The Blue Viking

  Maire laughed softly. "Nay. My mother has been dead for more than twenty years. I did the needlework… or rather started it and never got around to completing the design."

  Rurik wasn't sure why, but he was shocked. "You?"

  "Why are you so incredulous?"

  He shrugged with uncertainty. "It's so beautiful."

  "And that shocks you? Methinks I should be insulted."

  "It's just that… I don't know… well, why would anyone who could create such beauty do aught else? I mean, why practice inept witchly arts? Or work manually about your keep till your hands turn red and raw? Or waste all the years of your youth trying to hold a hopeless clan together?"

  Maire bristled at his assessment of her life.

  He rushed to explain himself. "You could become famous for your needlework, Maire. I know kings who would pay you great treasures to create such beauty for them." He paused, then added, "Why did you never finish it?"

  "There is ne'er enough time. Other concerns always interfere." It did not seem to matter all that much to her.

  He harrumphed with disbelief that anything could be more significant than her talent.

  She shook her head sadly at him as if he just did not understand.

  He didn't.

  "Rurik, there are more important things in life than beauty."

  "There are?" His question sounded dimwitted, even to his own ears.

  She nodded. "Like honor. And family. And giving of oneself for a greater good."

  Rurik did not disagree that those were important values. But this tapestry gave Rurik a new view of Maire that he would like to contemplate more. Later, though. Not now.

  Tugging the sheet down to expose her breasts, he told her with a waggle of his eyebrows, "I have talents, too."

  Her somber mood lightened immediately. "That was ne'er in doubt. Although, I will tell you this, Viking, if your lovemaking had been like this the first time we came together, I would no doubt have trailed after you across the oceans, no matter your desires."

  Still sitting beside her on the bed, he glanced up at her through his lashes, without raising his head.

  "Oh, do not look so alarmed," she said with a laugh. "I don't intend to chase after you now."

  "I was not alarmed," he protested.

  "Aye, you were." She laughed some more.

  "What's so different now?" he asked, crawling back into the bed and taking her into his arms.

  "Now, I am responsible for a child, and a clan. But you are a tempting morsel."

  Rurik was not sure he liked her speaking thus to him. 'Twas the man's role to tease in the afterglow of love. She was too candid and uninhibited by half.

  Nay, he immediately amended to himself with a smile. Her lack of inhibitions was priceless, and to be encouraged, not discouraged.

  "You know, Rurik…"

  What was it about women… that they felt the need to prattle on after lovemaking? What was wrong with silence… or sleep? "What?"

  "… that really wasn't any punishment."

  "Explain yourself, wench," he grumbled, pulling her even tighter against his side, with her face resting on his chest. If she was going to chatter endlessly, he was going to be comfortable.

  Twirling his chest hairs about one finger, she remarked, "You have been implying that you would take me to your bed furs as a punishment. But, in truth, it was more like a reward."

  Rurik felt both elated and disgruntled by her observation. So he jabbed back, "Ah, but now you bear my man mark, and I swear, by the time this day is over, my mark on you will be indelible."

  She seemed to consider his words for a long time, still playing with his chest hairs and throwing one knee over his thigh. It rubbed up and down, and up and down, and up and down. Finally, she peered up and fluttered her thick lashes at him, coyly. "Dost think you could start now?"

  Rurik almost bit his own tongue.

  Of course he could. Definitely. But 'twas best not to give too much to women in the bedsport lest they think they held the upper hand. So, he said with false indifference, "Perchance."

  He saw immediately that he'd miscalculated with Maire. Disappointment shone on her face at his less-than-enthusiastic response, but, even worse, she was proceeding to sit up and get off the bed. "Oh, well, never mind," she said with as much lack of enthusiasm as he had just demonstrated. How dare she! "Mayhap I will go find Nessa and we can put up some honeycombs in pottery containers for the winter months. What else is there to do since the weather is so poor outdoors?"

  "Hah!" he exclaimed, immediately regrouping as only a good soldier could. "Nay, nay, nay! You are not escaping my clutches so easily, you slippery wench, you. There will be honey made at Beinne Breagha today, I warrant, but not of the bee variety… more like the sex-honey variety. And as to what else there is to do, I daresay I have a few ideas."

