Sadly, he had a point there. "Do you not want children?"
"Not particularly. Do you?"
"I have not thought much about children. I have concentrated so much these past years on avoiding my father's scurrilous marriage plots that the prospect of my body increasing from such ventures seemed intolerable."
They had walked all the way to the end of the aisle. Now they stopped near an empty chamber, and he leaned against the wall. He still held her hand, fingers entwined, and she did not have the vigor to protest. Or the desire, truth to tell. In the back of her mind, still unformed ideas swirled… how best to use this man for her purposes.
"You do not favor a child of the loins of Lord Rotting-Cock?" Toste asked with a soft smile.
There he goes, teasing me again. I swear, his smile must be magical. It makes me tingle in the oddest places. And tingling is definitely a weakness I cannot allow. Blessed St. Beatrice, next I will be swooning. "The thought of making a child with Oswald of Lincolnshire turns my stomach."
"Actually, that is why I have brought you out here," he said hesitantly.
"To discuss children?"
"To discuss marriage." The expression of surprise on her face must have scared him, because he immediately amended his statement. "Not to me."
She laughed.
His face was flushed with embarrassment over his misleading phrasing. God forbid that he should offer marriage to some unwitting maid, especially an overaged almost-nun like Esme. "Do not heed Alinor and Eadyth's plot to coax you into marriage," he elaborated. "Outward appearances can be deceptive. Eadyth and Alinor mean well, but they can be devious and relentless when they get a bit between their teeth."
Why would he care? Could he be jealous? Nay, he has no interest in me that way. Even so, he is speaking in circles. "Why are you stuttering like a dolthead? Speak your mind."
He took a deep breath, then said, "You must make me a promise that you will not succumb to their matchmaking efforts whilst I am gone."
Must? Since when must she do anything he decreed?
Then his other words sank in. "Gone? Where are you going?" Her voice was shrill with distress. During this brief time at Ravenshire, she had felt at peace. Now Toste was going to pull away her anchor? When had he become so important to her well-being? She was the one who would steer the rudder of her life course, but she refused to let him jump ship. If it would not have been too obvious, she would have stamped her foot.
"I must needs depart on the morrow. I will take Sister Margaret to Jorvik with me where she will sell her mead, then travel back to the abbey with a priest from the minster. I will stay in the city, alone, and try to get information on Vagn's murderer. I have some contacts there who should be able to help me."
"Take me with you." She was as surprised by her request as Toste. Too obvious, Esme. Try to be more subtle.
"What? Nay! I'm going alone. Even Bolthor will stay at Ravenshire. I must travel alone."
"You won't come back." Why should you? You have no ties here. Nay, I will not let you escape so easily, Viking. I still have use for you.
"Yea, I will. I have no place else to go, for now. Once I have avenged my brother, I will return." He spoke to her in a patronizing manner, as if she were a child in distress. The only thing missing was the pat on the head. Bungling oaf!
"Not if you're dead. 'Tis a fool's errand. Your brother would not want you to put your life in peril for him. Revenge will not bring him back," she nigh screamed at him.
"Stop it, Esme. Stop it right now. You have no idea what my brother would or would not want. It is a Viking's way. It is a man's way."
"It is a lackwit's way!"
"Mayhap, but it is what I must do."
She punched him in the chest and pretended to sob.
He was immovable in more ways than one.
"See what you have done. You have made me cry, and I never cry. Loathsome lout. Slimy cur. Bloody bastard. Odious oaf." She was pounding his chest now to the beat of her epithets.
He wrapped his arms around her and trapped her flailing hands against his body. Against her ear, he said, "Leave off, dearling. Leave off."
Dearling? He called me dearling. Whoa, that is definitely a woman-weakening tactic. I like it way too much. I cannot let the rogue distract me with sweet talk. "You are going to abandon me. I should have known better than to trust a man."
"I am not abandoning you. There will be plenty of men here at Ravenshire to protect you whilst I'm gone."
