A Tale of Two Vikings

  "You must tell me what to do, Vagn."

  "Nothing. For now. Just let me look." He waggled his eyebrows at her. "And explore. If there is one thing we Northmen are good at, it is exploring."

  "Comes from a-Viking all these years, no doubt," she teased.

  "For a certainty, my saucy maid."

  And explore he did. With his eyes, his fingertips. And finally his mouth… he had been saving that for last. Well, not last. But he'd been putting off this particular feast. He fingered her nipples, then put his mouth over one of them.

  She gasped. "You have no idea how good that feels."

  "I know how good it feels to me." He sighed at the sweet taste. "Like succulent raspberries they are." He laved them, and nibbled, and kissed, then suckled and suckled and suckled till it was unclear who was keening in pleasure, him or her.

  "I cannot believe that I deprived myself of this bliss for all these years," she said, pulling his head up by his ears. "Why do women hide this news from other women? Oh, I can see why. Fathers would have trouble keeping their daughters virgin if this temptation was waving in front of them."

  Vagn did not like this train of thinking. He did not want her to think that just any man could bring her ecstasy. "It is not always this good, sweetling."

  "Oh? Is it just you, then, who is so skilled in the bed arts?"

  He nipped a nipple with his teeth for her making mock of him. "Yea, just me. And do not forget it."

  She probably would have said more, but he had his palm on her belly now, way down, and he could see that he had her attention… there. He pressed rhythmically several times and watched her face. Her lips parted with wonder, which made him feel… well, wonderful.

  "Have I ever told you how much I adore your mouth?"

  "About a dozen times," she said. Then, "Tell me again."

  "I… adore… your… mouth," he said against her mouth.

  "What else do you adore about me?" she asked playfully.

  "Your breasts."

  "Oh, that is such a lie." She tried to sit up in indignation but he forced her back down.

  "It is not a lie. You have made me appreciate small breasts. I do not think I will ever be attracted to big-bosomed women again, and that is the truth."

  "You ooze charm like sweat, you rogue."

  "Flattery will get you everything, m'lady sharp tongue. But enough of this piddling around. 'Tis time to discover some truths about you, Helga."

  "Piddling? You call what we've done so far piddling? It does not seem piddling to me. What truths?"

  "Like whether you have turned into a raisin down below," he said and dipped his fingers into her damp woman-folds before she could shriek her outrage. Her warm honey welcomed him.

  "And have I?" she gasped out.

  "What?" Somewhere between her enthusiastic response to their bedsport and the wet signs of her readiness, Vagn had lost his power of reasoning.

  "Turned into a raisin?"

  He inserted a forefinger into her tight inner folds, which clasped and unclasped around him. He might have gurgled then, but he was not sure. "Nay," he said, shaking his head. "You are more like a lush, succulent peach."

  "Good," she said.

  He rolled over on top of her, and she spread her legs wide for him. The ridge of his staff nestled in her woman channel, like a longship coming home. But there was one more thing he had to say. "There is still time to change your mind, Helga," he said. "Once I enter, you can no longer claim virginity. If you choose to wed someday, your husband will be cheated."

  "Would you feel cheated if I came to you without a maidenhead?"

  "Nay, but surely you know a maidenhead is prized by many."

  "I come to you willingly, Vagn." She put a gentle hand on his cheek and let the fingertips trail down his jaw, his neck and the center of his chest. "It is time."

  He raised her knees and spread them wider, poising himself at her entrance, his arms braced on either side of her head. With a barely stifled grunt, he drove into her, to the hilt.

  She stiffened for a moment, then relaxed.

  "Are you all right? Am I hurting you?"

  "Just a twinge. Don't move. Let me get accustomed… oh. Oh. That is better. Oh, you fill me. And grow. I can feel you growing."

  Her voice carried amazement. Bloody hell, he was amazed, too. As her inner folds shifted to accommodate him, his cock had grown even bigger.

  "I need to move, Helga. Can I move?"

