Surrender My Love

  She wanted him, too. It was that simple. She didn’t want him sharing his nights with another woman, she wanted him in her bed. As his wife, she had a right to have him there, a right to know his body, a right to know his passion, a right to bear his children. Sweet Freya, she wanted her rights, all of them.

  There was nothing to reconsider.

  He began so slowly, touching her, and so carefully, she barely felt it—at first. His hand moved along her side, her back, over her hip where he squeezed gently. He lifted and bent her leg against him so he could caress its entire length without moving his cheek from her breasts. He explored her feet, her ankles, behind her knees, which made her shiver. He rolled her on top of him so he had full access to her backside, which he kneaded, pressing her loins more firmly to his.

  His hands moved into her hair, spreading it, smelling it. His fingers caressed her cheeks like the softest whisper, teased her lips, circled her ears, and skimmed over her neck, causing more shivers. No part of her escaped his notice—arms, shoulders, hands—and when he rolled her onto her back, her breasts knew full discovery, blossoming, filling, and bringing her first moan; all without removing their clothes, all without him kissing her.

  But when she did know the first taste of his lips on hers, it was her undoing. The care he had taken, the slow arousal of her senses, converged in a burst of fiery need that was met and surpassed. It was a kiss of ravishment, and she experienced both sides of the coin, taking as well as surrendering, tongues sensuously thrusting, kindling fires all along her senses. She didn’t want it to end, yet did. She wanted to know the rest, yet hated to relinquish any part of the now. He had disturbed her from the first, and now she knew why. Her body had known all along.

  Her chainse came off in one swift tug. His clothes took longer, but she didn’t lose contact, was able to caress his body as it was bared. Touching him in certain places brought groans from him and he would stop to kiss her again. She didn’t mind this delay. Learning his body was a revelation. He was thick and hard, his muscles in prominent display. As he had been before his near starvation? She was sure of it, for his was a body perfect in every way.

  When his manhood was revealed, so swollen with need, she felt a virgin’s fear. It didn’t show. The fear was there, but her own need was now greater.

  He came to her again, this time with scorching heat wherever their bodies touched. She opened for him, but only his hand came to rest between her thighs. Gently, so gently she knew his touch there, soothing what he had caused to heat.

  And then he drove her wild by starting over.

  By the time he joined his body to hers, Erika was almost mindless with wanting him. There was a moment’s pain, so minor it was come and gone before it was even noticed. But he noticed. She saw the surprise in his eyes, however brief. And he kissed her deeply, holding still the while, so that when he did finally begin to move in her, there was only pleasure drawn from each thrust.

  Somehow it lasted forever, yet was too brief. And the pinnacle they reached was glorious, ecstasy flooding all senses, leaving awe in its wake.

  For once, she didn’t mind that sensual smile of his. For once, she thought she might be wearing one of her own.

  Chapter 39

  THE HOUR WAS late, yet Erika found it impossible to sleep. She never dreamed she could lie against her husband and be comfortable, let alone at ease, but she was both. A new beginning? It certainly felt like it.

  Selig wasn’t sleeping either. He had an arm around her waist, holding her to him, and every so often his hand would move in a roaming caress. He hadn’t spoken. Neither had she. They both knew that to speak would shatter the pleasant mood they shared.

  The last she had known, he had still hated her. He had said so. Did his wanting her change that? It was not a question she could face. But if he really wanted a new beginning, if that had not just been meaningless words on his part to gain her compliance, then there was one thing, at least, that she had to know. Yet she put off the asking of it, wanting to savor the pleasantness as long as she could. She waited, in fact, until it seemed he was about to fall asleep.

  Then, hesitantly: “Would you really have staked me out in that stable?”

  He sat up abruptly, running both hands through his hair in an aggrieved manner. “Thor’s teeth,” he complained. “If you have been lying there all this time pondering that, I think I will beat you.”

  It was amazing, the difference their having shared passion made. Because of it, she didn’t take the threat seriously. She was even amused by his disgruntlement.

  “What was I supposed to be thinking about?” she asked innocently.

  He gave her a suspicious look before he turned to lean over her. “Shall I remind you?”

  She put up a hand to hold him back. “Nay, that will not be necessary. And you will not avoid my question.”

  He sighed. “I would not do that to any woman, even you.”

  That was what she had hoped to hear, but it still sparked her temper to hear it. “Another trick?”

  “Call it whatever you like, it worked to avoid a war. Yet I would still like to apologize to you for that, have wanted to since the words came out of my mouth. It was my anger—”

  “Say no more, or I will perish from shock.”

  He frowned at her. “Is that to imply you think me incapable of apologizing when warranted?”

  “To me, aye.”

  “To you I owe no other apologies.”

  She hit her pillow and turned her back on him. He lay down and did likewise. She was now simmering. So was he. So much for new beginnings.

  When Erika came down to the hall the next morning, she was ready to do some apologizing herself. She had ruined what had been an incredibly beautiful experience last night; at least for her it had been. Her question could have waited for some other time. She had even gotten the answer she wanted, and still she had let her temper spoil things.

