The Blue Viking

  Bad idea! 'Tis the best idea I've ever had.

  He merely arched a brow in question. But while he waited for her response, he moved his hand from her chin down to her neck and curled his fingers around the nape, under her heavy swath of hair, and drew her closer. As she gazed up at him, he felt her breasts under the thin shift press against his bare chest, and his shaft press into her flat stomach. Sexual awareness swirled between them… and for just a second an overpowering dizziness assailed him. Surely, she felt it, too.

  She licked her lips—a gesture so innocently carnal that his member lurched against her belly.

  A rush of scarlet stained her cheeks as she perceived what had happened, and what she'd done to provoke it.

  She tried to explain her unwillingness to couple with him. "Rurik, I have lain with only two men in my life… you and my husband, Kenneth. Both of you betrayed me in one way or another." She put a halting hand up to his mouth when he would have contradicted her. He nipped at her fingertips, but permitted her to go on. "I have too many responsibilities now to risk such illicit behavior for my own selfish needs. I need my wits about me, and—"

  Ah! Illicit behavior? Selfish needs? So, she does want me.

  "—groveling in self-pity when I am hurt once again could be the undoing of my clan, which needs my full attention."

  "Maire, I misdoubt you have ever groveled a day in your life. And as to being hurt… how can you feel great passion unless you risk pain?" That last statement sounded pompous even to his own ears.

  "That's just it. I don't want any great passion. I'm content with my life the way it is. And furthermore, have you ever considered what would happen if I were to become pregnant?"

  "There are ways to prevent the planting of a male seed in the female womb."

  Maire seemed surprised by that. "Ways? What ways?"

  "It matters not. Just know that a swollen stomach need not be one of your concerns."

  "Did you employ these ways the other time we were together?" There was a churlish, disbelieving note to her voice that he did not care for.

  "Probably not. I was young then, and more careless."

  She pondered his statement for several long moments, then tried a different approach. "Rurik, you do me disrespect in making me your wanton. Give a thought to what my people would say of a mistress who shares a bed with every wayfarer who passes through."

  "I am not every wayfarer," he grumbled. God, he was tired of talking. Time for action. Bed action. "Besides, Old John practically offered you to me on a welcome platter, and I daresay he is representative of others in your clan."

  "He never did!"

  "Yea, he did. As I recall, he compared me to the bulls in the fields, the rams in the hills, even the wee fishies in the burns, and said the urge for mating betwixt you and me was natural. In fact, he even implied that it's all part of God's plan."

  Maire clucked her tongue with disgust at words she recognized as coming from the Scotsman's mouth. "He probably thinks you're going to marry me."

  Rurik hadn't considered that possibility. But then he shrugged. He would set the old man straight on that question when the time came. A wedding with Maire was the last thing on his mind. A bedding with Maire, on the other hand, was foremost in his thoughts.

  "And there are other reasons, as well, why we should not do this… thing."

  Talk, talk, talk. That's all women do. If women had to go to war, they'd probably try to fight their enemies with words instead of swords or arrows. "Maire, you can cite me a dozen reasons, and it will make no difference."

  "Why?" she persisted.

  Because I'm so bloody lustful I might just explode. That's why. Because if I don't soon kiss those wonderful, moist lips of yours, I might start drooling. That's why. Because my cock is so hard, it hurts. That's why.

  "Stop looking at me like that."

  "Like what?"

  "Like I'm a pasture of new grass, and you're a hungry sheep."

  That's me, for a certainty… a randy ol' ram. Best she come here quick afore I start baa-ing… or, better yet, ramming her. He chuckled at his own joke.

  She glared, not understanding the source of his mirth. "Rurik, the sex act means different things to women than to men."

  Here we go. First, Old John lectures me on sex. Now, Maire does, as well. Am I a youthling that I need such education?

  "Men have no qualms about spilling their seed in any vessel, willing or not, when lust hits. Women on the other hand… leastways, most women… give themselves to a man when there are feelings involved."

