Forbidden Viking

by Ree Thornton

  "Good. I will have a chance at besting you again." He winked at her.

  "Hmm. Mayhap you can do it this time without cheating." Mirth twinkled in her eyes. "What are the rules?"

  Two hours later, Valen studied the Hnefatafl board on the table in front of him. The hall had slowly emptied as the inebriated stumbled off to bed leaving behind just a few guests clustered around the tables nearby.

  "How did you do that?" he asked, bewildered. She had snuck her pieces through his defences and had his king trapped…again.

  She leaned back in her chair and smiled at him serenely. "I can't share my secrets with the enemy," she teased.

  He pressed his lips together to halt his smile. He enjoyed the easy banter between them. She had a quick wit and never let his teasing go unchallenged. "But you only learned to play tonight." He shook his head in disbelief.

  She shrugged. "I am a quick study. It is very similar to a game we call Shatranj." She sipped her wine, her eyes dancing as she enjoyed his confusion.

  Was there anything she couldn't do, or didn’t know? "Can I ask you something?"

  She nodded. "Anything."

  "How did you know what to do at the river with the child?" He'd replayed it repeatedly in his mind, yet he still could not make sense of what had happened that day. Never in all his years had he seen someone return from the dead like that child had.

  She paused for a few moments as she weighed her answer, and then traced the rim of her cup with a finger as she spoke. "In my third year of study, I spent a summer assisting a doctor. I learned much from him about setting bones and tending to severe ailments."

  "So you learnt how to save Calla from him?"

  She nodded. "One day we attended a man who had fallen in the river and could not swim. It was too late to save him, but Doctor Paqui explained how to cover the mouth and breathe. He called it the kiss of life."

  "Thank the gods you were at the river that day. The child lives because of you."

  She smiled gently. "It does not always work. I was fortunate."

  He returned his focus to the board game and made his move, capturing one of her pieces to clear a path for his king to escape. "What other lessons does a princess study?"

  She placed her cup beside the board and leaned forward, resting her hands on the table as she studied her pieces on the board. "Cooking, painting, the stars…"

  Watching her lips twitch as her mind worked was sweet torture. He wanted to jump across the table and press his mouth to hers. He downed his ale instead and leaned back, adjusting himself discretely beneath the table. "The stars?"

  She lifted a piece between two fingers and then replaced it, tapping her chin thoughtfully as she spoke. "I assisted with mapping the patterns of the stars in the night sky. Others studied the movements of the moon and the sun."

  "We navigate our ships by the stars."

  She nodded distractedly, and then plucked one of his pieces from the board and quickly replaced it with one of hers. "I win."

  "What?" He couldn't hide his shock. Again?

  She burst into laughter, and then covered her mouth with her hand to stifle the sound. Her shoulders shook as she struggled to control her amusement.

  "Did you let a woman beat you again, Valen?" Rúna called out from across the room.

  He threw his hands up in defeat. "I'm trying not to. She's too good."

  "So you don't want another match?" Samara's lips curled up in the corners as she raised an eyebrow at him.

  "Nei. You have punished me enough for one day." He pushed to his feet. This was the time when he usually walked her to her room and kissed her senseless. He couldn't do that now. Tonight he didn't have the strength to resist. If he got her anywhere near a bed he wouldn't stop until she begged him to take her.

  She followed silently as he led her away from the hall, skirting around the edge of the village, and then up the steps to the stone tower.

  An owl hooted in the distance as he looked out across the shimmering waves that gently caressed the shore and steeled himself to face her. "I'll not walk you to your room tonight."

  She tilted her head, confused. "Why?"

  He didn't know how it was possible, but she looked even more beautiful in the dark with just the crescent moon and the stars of the night sky lighting her from behind. His cock hardened.

  "It's too dangerous, Samara. Each day it gets harder to stop at just a kiss. I can't give you more." He couldn't bed her, no matter how much his body ached for her. A royal princess must remain untouched for her husband. He'd not take her innocence and ruin her chance for future happiness.

  She looked at him from beneath hooded eyes as she closed the distance between them. She smiled as she pressed her body into his and curled her arms up around his neck.

  "I don't believe you'd deny me anything," she whispered.

  He swallowed hard.

  Her soft lips parted and her throaty whisper broke the final threads of his restraint.

  "Kiss me."

  By Óðinn, she tempted him as no other had. He wrapped her in his arms and claimed her mouth. She tasted of the rich oaky tang of wine. It drove him wild. She drove him wild. She could bring even the gods to their knees. He was defenceless against her.

  She gripped his hair in her hands and took over the kiss, biting his lower lip before her tongue delved inside in a desperate, savage invasion. She consumed him like a wildfire, and he loved it. Then she crawled up his body and wrapped her legs around his waist, the soft mound of her womanhood pressed against the silky steel that was so eager to find a way inside her.

  He stumbled back to the low stone wall and sat down with her straddling his thighs. She was right—he could deny her nothing. He flicked open the buttons of her dress and pushed it down. A quick tug of the laces and her shift fell open to reveal her firm bronzed breasts that hung heavy in his hands.

  "Beautiful..." he whispered reverently. He dipped his head and kissed her neck. When she moaned softly, he continued nipping and sucking a trail downward.

  She gasped sharply as he sucked a tender nipple into his hot mouth.

  He couldn't take his eyes off her as she closed her eyes and succumbed to the pleasure. She was magnificent. Even the goddess Freya would walk in the shadow of her beauty.

  A surge of warmth wrapped around his heart and latched on as she surrendered and trusted him with her body. He slid a hand up under her dress and pushed fabric to the side, seeking the source of pleasure that he knew would push her over the edge. He could give her that bliss, he had to—he couldn't let her go without feeling her shatter in his arms just once.