  "I don't know," she choked out with a little laugh. "Can you?"

  Turned out he could.

  He tried to be gentle. He tried to go slow. But it had been so long. And she was so hot and receptive as she flailed from side to side, crying out for something she did not yet understand. Too soon his long, slow strokes turned short and hard, especially as she bucked her hips reflexively, riding the peak that soon overtook her. With a roar of equal parts satisfaction and frustration, he pulled out of her and spilled his seed into the soft cloth he'd placed under the pillow for just that purpose. Later, he would throw it into the fire.

  For now, he lay collapsed over Helga, probably crushing her. But she'd drained him of all energy. By the gods! What would she do to him when she knew how to use her body? He could not imagine. He could not wait.

  "What are you smiling about?" Helga asked when he raised his head to look at her.

  "I am happy." And that was the truth, which surprised him mightily. Helga had managed to pull him from that pit of depression he'd been wallowing in of late. "And why are you smiling?"

  "Because I am happy, too."

  "Because you might carry my seed?"

  She shook her head. "Because you pleased me, Viking."

  Her words reached in and grabbed his heart. For a second, he could not breathe.

  "Of course, if I've caught your seed, I will be even more pleased."

  But I won't be pleased.

  Will I?

  Why am I even asking?

  "There is one thing I was wondering," she said, twirling one of his chest curls.

  "And that would be?" he said, twirling one of her nipples.

  "Just how many of those seed catch-cloths do you have?"

  He laughed in surprise. "Why?"

  "Because it's going to be a long night."

  "I hope so, sweetling. I hope so."

  I am woman… hear me purr…

  "Well, well, well," Helga murmured to herself four hours and three bouts of lovemaking later.

  She gazed down at Vagn, who snored softly in the bed beside her. His arms were thrown over his head in abandon, revealing oddly endearing patches of blond hair in his armpits. His legs were splayed. A small smile lay on his full lips. There was a tooth print on his shoulder, a suck mark on his lower belly and scratches on his back. The man had been knocked on his sweet arse, wrung inside out and flattened.

  And Helga had done it. To say that she was supremely satisfied with her hidden talents in the bedsport would be a vast understatement.

  Oh, she'd come to Vagn in hopes of catching his male seed, but she would be less than honest if she did not admit how much she'd enjoyed the exercise… or how much she looked forward to more of it. But for now, she had to creep back to her own bedchamber before anyone discovered her whereabouts. She feared falling asleep at Vagn's side—though the prospect held appeal—and being discovered in the morn by a housecarl. Her father would be up here with a sword and a priest in an instant. There would be no sword-point wedding for her. In fact, no wedding at all.

  With one last grin of satisfaction, Helga began to slip from the bed. She was almost off when a hand gripped her ankle and pulled her back.

  "Where do you think you're going, sweetling?"

  He tugged hard and she landed half on and half off the rogue. Not only was he awake but a key part of his body was, too. A part she was growing rather fond of.

  "I must get back to my bedchamber afore dawn," she explained.

  " 'Tis a long time till dawn, and I have much t
o show you afore then."

  He was kneading her buttocks and blowing in her ear the whole time he spoke softly to her, so it was no wonder his words did not immediately register in her brain.

  "Show me?" she finally squeaked out. "Show me what?"

  "The far-famed Viking S-spot, of course."

  "Oh? And where might that be?"

  "Inside."

  Sweet Valkyries! I do not dare ask what he means by that. Instead, she asked something equally lackwitted, "And how would I find it?"

  "You wouldn't. I would." By now, Vagn had spread her nether cheeks from behind and was doing wicked things with his long fingers.

  "How?" she was fool enough to ask. "With your… oh, oh… fingers?"

  "Nay. With my tongue."

  And he did.

  No wonder they said Vikings were many-talented men.

  No wonder Norse women walked around with smiles on their faces.

  No wonder she was falling a little bit in love with Vagn Ivarsson.