  She paused.

  Quickly, he grabbed her by the waist and hauled her back. She landed atop him, thanks to his deft handling. Her hair billowed forward, shrouding her face, and landing in his open mouth. He spat out a few strands, then informed her, "I was only jesting when I said that perchance we could resume making love again. What I meant was that we definitely would."

  She brushed her hair back off her face and behind her ears. Then she raised her head to look at him. To his astonishment, she was smiling. In fact, by the shaking of her body, he would guess that she was barely suppressing outright laughter.

  "I knew that," she told him with a saucy grin.

  Then, of all things, the witch winked at him. And it became clear as the skies over Oslofjord that she did, indeed, have the upper hand.

  Now what?

  Maire was new at this game of bold wanton. She'd just made some outrageously suggestive remarks, but now she was unsure how to follow through.

  He stared up at her with those compelling blue eyes of his, waiting for her next move. She had no clue what it would be. Yet.

  "Come, Maire," he urged. "What additional things would you like me to do to put my mark on you? Do not go tongue-dead on me."

  "I'm thinking," she snapped, not the best way to respond, she supposed, when sprawled atop a naked Northman. But tongue-dead? She should just clobber him over his smirking face with the pottery bowl that still sat on a low chest next to the bed. However, the man had uses. Aye, that's it. I want to use the lecherous lout for my purposes, but how?

  Oh, Rurik was still the same insufferable Viking, but making love with him had been a joyous event, and Maire had experienced little enough joy in her life these past few years. Was it so wrong to gather more while she could?

  In truth, the man had surprised the spit out of her with his superb lovemaking skills. Who knew such an earthy exercise could be so… ? She couldn't settle on exactly the right word.

  Pleasurable? For a certainty.

  Shocking? Aye. In a nice way.

  Edifying? She had to smile at that one. She was definitely learning things, and she definitely wanted to learn more things. Besides, she was discovering that she harbored a strong sensual streak. Before it disappeared, she'd like to know more about what had brought it to life, and why.

  Harmonious? Strange that this word should pop into Maire's head, but there had been this feeling of balance when Rurik was inside her. Not just the oneness, or the wonder of two such disparate bodies fitting together so perfectly, as the Creator had planned. It was more as if… she shuddered to think of the ramifications … their joining had, in fact, been ordained in some way, as Rurik had mentioned earlier. Destiny.

  She released a sigh at that whimsical thought and noticed that Rurik was still gazing at her, with his eyebrows arched in question. She also noticed that his manpart had grown hard again and was nudging insistently against her womanpart.

  Well, Maire wasn't sure what to do next, but she could always follow Rurik's technique… the slow one he had employed at the beginning. Rolling off the top of his body and to her side, she ordered, "Turn over."

  Start
led, he blinked at her.

  She found that she liked being the one in charge.

  "Wh-what?" he stammered out.

  She also found gratification in making a man—a virile man in her bed—stammer.

  "I want to examine your body, as you did mine," she explained, heat suffusing her skin from forehead to toes. Maire was unaccustomed to making such explicit demands of a man, especially a nude one.

  His already hardened staff flexed at her words.

  And, aye, Maire found that there was gratification to be found in knowing that her mere words could arouse Rurik.

  For one long moment, he stared at her, and Maire thought he might refuse, but then he licked his suddenly dry lips, which caused her lips to go suddenly dry. "This had best be good, Maire," he murmured in a husky voice, and flipped over onto his stomach, folding his arms under his face.

  At first, Maire's eyes simply swept over Rurik's long form. But even that cursory examination showed him to be a fine, fine specimen of manhood. Broad shoulders. Narrow waist. Slim hips. Firm buttocks. Excessively long legs. And everywhere muscles, muscles, muscles.

  She set the long swath of his hair to the side and touched the strong tendons in his neck. He sighed softly with appreciation, which spurred her to sweep her palms across his shoulder blades, then down to the small of his back. Immediately, all the muscles in his upper body bunched with tension.