  Rurik groaned to himself. He could guess what was coming. Guilt. Like all women with their feminine wiles, Maire was going to employ guilt in hope of getting her own way.

  "When I married Kenneth, I loved him… not perhaps as a lover should… after all, we'd known each other since we were bairns toddling over the moors together. The Campbells and the MacNabs were not feuding then. But 'twould seem I did not know Kenneth at all." She sighed deeply and paused in memory.

  Rurik remembered Old John's words of the beatings Maire had endured from her spouse, and suspected that Maire was conjuring up those dark memories now.

  "What has all this to do with me… with us?" he asked with a growl of impatience.

  "My love was obviously wasted on you, too," she said.

  "Me? You loved me?" That was a disconcerting bit of news.

  She nodded. She actually nodded. Oh, God, he was in trouble now!

  "You must think I was naive to have fallen in love with you… a virtual stranger. I realize now what a fool I was to have taken the seductive words of an experienced rogue at face value."

  "You thought I was in love with you?" he blurted out, realizing belatedly how insulting his shock must sound.

  But she just smiled in a self-deprecating way. Obviously, she blamed herself, not him.

  "Do you love me still?" he inquired, horror ringing in his voice. Love was not the emotion he wanted from the wench now. Lust, yes. Love, no.

  She laughed. "I loathe you."

  He exhaled loudly with relief before he could catch himself.

  She laughed again.

  In the moment of silence that followed, Rurik pondered all that she had told him. To his shame, he could barely bring to mind details of that time when they had made love five years ago. He had been young, perchance under the influence of uisge-beatha, full of his own conceit, and, truth to tell, there had been so many women in his bed furs over the years. No excuse, of course. Another thought came unbidden to him. "Didst think I would marry you because I took your maidenhead?"

  "Nay, I was not that lackwitted," she answered.

  Whew!

  "But I did think you would want more than one night with me. I had my own ego, Rurik. I thought I would be more than a conquest to you… soon forgotten. I thought… well, that you would take me with you."

  He nodded in understanding. "And I laughed when you asked."

  "That you did."

  "Maire, I was on the Norse king's business then… business that could have involved the lives of many men. I could not have taken you with me, even had I wanted to."

  She made a moue of her lips, which relayed her skepticism. She knew as well as he that she had been just a passing fancy at the time.

  "I did not behave honorably toward you," he admitted.

  "That is true."

  "I will make it up to you." He thought of the amber necklet in his saddlebag and decided that he would definitely give it to her later as a wergild. Even though the Anglo-Saxon term wergild denoted the value set upon the life of a slain man in accordance with his rank, Rurik felt it applied in this situation, as well. In truth, he had killed Maire's dreams. She deserved just compensation.

  Her face brightened. "You will make it up to me by honoring my wishes not to make love?"

  "Nay, that is not the reward I will give you. There will be another reward." He made a tsk-ing noise with his tongue. "The die has been cast, witchling. We will m
ake love. I thought you accepted that. You have no other option."

  He was bigger and stronger. She had to know she could not win this battle. But he did not want her passive… he wanted a she-warrior in the bed furs, an enthusiastic participant who would match him stroke for stroke. That was not what he would get, he realized, noticing her shoulders slump with defeat. He thought he saw tears misting in her beautiful green eyes.

  He almost gave in then.

  Almost.

  But he was not a total fool.

  "Because you want to punish me?" she berated him.

  For the love of Valhalla, the woman never gives up! He shook his head. " 'Tis more than that. You put your mark on me, Maire. You—a woman—gave the world reason to make jest of me. And if that wasn't bad enough, you made a public statement this evening, belowstairs, that I failed to pleasure you in the bedsport."

  "Just because you did not or-gaz me? Hah! As if I want to be or-gaz-ed!"

  Rurik shook his head from side to side. "There is no such word as or-gaz. Bolthor made that up. The word is orgasm, and it refers to… oh, never mind. You will know soon enough."

  She stamped her foot angrily. "Are you listening to me, you thickheaded lout? I… don't… want… to… know." She expressed her sentiment slowly with evenly spaced words, as if he were a… well, a thickheaded lout.