"Can you guarantee that you will come back?"
"Of course not."
"See? You are abandoning me."
"Because I might die?"
"I might just kill you myself if you keep this up. Mayhap Alinor and Eadyth are right. I should choose a husband myself and be done with it. At least that way I would have some control over my own life." Let us see how you like that possibility, Northman. Let us see how you accept a woman taking fate in her own hands. Let us see how you like a woman disagreeing with your "superior" intellect.
He went stiff, even though he still held her arms imprisoned. "That, you will not do."
Just as I thought. A typical man who thinks women are the weaker sex, unable to control their own destinies. "You have no say in what I do, especially since you are abandoning me." Esme was not wise in the ways of men and women, but one thing she did know: Guilt was one of women's best tools when dealing with men… especially clueless ones. Eve had probably guilted Adam into biting the apple, way back at the beginning of time.
"Must you always be at cross-wills with me? Can you not accept that sometimes I might know what is best for you?" he said.
Ooooh, wrong thing for you to say in my present mood, my lord Know-It-All Viking. Be careful, or you may trip over that runaway tongue of yours. "Nay, I do not accept orders easily. That is why I had to go to confession so many times back at the abbey. But you are not to worry anymore. Release me. Begone. Go fly off to Jorvik or the Norselands or hell, for all I care. I am off to find me a husband." Esme had no inclination to accept Alinor and Eadyth's plan for finding her a husband, but if it annoyed Toste, then she would damn well let him think otherwise. She was discovering there was great fun in needling the bothersome boor. "Yea, methinks I will pick a homely man, one who is not so full of his own conceit, like someone I know. Strong in body, of course, but not so pretty in face. Definitely not a Viking. A Saxon would be best; they do not jest so much."
"Do you refer to me? Because if you do, forget it. I am not in the running."
You have no idea how much I would like to wipe that smirk from your face. "Methinks you don't have a clue what you want anymore, Toste. Methinks you are clueless."
"Clueless? Did you call me clueless. I ought to lop off your head… or your tongue, at least. And telling me that you will be on the hunt for a husband. I… do… not… think… so. I know who is clueless here, and it is not me." Toste practically frothed at the mouth with indignation.
Good. "Blah, blah, blah," she said. "Just like a man. Always blathering their man-nonsense."
His eyes almost rolled back in his head with frustration. "Odin's breath! You dare much, wench, pushing me too far. Be careful when you put your head in the mouth of a wolf. You will get more than you wagered for."
"Oh, please. You are more like a lamb than a wolf." Mayhap I am being a bit foolhardy, but the man asks for it. He really does.
"Aaarrgh!" he said.
Another typical male reaction.
" 'Twould seem there is only one way to shut your teeth. I will show you how much of a lamb I am."
If he hits me, I am going to hit him back. Lot of good it would do, but I will, anyhow. She braced herself.
With one smooth move, Toste picked her up, tossed her onto the clean straw in the empty stall and came down on top of her.
All right, no hitting. What then? Esme wasn't sure why she'd provoked the Viking so much. Anger, for a certainty, that he ordered her about like a wooly-witted milkmaid. Retaliatio
n for his heavy-handed tactics. Fear that he planned to leave her. Envy that Eadyth and Alinor obviously got something wonderful from their men. And stubborn determination that, before he left, she would get one more taste of the man to satisfy the hunger he'd kindled with just one kiss. Oooh, that last item just slipped in and stunned Esme with its implications. Definitely a weakening of control, if she let it go too far.
"You torture me, m'ladv, and I am not a man accustomed to being tortured," he whispered against her ear, then blew softly into the whorls.
She barely fathomed his words, so wonderful did his breath feel in her ear. She girded herself against his temptation and said, "Don't go tomorrow. Stay here with me… for a while."
"I have to go sometime. Tomorrow is as good a time as ever. How long would you want me to stay?" The whole time he spoke, he was nibbling little kisses from her ear to her chin and back again.