  "Was that bad?"

  He made a gurgling noise, midway between a choke and a laugh. "That was good."

  She hesitated, and then massaged the two mounds of his backside. Interested in the unusual compactness there… much harder than her own… she touched him some more, then ran a forefinger down the centerline.

  His entire body went stiff.

  Was that a mistake? Too brazen? She thought about giving up on this exploration business, but then he coaxed, "Don't stop now, Maire. For the love of Freyja, don't dare stop now."

  She smiled at the heady notion that she could affect this seasoned lover so. Resuming her leisurely survey, she moved down to his legs, where she discovered that the backs of his knees and his inner thighs were uncommonly sensitive to touch.

  He groaned aloud and rolled over, pulling her halfway atop him… her breasts pressed to his chest, her one thigh thrown over both of his. Assailed by a sudden bout of modesty, she tried to adjust herself so that the excited tips of her breasts were not so evident, but he would not allow her to move. Instead, he whispered, pulling her forward, "Kiss me, witch. Before you resume your campaign to drive me daft with your touch, taste me with your lips, and your tongue, and your teeth."

  "I'm not a good kisser, like you," she admitted shyly.

  At first, his languid eyes went wide with surprise. Then he shook his head as if her inexperience were of no consequence. "Try," he beseeched, "and I will teach you what does not already come instinctively."

  Maire did just that, settling her lips over his much fuller ones, then dragging them from side to side for a better fit.

  "Open," he murmured against her lips.

  She did, and, oh, who knew that just the parting of a woman's lips over a man's could be so erotic? Rurik instructed her in the art of kissing then. Not with words, but with masculine sounds of encouragement, turns of the head, and example. She soon discovered that she was a very quick learner. Rurik considered her an excellent pupil, too, if his ragged breaths were any indication when he finally broke the kiss.

  To Maire's immense satisfaction, she saw that his lips were moist and slightly swollen from her kisses. His eyes were luminous with a carnal fire she had ignited. And his manhood pressing urgently against her thigh was thick and hard. She did not want to think how she must look to him. Worse, she was sure. Or better, depending on one's point of view.

  Rurik had told her something earlier, in the heat of his lovemaking, which she recalled now. He had said that a woman's passion was a man's greatest pleasure. Well, it went the other way, too, she realized now. A man's passion was a woman's greatest pleasure, as well.

  'Twas time to resume her explorations, she decided. Following Rurik's route, she used her tongue and teeth to play with his ears and his flat male nipples. To her delight, he found as much joy in her ministrations as she'd found in his.

  At one point, she remarked ruefully, as she studied his burgeoning member, "By the size of Lance, 'twould seem you have not been telling very many lies, Viking."

  " 'Tis no time for teasing, wench," he said huskily, but she could tell her playful words gladdened him. She was not accustomed to such flirting, but found she liked it. Mayhap later she would become more proficient at the gentle art of flirtation… if the rogue beneath her fingertips stuck around that long.

  By the time she'd splayed her fingers over his stomach and dipped her head to lick the indentation of his navel, Rurik had apparently had enough of her sweet torture. With a masculine roar, he lifted her bodily so that she straddled his stomach.

  "Take me," he rasped out.

  "Huh?" She tilted her head in question. "Take you where?"

  "Inside… take me inside of you," he said in a voice so dark and smoky she felt her woman center clench in response.

  She was not precisely certain how to do that, but she raised her bottom slightly, and grasping his thick column in her hands, she drew him inside ever so gently. And, by the saints, he felt good.

  Rurik's eyes actually rolled back in his head for a moment, and she saw that his teeth were gritted, as if in pain. But she sensed it was a kind of pleasure-pain. When his eyes made contact with hers again, he said, "Lean forward so you can take more of me, sweetling."

  More? That was not possible. She did as he instructed and found, to her amazement, that her body was made to accept all of him, as inner muscles shifted and slickened.

  "Now sit back."