  Did she prefer the hostility between them? So Selig must think. She wasn’t sure herself. She had let passion take over yesterday, let it disregard all that had passed between them and made it seem of little import. He had despised her, still might. He had wanted revenge against her and never really got it. Did she honestly think he could forget all that and what he had suffered because of her? For that matter, how was she to forget the chains, the humiliations, and the worst, being tricked into marriage?

  For all she knew, he could have let his passion guide him last night just as she had, and now regretted having come to her. Still, she did owe him an apology, at least for last night. But as for a new beginning, she didn’t think it was possible. As had happened last night, the past would continue to resurface and get in the way of any progress made.

  On the other hand, her marriage had now been consummated. She had been shown one of the benefits of marriage, and it was an extremely nice benefit. Which left her with a new dilemma. Did she accept this unexpected benefit—the only one, as she saw it—and hope that children might come of it? She was not, after all, much different from most women, married to men for expediency and never really happy about it. Could she forget that she could have had much more from a marriage if she had not been forced into this one?

  Her only recourse would be to hug her resentment to herself and deny Selig his marital rights—if he would allow that. That was supposing, of course, that his regret was not so great that he wouldn’t come to her again. And verily, why should he when he had women like Lida available to him?

  Mayhap she wouldn’t apologize after all.

  Turgeis had waited for her in his chamber, leaving the door open so he would hear her, spending the time sharpening his weapons. He followed her down to the hall now with no more than a grunt in greeting. Typical, yet had she expected more from him this morn, since he was aware that Selig had come to her last night, just as he was aware that he had not come all those other nights.

  The hall was nigh empty, the hour was so late—she had overslept. As usual, Turgeis went to
a different table to break his fast. Erika, preferring to have company today, even silent company, broke their custom and joined him.

  “You should not,” was all he said.

  She ignored him. Golda, who had also heard him, did not. “She is the lady here,” she said with sharp scolding. “She can do as she likes.”

  That wasn’t exactly true, though it certainly sounded nice to Erika. Turgeis made no comment, just glared at the woman until she moved off.

  Erika hid a smile beneath her hand. She had noticed that Golda seemed to single Turgeis out for complaints or ridicule, and by the look of him, he was getting mighty annoyed by it. That he never said anything to her in reply or defense was just his way.

  He caught Erika watching him and grunted. “That woman is a harridan.”

  She revealed her grin now, teasing, “Mayhap she just likes you, to single you out so.”

  He blushed at the suggestion. She didn’t think she’d ever seen her friend blush before. And his eyes sought out Golda again and somehow looked at her differently this time. Erika’s own eyes widened. She had been teasing, but what if she was right?

  She looked at Golda again, too, and wondered if she ought to try, one more time, to speak to a woman on Turgeis’s behalf. Nay, she had enough troubles of her own. And Golda’s attitude wasn’t exactly encouraging. Besides, Turgeis could do something about it if he was interested.

  When they were near done with their meal, she asked him, “Do you know where Selig is this morn?”

  “Working on the wall.”

  She should have guessed. If Selig was not over at Wyndhurst, then he was working on the defenses here, and so it had been all week.

  She had been told that the feast he had planned to celebrate the completion of his hall was now being put off until the outer wall was finished. At the rate the wall was going up, that feast might be sometime next week.

  She was not looking forward to it herself, not being certain of her role in it, and certainly not having anything she wished to celebrate. But everyone else here was, which gave both servants and warriors alike the incentive to get the wall finished the soonest; in fact, everyone was working on it, even Turgeis, as long as Erika remained outside where he could see her.

  She didn’t do so often, at least not when Selig was there, for the simple reason that the weather was so warm, the men would strip down to their leggings by midday. And it didn’t matter that there were dozens of bare chests to look at—the sight of Selig’s bare chest always disturbed her. It was no wonder she had succumbed so easily last night. She had been primed for it without realizing it.

  But the hour was still early enough that she didn’t expect to see any bare skin yet, so it was safe to seek out her husband and, depending on his own reaction to her appearance, request a private word to tender her apology for losing her temper last night. If his regret was obvious, however, then she would say nothing. That would, after all, be the end of it, and today would be no different from yesterday, when she had assumed he was sleeping with Lida and could have cheerfully murdered the unfaithful wretch.

  She waited until Turgeis finished eating, because she knew he would follow her outside, and so he did. And Selig was easy to find, not actually working on the wall with the rest of the men, but on the gate, which was being put together in the center of the yard, the master builder on loan from Royce standing there directing. But there was one other there helping, if what Lida was doing could be called help.

  Selig, bent over the frame of the gate, hammering, seemed not to be paying the woman any mind, yet how could he not? She was bent over him, actually leaning against his hips and back to reach his shoulders, which she was apparently massaging. But it looked to Erika like she was doing no more than caressing him—with both her body and her hands.

  Had she witnessed this yesterday, she would simply have turned around and returned to the hall, keeping her feelings to herself even had she choked on them. But after last night, she didn’t feel like keeping quiet. The man had lied to her to break down her defenses. One woman was not enough for him—even a dozen were not enough. He had to bed his wife, too, and lie to do it.