Delicious was the only way to describe the sensation of his cool lips on her hot skin. "Tykir and Eirik will go to the Witan for me. I trust them to do that. If the Witan denies my petition, I expect my father will demand my immediate deliverance into his hands. Tykir and Eirik could then petition for the return of my mother's lands to me before I am turned over to my father's custody. I'm certain that the Witan would not act on the petition at that session… probably they'd wait another month. That would give me till February, only one month from my twenty-fifth birthday. Can't you wait till then?"
"Two months? That's all?" he asked sarcastically, raising his head. He had gone back to kissing and blowing in her ear. He gave his attention to her surcoat now, parting it with his left hand and using his right hand to begin unlacing the neckline of her gunna.
She should stop him. She would, in a moment, once she'd said all she had to say. "Nay, that is not all," she said with a gasp as the backs of his fingers grazed the bare skin of her upper chest. "I would want you to form a bird of soldiers for me… a hundred should suffice, for a start. Mercenaries would be the best choice, I think. While we are waiting for the Witan's decision, we could establish ourselves at Evergreen."
He had stopped peeling back the neckline of her gunna and was gaping at her. "Why would I do all that? Especially, why would I set aside my own goal—avenging my brother's death—to participate in such a foolhardy plan?"
"I would make it worth your while."
"Oh, really? How?" He made a pointed sweep of her body with his cool eyes.
Surely he didn't think she was offering that. "I would make you castellan of Evergreen. Once I regain my funds, I will pay you handsomely."
"I would think so!" he said. Then, after a moment of pondering, "It matters that much to you?"
"It matters desperately to me. I would do anything to outwit my father and regain what is rightfully mine."
"Anything?" He arched his brows at her.
"Do not tease me, Toste. I am not worth that much."
"I beg to differ. I have wealth aplenty. I am jaded enough to find appeal in bedding a nun. You would wear your nun outfit, wouldn't you?" He grinned down at her.
He couldn't be serious. It was another jest on his part. Surely it was. But she had to ask. "You will do all that I ask in return for just one coupling?"
"Nay, nay, nay!" he said with a laugh. "I did not say that. It would have to be more than one coupling." He appeared to find much humor in that word. "I would expect you to share my bed furs for the entire time I work for you, or till I grow bored. All without the legal bonds of matrimony, of course."
Of course? Ooooh, the insufferable, overblown lout. I should slap his face and walk away. Right now. This instant. But wait, Esme—mayhap it would be worth the sacrifice if you could regain Evergreen. And be honest with yourself, it might not be such a great sacrifice. You could close your eyes and plan your next day's work schedules whilst it is happening. "So, is it a deal, then?"
"What?" The shock on Toste's face that she would acquiesce so easily was priceless. "Nay, it is not a deal. Not yet. I mean, holy bloody hell, dost know what you are offering?"
"I do, and it would be worth the sacrifice if the end result means my return to Evergreen."
"Sacrifice? You consider making love with me a sacrifice?"
The consternation on his face was equally priceless. Really, men and their overemphasis on their bedsport reputations! As if women cared about such things!
But 'twas best to be diplomatic when her future was at stake. "Mayhap sacrifice was too strong a word. But you must agree, men get much more out of the event than women do."
"Oh, I do not know about that. Some men have the expertise to give as good as they get in the event."
She almost rolled her eyes but caught herself just in time.
"In fact, I would be a fool to agree to anything without getting a taste aforehand."
"A taste? Speak plainly, Viking. Dost expect me to give up my virginity on the mere hope that you will make a deal with me?"
"Nay, not your virginity. Just a foretaste of the main… uh, meal." She could swear his lips twitched with suppressed mirth.
"Just a foretaste," she agreed.
And he did grin then, as if he'd won some battle. Men!
"Hmmm. First off, methinks I would have to see your breasts."
"Bare?" she squeaked out.
"Bare."