  He waved a hand to indicate her wants were neither here nor there. "My manhood is at stake now. I need to prove that I am master in this man-woman relationship."

  Her upper lip curled with contempt. "And that is what this is all about, then… your ego?"

  Enough! Whilst they had been talking and Maire had been distracted, he'd been gathering up the fabric of her shift, fistful by fistful. He stepped back now and flipped the hem of the garment up and over her head, then tossed it over his shoulder. She was too stunned at first by his action to attempt to hide her nudity from him.

  He was stunned, too. By all the Norse gods and all the saints in the One-God's heaven, she was glorious.

  Her red hair hung in waves about her bare shoulders and down her back. Her uplifted breasts were fuller and heavier than he'd expected, considering her slender frame, with dark rose, slightly puffy areolas and pointed nipples that he yearned to explore in more detail. Her waist was small, with flaring hips, which framed a flat stomach and indented navel. Her woman hair was darker and curlier than that on her head, as if hiding some mystery. All this led down to exceedingly long legs and high-arched feet, with toes that curled childlike in the rushes.

  He was the one who moaned then as he swept her up into his arms and carried her to the bed. Burying his face in the curve of her neck, he whispered hoarsely, "Nay, my ego or your punishment have naught to do with this crackling in the air betwixt us." He licked wetly at the pulse that beat in her neck and delighted when it jumped in response. "What this is about, m'lady, is one man and one woman. Me and you. And a fire that must be quenched… lest we both die of the heat."

  "Life is not that simple," she murmured in a last, desperate plea for mercy.

  "It is exactly that simple."

  In that moment, Rurik realized the truth of his statement. He could not predict what the future held, but his destiny… for this moment in time… rested right here with this woman. He had not meant to speak his thoughts aloud, but somehow, as he laid her on the bed and came down over her, the words slipped out in an awestruck whisper. "This is our destiny."

  This is our destiny.

  Maire replayed Rurik's poetic words over and over in her mind, trying to ignore their poignancy. "Is that what you tell all your wenches afore you tup them?" she asked with decided sarcasm and more coarseness than she usually employed.

  If he had chuckled or laughed aloud, she could have forgiven him, but instead he gazed at her through those sky-blue eyes, serious as a clansman at a laird's funeral, and said ever so softly, "Nay, just you."

  She moaned then… again. Oh, she well knew that the far-too-handsome, far-too-confident knave thought she moaned because she was overcome with lust for him. He had an ego the size of the English Channel. Nay, she moaned at his soft-spoken avowal that this act of love they were about to embark upon was their destiny when she understood that they were mere words he spun for his own wicked purposes. The skilled fornicator saw destiny as a temporary event, lasting only till he left her land, or lost his erection.

  She, on the other hand, yearned for a destiny with a man who would stay with her for all time. And that man was not and never would be this born-to-swive Viking.

  He was good at this seduction business, though. After years of practice, he knew just which words to say to a woman to melt her heart. Good thing Maire was impervious to his charm.

  Well, somewhat impervious.

  Well, at least she was aware of his devious nature and slick tongue.

  She might not be able to fight him off physically, but she must gird herself not to fall prey to his allure.

  As he leaned over her where she lay in the bed, he stared unabashedly at her nude body. She gritted her teeth and tried to count the rafters in the ceiling overhead. Anything to keep her mind off what the scoundrel was about to do… anything to keep herself uninvolved. The room was dreary and barely light, with rain pounding down on the rooftop. And she knew… she just knew… it was going to be a very long day.

  "You have beautiful skin, Maire… 'tis like sweet cream." Rurik did not touch her as he spoke. Instead, he lay on his side, propped on one elbow as he continued to examine her naked form. That hard, male part of him that she refused to look at poked her in the hip.

  "You have beautiful skin," Maire mimicked him in a deliberately deep voice. "Spare me the insincere compliments, Viking. You know what you want. I know what you want. I'm tired of trying to convince you to be honorable about this, and it's obvious you could overpower me with a flick of your wrist. Let's just get it over with." She grabbed for his member and attempted to pull him atop her.