  She couldn’t contain herself. She screeched at the top of her lungs, turning heads and stopping all work. Then she picked up her skirts and ran to the hall, not to retreat, but to find a weapon. She was going to geld that bastard she was married to, then pin his leman to the rafters by her hair.

  “Erika!”

  She didn’t stop, though it sounded as if Selig had given chase. She was sure of it when he called again, much closer, and although she had just entered the hall, she knew she would never make it up the stairs to Turgeis’s store of weapons before he reached her. Those damn long legs. She needed an immediate weapon, but there was nothing in the entire hall suitable to ward him off. All the tables had been cleared already, except the one where she and Turgeis had eaten.

  She rounded that table now to put it between them and grabbed whatever came to hand. She threw what remained of the meal, both wooden bowls that still had dregs of porridge in them, a smattering of bread and cheese, the spoons, the saltcellar—all went sailing through the air toward Selig’s head. If she could have lifted the bench, she would have thrown that, too.

  He managed to dodge or block most of her missiles, except for the ground salt, which ended up showering him with grayish-brown crystals. It went well with the few splatters of porridge on his cheek. He looked comical, but she was too furious to appreciate that. It was his expression, so incredulous over what she had done. He thought her mad.

  He said as much, yelled it, actually. “You are mad, woman!”

  “Am I?” she yelled back.

  She was looking around for something else to throw. He vaulted over the table before she found it and started shaking her. Some of the salt fell from his shoulders with his movements, but most of it was still clinging to him from head to toe.

  A low rumble sounded near them. “No shaking.”

  They both turned to see Turgeis standing there, arms crossed, fully prepared to intervene. His expression was deadly serious.

  Selig demanded of him, “Do you see what she has done to me?”

  Turgeis couldn’t miss it, but still he maintained, “No shaking.”

  Selig growled in exasperation, but he nonetheless dropped his hands from Erika. She swung at him when he did, but only managed to connect with his upper arm. No damage to him, but more salt fell.

  “What in the name of all the gods has got into you, wench?” Selig roared.

  “You are a liar, Viking!” she told him. “A despicable liar. And a lecher. You should be fourscore years to be such a lecher as you are.”

  He didn’t know what he might have lied about, but lecher was clear enough, and he was incredulous again. “You are jealous?”

  “I am disgusted,” she corrected him.

  “You are jealous,” he insisted, and suddenly he was grinning.

  She jabbed a finger into his chest. “I care not how many women you service, but you will not include me in their number and then go back to them. That is not jealousy. That is what I will not tolerate as your wife.”

  Had she been thinking clearly, she would have known she was overstepping her bounds. A wife did not dictate; a wife was dictated to. But Selig happened to come from a family whose women were notorious dictators. He wasn’t offended or even angry at her display of fury. He was, in fact, delighted that she was demanding her rights, because of the reason she was doing so. She was jealous.

  He was still grinning. He couldn’t help it. “Since you are not jealous, but only disgusted, might I ask what brought about your…disgust?”

  “So you would play the simpleton as well as the jester? I am not blind!”

  “Ah, her.”

  “Aye, her. And as long as she resides under this roof, I will reside under my brother’s.”

  “Nay, that is not an option.”

  “Then get rid of her!”

  As
it happened, Selig had already decided to do just that. Lida was a definite nuisance in that she refused to accept rejection. But now he pretended to consider the matter for the first time.

  “That is not a bad idea. I will ask my men if one would like to take Lida to wife.” Then he reconsidered. “Nay, she was expensive. I doubt one of them would be willing to pay her price.”

  “Then lower her price.”

  He thought his wife mad again, or so his look said. “And take a loss, just because you are jealous?”

  “I…am…not—!”

  “I will pay it.”

  This came from Ivarr. He was trying not to laugh, he really was. The rest of the crowd that had gathered with him wasn’t nearly as tactful. Smiles, chuckles, guffaws, backslapping. Thorolf was sitting down on the floor, he was laughing so hard.

  Erika wasn’t amused. She might have gotten what she wanted, exactly what she wanted, but it had come one day too late, as far as she was concerned. Already proven was that her husband would never be faithful. He found the very subject laughable. But she didn’t.

  She slipped away while he and Ivarr were haggling over Lida’s price. She caught sight of Lida before she mounted the stairs. The girl was avidly watching the proceedings, pleased to be the subject of so much contention. There was no alarm or even disappointment that she was being sold to another.

  But Erika realized, with despair, that her own reaction would have been much different were she in Lida’s shoes. Erika would have been devastated if Selig were getting rid of her. Sweet Freya, had she been foolish enough to fall in love with her own husband, just as his sister had warned might happen?

  Chapter 40

  SELIG WAITED UNTIL the sun had nearly set before he sought out his wife. He found her in the kitchen, overseeing the last-minute preparations of the evening meal. He had been there earlier himself, to fetch the makings for a private meal, which he already had stowed on his horse.