What a lot of fuss men made over breasts! She'd experienced it firsthand with her father and brothers, who'd practically drooled whenever a big-bosomed maid would pass by. She'd had no doubt, even at that young age, that the maid would soon be spreading her thighs for one of them. Or all of them.
Toste still lay atop her, braced on his extended arms, and he did not seem inclined to move. So she shimmied off her surcoat and niched the top of her gunna down to her waist, all in a half-reclining position. Then she lay back down and closed her eyes. After a long silence during which nothing happened, she cracked her eyelids open… and wished she hadn't.
Toste was staring down at her breasts like a beggar at a feast. Now, Esme was not buxom like the females her father and brothers admired, but her breasts were full and high and apparently pleasing to the eye, if Toste's reaction was any indication.
Braced on one arm, he pushed one breast, then the other, up from underneath. Then he touched both nipples in turn with a forefinger, just the tips, then the sides, then the pink areola, then back to the tips again.
"Jesus, Mary and Joseph!" she exclaimed. Who knew a slight touch there could cause such exquisite pleasure?
"Praying now, are you, Sister Esme?" Toste chuckled.
"I'd better be. This is surely confession material."
He laughed outright. "Because you bared your breasts for me?"
"Nay. Because your touch pleased me so much. I did not know… suffice it to say, I did not know."
"Ah, Esme, it gives me pleasure to give you pleasure."
"Does it?" she asked.
He rolled his hips off of her and lay on his side, his left elbow in the hay with a hand supporting his face. His eyes still feasted hungrily on her bosom where the traitorous nipples stood out like pink pebbles. Leaning down, he took one nipple between his lips, then licked it and the surrounding area, then suckled deep and hard. She fisted her hands and arched her back, fighting the overwhelming bolts of ecstasy that shot from her breasts through her body, down to her fingertips and toes, and especially to her private woman-place. She embarrassed herself in the end by letting out little whoof-whoof-whoofs of exhaled breath.
Toste's response to that was a tight-lipped smile and equal ministration to her other breast. By the time he finished, her face felt hot as Hades, and she was aching in some very private parts.
"Did you like that, Esme?" he asked in a husky voice.
"Double confessions. Perchance triple," she answered. "Are you done?"
"Not nearly." He leaned down again, but this time toward her face. Kisses, that was what he had in mind now? Well, he'd kissed her once before, and, though pleasant, the pressing of lips u
pon lips had been nothing to alarm her.
He soon disabused her of that notion.
At first, he barely touched her mouth… just brushed his lips back and forth across hers, as if testing for a proper fit. When he found the arrangement that suited him, he grew more aggressive. His teeth nipped, his lips coaxed, then demanded something from her. When she realized that he wanted her to part for him, he slipped his tongue inside and began what had to be a simulation of the sex act itself. In and out, his tongue stroked her, so slowly she wanted to scream for him to hasten his pace, but what she did was whimper… which seemed to be the proper prod for him, because he moved faster now. She wanted to participate more fully in this awful/wonderful exercise, but she didn't know how. So she put her hands on his shoulders in encouragement and opened her mouth more fully to his assault.
He groaned then—a pure masculine sound of sexual torture—which gave her an absurd feeling of gratification. For a certainty, she would be getting a big penance for these sins. And it must be a sin to feel so good.
Finally, when he drew his head back to stare at her, he panted. She probably did, too, though she tried her best to hide his effect on her. His lips were wet and kiss-swollen, his eyes misted with passion.
So this is how lust feels.
"Yea, 'tis."
"Oh, good Lord! Did I speak aloud?"
"You did," he said, chucking her under the chin.
"Now are we done?" she asked, putting a hand up to his hand which held her cheek with tenderness. It was difficult not to feel tender toward a person who made her feel so good. In fact, her body still tingled… all over.
"Nay, we are not."
"But… but you promised… just a foretaste."
"Taste being the key word."
"I don't understand."
"Remember the first time we met, and I was on a sickbed at the abbey, I asked what your name was, and you said Esme, but I thought you said…" He let his words trail off deliberately so she would get his meaning.