  The naked-in-a-crowd nightmare…

  Helga was in the great hall by mid-morning eating her third bowl of raisin porridge and second piece of manchet bread slathered with butter, accompanied by a huge wooden cup of ale. She was ravenous, for some reason.

  "Helga, what ails you?" her father asked. "I have ne'er seen you eat so much at one sitting."

  "Must be the storm and all this inactivity inside." Now, that was an ill-thought-out answer. Everyone knew that just the opposite was true; activity bred appetite. Oh, well.

  He stared at her disbelievingly. "Your face is flushed, and your lips are puffy. Are you sure you are not ill?"

  Rona made a snorting sound as she passed by just then, and Finn, who sat on her father's other side, said, "She looks like a maid who's been well-tu…" His words trailed off, luckily, at the glare of warning from Helga. He grinned pointedly, however, as he sipped his own ale and watched her squirm.

  "Nay, I am not ill. Cannot a lady eat to her content without everyone gawking at her?"

  Everyone turned away, but she could see from the corner of her eye the frown of confusion on her father's face.

  Just then, Vagn swaggered up.

  Oh, good gods! Did he have to swagger? Everyone will suspect what went on, if they don't already.

  Then she noticed his collarless tunic, which exposed the bite mark on his shoulder near the curve of his neck. She hoped no one would notice, but no such luck! A quick glance found her father, Finn, Rona and several others staring at said mark and grinning.

  Her father had not yet connected the mark with her, though, because he remarked to Vagn, "Appears that your celibate life has ended, boy. Good for you! A man must needs release his body humors on occasion, lest he explode."

  Vagn grinned and winked before sitting down beside her.

  She put her face in her hand and groaned.

  "I am starving," Vagn said. "I don't know why, because I ate several hours ago, and a tasty repast it was, too."

  She groaned again.

  Under the table, she felt Vagn's hand on her thigh and it was creeping upward. Her head shot up and she glowered at him. But did that stop him? Nay. He pretended to be listening to something her father said about a wild boar being seen near the keep the night before. And while her father and some of his guardsmen discussed a hunt planned for later that morn, Vagn ate with one hand and brought her to peak with the other.

  Finally her father glanced her way, then glanced again. "Helga! You are definitely looking flushed, and now you are breathless. I insist you go back to your bed and rest. I will be gone for several hours and will check on you later."

  "Perhaps you are right," she said, standing on wobbly legs.

  As she nodded her farewells to everyone, she started to walk away. That was when she heard Vagn tell her father, "Actually, I think I must pass on the boar hunt today. My wound has been aching all night, and my head is beginning to pound. Methinks I should take to my bed, as well. Do you mind?"

  "Nay. Go on, boy. There will be other boars."

  After they left, everyone looked at each other at the high table, then burst out laughing. Gorm laughed hardest of all. And the wagers flew hot and high.

  * * *

  Chapter Eleven

  « ^ »

  Oh, the webs we weave when first we deceive…

  It was the second sennight of December. Snow and ice storms had made prisoners of them all at Ravenshire, except for Eirik, Tykir and Bolthor, who'd gone off before the weather change to Winchester to address the Witan. And except for Toste, who was, of course, a real prisoner these past five days.

  Toste's "disappearance" had raised no alarm bells the day after Esme had tricked him into going to the woodcutter's hut. Everyone assumed that he had gone with Sister Margaret and was off somewhere searching for his brother's killer. Actually, a stableboy had traveled with Sister Margaret, thanks to the release of another of Esme's precious coins.

  Esme's plan was not going at all as she'd expected. In fact, she felt as if she'd put her head in the mouth of a tiger, and now she didn't know how to pull it out. As a result, she had taken to biting her fingernails to the quick and wringing her hands in nervousness—gestures which did not escape Eadyth and Alinor, who assumed that Esme was distressed over potentially bad news their husbands might bring back from the king. If they only knew! That was the least of her problems at the moment.