  Rurik let out a howl of anguish and peeled her tight fingertips off of himself, cursing Norse expletives the whole time. He was now kneeling aside her still-reclining form, inspecting himself with a total lack of modesty. When he was satisfied that he would survive, Rurik grumbled at her, "Are you daft, wench? I swear you have left bruises on me. Has no one ever told you to handle a man's part with utmost gentleness?"

  "Actually, no." Maire should have experienced at least a twinge of guilt over the obvious pain she'd caused, but she could not summon a speck of remorse. The lecherous brute deserved all she had done and more.

  Rurik narrowed his eyes at her, as if he sensed her glee. "Turn over," he ordered.

  "What? Why?" It was she who narrowed her eyes at him now. "You're not going to spank me, are you?"

  His eyes widened with surprise, then he threw his head back and laughed uproariously. "I hadn't thought of that, but now that you mention it… Mayhap later, if you ask me nicely."

  "Ask you… ask you… ?" she sputtered.

  But he had already flipped her over so that she was on her stomach, her face pressed into the pillow.

  "For now, I have other things in mind," he informed her smoothly.

  "Like what?" she demanded, raising herself on extended arms and trying to peer back over her shoulder.

  He shoved her back down and put a hand on the middle of her back to hold her there. "Sweetling, I intend to explore every single part of your body… back and front. By the time night falls again, I will know everything there is to know about you, from scalp to toe and every niche and cavity in between."

  Niche? Cavity? Her heart stopped for a second, then began beating again at a more rapid pace. Heat infused her, and not just her face; she suspected that her skin was turning pink all over her body.

  "Have you naught to say about that, witch? Have I for once struck you speechless?"

  "Why?" was all that came out of her mouth and that in a strangled whisper.

  "Because I want to."

  She couldn't see him
with her cheek pressed to hands folded on the pillow and she couldn't tell by the tone of his voice whether he was serious, or jesting. "Are you grinning?" she asked, unable to control her curiosity.

  "Widely."

  "This is just a game you play with me… a game of torture. Isn't it?"

  "Yea, 'tis just that. Sexual torture. The best kind."

  Maire should have known he would give a perverted answer like that. She resolved then not to ask any more questions.

  He moved her hair aside so that her nape was bare. Then, for a long time, he did not touch her or speak. The only sounds in the room were those of the rain and Rurik's heavy breathing. Or was it hers? She held her breath for a long time, just in case. Eventually she had to release it in a whooshy exhale.

  She thought he might have chuckled softly. Leastways, she felt something move against her shoulder blades, like warm air. This waiting was driving her nigh insane, but she would not… could not… ask the brute to get on with things. That would indicate an eagerness she did not feel.

  Finally, she felt the lightest touch… probably a forefinger… trailing a path from her neck, down her spine, over the crevice at her buttocks, between her thighs and calves, across the back of one knee, then skimming the bottom of first one foot, then the other. The sensation was light as a summer breeze but so intensely erotic that Maire felt as if he'd lit a trail of fire. She had to clench her fists and bite her bottom lip to restrain herself from jerking or crying out.

  But that was just the beginning.

  Next, he followed the same path, but this time with his tongue, even over her backside—wicked, wicked man! He must have sensed her distress over his tasting that part of her anatomy because he nipped with his teeth at the soft flesh there, before moving his tongue down her thighs. When he got to the bottoms of her feet and lapped at the ticklish arches, Maire closed her eyes tightly to fight the urge to squirm… or worse yet, giggle.

  You'd think he would have been done by then. But, nay, he had barely started. Now he fashioned new paths of survey for his tempting fingers and slick tongue and his palms, which she'd discovered were tantalizingly callused, no doubt from weapon-wielding. Her underarms. The curve of her neck. The sides of her ribs and hips. The small of her back, which she discovered was sinfully susceptible to his expert caresses. When he tried to separate her thighs and stroke her in between, from behind, Maire could take no more. She rolled over on her back and wailed, "Enough!"