. When she was bare to the waist he stopped to toy with her breasts.

“Your skin is like the finest silk,” he said while stroking and tweaking the nipples until she was squirming with desire. She lay back, and he leaned over her to use his tongue on one nipple while his fingers worked the other. He sucked the tip into his mouth with a hard pressure and rolled it around, working his tongue on it, scraping his teeth over it as he slowly released it. Then the other breast drew similar attentions.

She loosened the laces on his leggings enough to allow her to slip her hand inside and wrap it around his cock. She’d been aching to touch him for so long. He moaned deep in his throat as her fingers explored along its length, dipping into hollows and brushing along smooth, satiny flesh.

In a frenzy of need, he began rapidly stripping off vest, shirt, boots and leggings until he stood over her in naked, rampantly masculine glory. She reached out to cup the dangling sacs of his balls. The pair filled her hand. His breath caught on a sharp hitch when she squeezed and kneaded them. Her other hand circled his cock and rubbed up and down.

“You fit in my hands perfectly,” she said to him.

“I fit perfectly elsewhere as well.” He yanked off the rest of her clothes and pushed her legs apart. His fingers tested her readiness. When he realized she was moist and
open
for him, he lay over her and positioned himself. Their eyes met.

“Now,” she begged. “Please. I need you.”

With one hard thrust he pushed all the way in. For a moment it stung as she stretched to accommodate him, but when he began pumping in and out, the end of his cock seemed to find a place deep within her that sent piercing shafts of pleasure exploding inside. It built the pressure in her quickly to a point almost past bearing.

“You feel so good around me,” he whispered to her, the words broken up by gasping breaths.
“So hot and tight.”

He thrust firmly and fast, filling and stroking her until she was strung so tight it was a wonder she didn’t break. Then with one strong, deep plunge he sent her spinning out of control into a universe of swirling colors and throbbing waves of pleasure washing through her. She drifted with it, plunging and bucking with the continuing spasms.

Henrik
let out a loud groan as he spilled his seed into her.

They clung to each other in the aftermath, riding the continuing shocks and spurts of pleasure. Her breathing gradually slowed as the incredible peace spread through her. A wonderful sense of completion and connection made her cling to him. She clutched at him, bringing his torso right against hers.

“I wish we could stay this way forever,” she told him. “Only with you have I known such pleasure.
And such peace.”

He kissed her gently before he rolled to the side. “Time will not cease its movement for us,” he said on a long sigh. “And I fear what its march might bring us. But for now, rest.”

He shifted her until she lay on her side, back to him, and he pulled her against his body, one of his arms under her neck, the other draped over her side so he could hold one breast. It felt remarkably safe, secure and comfortable being sheltered in the crook of his big body that way. She quickly drifted off to sleep.

An hour or so later they were awakened by someone banging on the door.
Henrik
rolled away and off the bed, dragged on a long nightshirt that hung to his knees and went to find out what was happening.
Fianna
heard a rapid-fire exchange in Norse. Suspecting the worst, she got up and began to dress.

Chapter Seven

Even before he said, “
Ranulf
is worse. They need you there,” she knew from the expression on his face the news wasn’t good.

She blinked as they rushed out into the
midafternoon
sun. Guilt washed over her that she’d been dallying with
Henrik
while
Ranulf’s
condition deteriorated. But she couldn’t have prevented it happening even had she been there. Still she hurried back to his bedside.

Ranulf’s
fever was definitely up, and he shifted restlessly on the mat. With the help of the Norse woman and
Henrik
,
Fianna
got more of the infusion into him, and for a while it seemed to help him rest. Just an hour or so after that, though, he was tossing and turning again, muttering and waving his arms. A touch on his face confirmed that the fever was continuing to rise.

It took the three of them holding on to him to keep
Ranulf
from twisting so much he tore open the wound. Occasionally he would cry out or shout out long strings of words, presumably in his own Norse tongue.
Henrik
knelt beside her and put his hands on his brother’s shoulders.

Through the rest of the afternoon and into the evening, his condition deteriorated. The fever worsened. His periods of delirium became more frequent and more violent. They sponged him off and struggled to keep him cool but sweat still gathered on his temples and chest. The beating of his heart raced, and his breathing became faster and
more shallow
.

Whenever she could, she tried to get him to swallow more of the infusion.
Fianna
didn’t know how much of it could be safely given in any time period, but she thought it better to risk giving him too much than not enough. If he were dying anyway, she’d do all she knew to fight it.

She changed the dressing on his injured shoulder again. The wound was still draining, but there appeared to be no great increase of inflammation. For the rest of the time she could do naught but try to cool him when he was too hot, warm him when he shivered with chills and keep him from injuring himself when he flailed around in delirium.

Henrik
stayed with her for the rest of the day, save when he went out to get fresh cloths, more water or food. He brought her tea and cider and water for drinking. As darkness fell, he lit candles around the room. When she winced after kneeling too long in one position, he helped her shift and rubbed her shoulders and neck to relieve her tension. But his gaze went often to his brother and anguish pulled his expression into hard, pain-racked lines.