  Girding herself with resolve, she entered the hut. She brushed snowflakes off her cloak, laid it over a chair and her bundle of food on the floor, then stoked the fire to make sure it would adequately heat the small room. Only then did she turn to look at Toste. The gag was in his mouth, as it always was when he was alone, to prevent him from yelling for help, but his eyes shot blue daggers at her. Somehow the fur pelt had slipped off him, and he lay there as nude as any man could be. She tried not to look below his neck.

  No one would go near Toste with a razor to shave his face, not even Lars, Bertha's bed companion. So his face was covered with bristles. Instead of looking scruffy, he looked dangerous. Which of course he was.

  Walking over, she removed the gag from his mouth. "Would you like a drink of water?"

  He refused to answer, just continued to glare at her.

  "Is there anything I can do for you?"

  "Release me."

  "Only if you will agree to stay till I am secure in my place at Evergreen." Really, the man was as stubborn as a mule. She'd thought for sure he would have acquiesced by now.

  "Release me," he demanded again, refusing to agree to anything.

  "I can't," she said.

  "I'm going to kill you, Esme. You give me no choice. Once I am free, I am going to kill you."

  He said that often, every time she visited him at the hut. One of the things he objected to most was the fact that Bertha or her aged lover came several times a day to put a pan under his buttocks so he could take care of bodily functions. Bertha also bathed him daily, and took great delight in that chore. Esme knew it all must be demeaning for Toste, but what choice did she have?

  Seeing that his death threats were getting him nowhere, Toste said, "If I lie here much longer without exercising my body, I will develop bedsores on my arse."

  He was probably correct. Esme had seen Mother Wilfreda treat many such sores on elderly people who were unable to walk about.

  "Well, couldn't you contract and release the various muscles in your body? You know, focus on a particular body part. That should bring blood to the surface."

  His eyes went wide. "Are you suggesting that I flex my arse cheeks?"

  "Coarse clod," she muttered under her breath.

  "Better yet, mayhap it is another body part you wish me to flex."

  And while she watched, he showed her which body part he meant by making it flex and then grow, without any touching. Even the birthmark on his inner thigh seemed to move. It was probably a talent that men considered awe-inspiring. But to a woman, it was just yawn-inspiring.

/>   "Coarse clod!" she said again, and this time she didn't bother to keep her voice low. With a snarl of disgust, she yanked the fur pelt up to his chest… something she should have done when she first entered the hut.

  He just laughed.

  She unwrapped her bundle and made up a plate of cold slices of roast duck and venison, hard cheese, an apple, a circle of manchet bread still with the hole in the center, and two honey cakes. "Are you hungry?" she asked.

  He nodded and she pulled a chair over, next to the bed. She fed him morsel by morsel, alternating with sips of ale from a small jug. While she fed him, she talked, never stopping to see if he would carry on his end of the conversation. He never did.

  "The storm is still going strong. I don't know if Eirik and Tykir and Bolthor have been able to leave Winchester yet. I doubt it. The roads are said to be impassable and covered with a sheet of ice.

  "Alinor is teaching me to weave. What pretty cloth she makes from her own specially dyed wools. And Eadyth is showing me how to extract honey from the combs to make different grades of honey. I made these honey cakes myself.

  "Methinks I will try to raise bees and sheep at Evergreen when I get back. My mother's family only worked the land, but this might be another way to make it prosper.

  "Alinor and Tykir have the most beautiful little boys. Four of them! And all of them rascals. Like their father, I imagine.

  "Sarah and Sigrud have been swooning over you. All they can talk about is your broad shoulders and devilish eyes. Surely even you would not go after a seventeen-year-old at your advanced age, would you? On the other hand, many people would not raise an eyebrow over a fourteen-year difference in ages, I suppose. Ah, I can see that you consider it none of my business.

  "Do you still get those pains in your abdomen—the pain that mimicks your brother's injury? Well, you don't have to answer. I know you do.

  "Sometimes I envy you, Toste."

  For the first time, she got a reaction from the silent brute. His eyes widened with interest, and he tilted his head to the side on the pillow.