  She did, resting her bottom on his loins, which caused her legs to widen. To her embarrassment, though, she started to spasm around his shaft… alternately squeezing and releasing. She tried to lift herself off and turn her face away in shame, but he would have none of that. With hands on her hips, he held her down and pleaded, "Look at me, Maire. I would see you peak."

  When she did not immediately meet his gaze, he commenced strumming that bud between her thighs… the one now practically pressing against his belly, as insistent in its swelling as his own imbedded erection. "Oh!" she whispered.

  "What?" he asked.

  She put a hand against herself and confessed, "It feels like butterfly wings here… the frantic beating of butterfly wings."

  "Ah, Maire. You are truly precious."

  A fierce wail erupted from her then as the convulsions began all over again, stronger now. "I need… I need…" she cried out, not sure exactly what it was she needed. Perhaps just an end to this throbbing between her legs and the aching in her breasts.

  Then, slowly, slowly, slowly, she rocked her hips. So intense was the bliss that she closed her eyes and saw red and white stars behind the lids. When she opened them, it was obvious that he was equally affected. Beads of sweat stood out on his forehead and upper lip, bespeaking great restraint. His eyes were glazed, and panting breaths came from his parted lips. Frustrated at his lack of movement, she grabbed his hands off her hips and placed them over her breasts. "Move, damn you. Move!" she demanded.

  He laughed up at her. "With pleasure, my lady." Soft words of guidance and deft hands showed her the rhythm. She figured she must be doing it correctly because at one point he told her, on a groan, "You… are… incredible."

  Maire had peaked so many times since he'd first forced her to straddle him that she'd lost count. When he whispered into her ear, "You melt like hot honey around me," she felt, indeed, as if her insides were dissolving around him. "Tell me how I feel to you," he implored then.

  She thought only an instant and disclosed, "You are the missing part of me, come home." Her words stunned him, she could tell, but it was the truth. He completed her.

  Had any other man
and woman fit together as well as they did? She had no experience, other than Kenneth, but she decided that she and Rurik must be unique. Adam and Eve, but better. That thought made her smile.

  "Do you find mirth in my discomfit?" Rurik asked with a growl, chucking her playfully on the chin.

  "Are you discomfited?"

  "Oh, lady, I am sore discomfited, and you are the cause."

  She smiled wider then.

  Cupping her buttocks, he rolled them both over so that she was on the bottom. "You like discomfiting me, do you?"

  "Immensely."

  That was the last word she was able to speak for some time as Rurik began the hard strokes that would bring on his own ecstasy. Maire observed closely as his male explosion approached. Veins stood out on his neck and forehead. His eyes dilated and grew midnight blue. His nostrils flared. And he panted in a fast-paced cadence to match his strokes.

  Rurik's ecstasy was a beautiful thing to watch.

  At the end, he pulled out and spilled his seed upon the linens between her legs. For an instant, she wished that he could stay within, especially as her insides continued to ripple… missing him…but she knew that was imprudent.

  He collapsed on top of her, his face pressed into the curve of her neck. Maire thought he might have fallen asleep, but he kissed the pulse point in her neck and whispered, "Thank you."

  Thank you? What an odd thing to say!

  Not so odd, though, she supposed. She was thankful, too, for the pleasure he'd just given her. As his greater weight pressed her to the mattress, not uncomfortably, Maire caressed his silken hair and pondered all that had happened to her that day. It was monumental. Tears brimmed in her eyes as she realized just how monumental.

  I still love him.

  Chapter Eleven

  Rurik was frightened.

  For a hardened warrior, that was a difficult admission to make. But there it was.

  He could handle uneven odds in a battle, he could handle the prospect that he might die without warning, he could handle bloodshed and cruelty. What he could not handle were the overpowering feelings he was developing for Maire.

  How could he be so affected in such a short time? Witchcraft? He shuddered at the possibility. There was no denying the fact that when he looked at Maire his insides melted, his heart raced, and he lost his concentration. In essence, he felt rather sick in his stomach. He could not stop touching her, or thinking about her, or smiling… Yea, he'd been doing an inordinate amount of smiling these past hours. Best he be careful, lest he start staggering about like a dreamy-eyed lackbrain.