Ranulf’s
ravings grew
more noisy
and his
flailings
more violent as the night went on. His temperature kept climbing despite her efforts to keep it down.

During one particularly restless interval, it took the two of them together to keep him from throwing himself off the mat. When
Ranulf
calmed again,
Henrik
turned to her, and asked, “Should I get my father? Is this the end?”

Fianna
debated, and finally said, “Nay. Not yet.” She sighed, and added, “It may not be long, though.”

Henrik
looked dubious but accepted her word.

Riga, the woman who’d stayed with
Ranulf
the previous night, came in and asked if they would need her again. Through
Henrik
,
Fianna
told her that they would stay with him themselves.

For several more hours they worked over
Ranulf
, bathing him, holding him,
feeding
him as much of the infusion as they could get into him. She prayed again for his recovery, fearful that only a miracle could save him. Late that night, or perhaps it was in the early morning as
Fianna
had long since lost track of time, he had a prolonged spell of violent thrashing around that included screams and angry outbursts of hoarse yells.
Henrik
declined to translate his words.

They wrestled with him for what seemed a very long time when he suddenly went limp in their arms and stopped moving completely.
Henrik’s
eyes widened and his face went white. He looked up at
Fianna
.

Chapter Eight

Ranulf
didn’t appear to be breathing, but when she felt for his heartbeat, she could still feel the pulse of it. She leaned down to put an ear to his chest. Air still moved in and out. Sweat dappled his flesh but that skin was cooling. Alarmed she felt for his heartbeat again, pressing her fingers to his throat to check the rhythm. It was stronger than she expected and steadier.

This might yet be the prelude to his sinking into a deep sleep from which he wouldn’t awake, so she said nothing to
Henrik
either way. But he saw something in her face and knew that her hope for the outcome was rising. “He is better?” he asked.

“Aye.
But do not rejoice over it yet. It might be an interval of peace before the fever attacks again.”

It wasn’t. Another hour later it became clear
Ranulf
was indeed improving. Though the fever didn’t disappear completely, it was much lower and he no longer had the periods of delirium.

Shortly before dawn, when the first rays of light began to wash away darkness,
Ranulf
opened his eyes and looked around. He saw her first and frowned. He said a few words that drew a shout of relieved laughter from
Henrik
.

Ranulf’s
gaze slewed far enough to the side to see his brother. A smile struggled to form on his face. They exchanged a few more words and both chuckled, though in
Ranulf
it was just a bare hiccup of amusement.

“What is the jest?”
Fianna
asked.

“He wondered if you were a Valkyrie or an angel. He wasn’t sure, if he died in this land, which afterlife he’d find.”

“You assured him I was neither.”

“I told him you were both. But he wasn’t in any afterlife.”

Her heart did a strange little flip-flop at those words. She stared at
Henrik
, meeting his intent gaze where the dawning haze of gratitude and joy lit his eyes. She wanted to go to him and throw herself into his arms. She wanted to feel him on her, around her, in her. He was a man like no other she’d ever met. She knew him well enough to know he felt the same, but this wasn’t the time or place.

Ranulf
looked at her. His eyes were more blue green while
Henrik’s
were blue gray, but the resemblance between the two of them was even more pronounced with him awake and alert. He said something more and
Henrik
laughed again.

“He said he’s sorry he’s been asleep so long if he had you working on him.”

The two men had a much longer exchange. By the end of it
Ranulf
appeared ready to fall asleep again.
Fianna
got him to drink a few sips of water before he did.

“We’ll need meat broth for him for the next day or so then some soft bread, porridge and other light foods until he is able to sit up.”

Henrik
nodded. “I’ll see to it. And I must tell my father.” He stopped on his way to the door, turned and came back to her. He drew her to her feet and kissed her. It was much quicker and lighter than either of them wanted but better than naught under the circumstances. “I owe you thanks and more. Whatever my father’s house can provide for you, you’ll have. Ask what you will of us.”

Fianna
thought of the one request she wanted more than anything to make of him. She couldn’t. It wouldn’t be right to ask him to give up his dream to indulge hers. But oh how she wanted to beg him to stay. Stay here, stay with her. “I’ll think on it,” she said instead.

He nodded and left. While
Ranulf
slept, she changed the dressing on the wound again. The redness and swelling around the injury had retreated. The red streaks radiating from it were fading. His fever remained mild.

The woman who’d been with him while they slept yesterday came in bearing a tray of food, which included breakfast for her and a cup of broth for
Ranulf
.
Fianna
ate the bread and meat enthusiastically.
Ranulf
woke again shortly after she finished. He spoke to her, but without
Henrik
to translate, she had no idea what he said.

“Can you understand me?” she asked in her language, spacing out the words to make them easier to understand.