  She moaned as his thumb found that place. Her hips rocked forward, brushing her core along the length of his throbbing cock as she sought the pressure of his touch.

  He gave her what she needed, guiding her hips into a sensual rhythm as his fingers pushed her to the brink. She was almost there. He watched her mouth fall open, etching that final fleeting moment before she crested in his mind forever, before he grazed her nipple with his teeth and sucked hard on the furled bud.

  Her back arched, and her arms fell from around his neck. She looked magnificent with the dim moonlight lighting her upturned face, her long hair falling in dark waves down behind her.

  Her soft hair caressed his thighs, adding to the sensual, captivating experience of pleasuring her. His arm tightened around her waist as he thrust his fingers inside her warmth.

  "Let go. I have you."

  Her body stiffened as she cried out, and then she soared, her body shuddering with the force of her release.

  He ignored the throbbing staff in his breeches and held her in his arms as the aftershocks wracked her body. When her breathing slowed, he placed her on her feet and fastened her dress. He'd never regret what had just happened, but he could not take it any further.

  "It's time for bed, Samara."

  She swayed unsteadily as her head bobbed.

  He memorized the languid contented smile on her face, his ch
est swelling with pride. He'd caused that drunken daze of satisfaction. He looked away so that he would not succumb to the temptation to reach for her and never let go.

  "Go now, Samara."

  Chapter Eleven

  Samara

  Samara pushed her bedchamber door closed and fell against it with a contented sigh. In Valen's embrace, she'd felt more alive than she ever had before. Even now, the rush of warmth that had chased away the aftermath of his touch left her feeling as if she could cross the desert barefoot. Oh, how his hands made her body sing. She wanted more.

  "I know that look."

  She gasped at the soft voice coming from the shadows. Who was it?

  Ásta walked into the light of the smouldering fire in the corner of the room and picked up the folded nightshirt on the end of the bed.

  "You scared me." She stepped away from the door, her fear disappearing. It was only Ásta.

  Her friend gave her a knowing smile. "I saw you leave with Valen and thought you might have need of me."

  There was no hiding anything from the clever handmaiden. She grinned back, letting the joy on her face betray her. She'd been caught, and she didn't even care. Over the last week Ásta had become a loyal friend and confidant. She knew she could rely on her discretion.

  "We took a walk," she said, and crossed the room and sat down on the chair to remove her boots.

  Ásta walked up behind her. "Hmm…I bet it was quite the journey."

  "It was...nice." She stood so that Ásta could help remove her dress, the sensual caress of the fabric sliding upward reminding her of Valen's heated touch. Those fingers, those hands...

  "I'd say from the rosy glow to your skin that it was more than nice." Ásta laid the dress on the wooden chair in the corner of the small room and picked up the carved bone comb. "Sit and I shall braid your hair."

  Samara spun around. "I saw you returning to the hall, Ásta. Now that I think about it, Valen's friend, Dànel, disappeared at the same time you did." She raised an eyebrow. She had questions for her curious friend too!

  A pink flush crept across Ásta's pale skin. "I...it is naught," she said, waving her hand dismissively.

  She scoffed at the obvious lie and shook her head. "I do not believe that. You would not give yourself without affection. There is something between you two."

  Now that she thought about it, Ásta had returned to the hall alone, only to flee a short while later from a darkhaired man after what appeared to be a tense exchange. Whoever the man was, he was powerful, and she knew well the liberties his kind thought they could take from defenceless handmaidens. Had he propositioned her? Men like that often thought they could take what was not offered. She'd not allow that to be Ásta's fate.

  "Who was the man that you fled from?"

  Ásta's eyes widened and the color drained from her face. "He is nobody."

  That lie was even worse than her first. Ásta looked as terrified as someone who had seen a djinn, a shape shifting spirit.

  "If he has hurt you..."

  Ásta grabbed her hand and cradled it in her own. The amber hair that flowed down over her shoulders and back to her waist, danced back and forth as she shook her head.

  "He is merely a shadow from the past that I'd rather forget. Promise me you'll not mention this to anyone." It was painful watching her friend pretend all was well when it was obvious that the man terrified her, but clearly, Ásta's need for secrecy was truth.

  "Very well, I will keep your secret, if you will keep mine." She would honor Ásta's request, but watch vigilantly for any signs of mistreatment and report them to Valen or Rúna. Suddenly weary, she sat down on the sleeping furs draped over her bed.

  "My lips are sealed." Ásta settled on her knees behind her. "Now, tell me of Valen."

  The teeth of the comb pressed into her back as Ásta started at her waist, and then moved upward, tugging it through her messed hair.

  "He makes me feel..." She released a wistful sigh. Valen made her feel hot, bothered, and confused. Their stolen kisses and being in his arms felt wonderful, but when they were apart there was an emptiness inside her that made no sense.

  "I understand," Ásta said softly.

  "You do?"

  "Já. It is a blessing to share a great love..." Ásta's voice trailed off as her fingers deftly weaved Samara’s hair into a braid.

  Love? Did she love Valen? Was that what this was? This undeniable need to be close to him, to watch him work, and observe his kind, yet firm, leadership with his people. Could it explain her overwhelming hunger to feel his touch, and the heat that built within her under his skilful hands? She shuddered in delight at the mere memory.

  Ásta released a long wistful sigh.

  Samara understood exactly how her friend was feeling. Then there was this ever-present dull ache when she was apart from Valen. Everything else she felt she could justify as admiration and desire of the flesh, but that dull ache, that did feel remarkably like her heart yearning for its beloved. The harder she tried to deny the thought the more it persisted. Valen was her beloved. The truth filled her with a stunning clarity—it had crept up on her slowly, admiration, trust, friendship, and then love. She loved him!

  "A blessing and a curse," Ásta continued, interrupting her musings.

  "You had a love?" Neither Ásta nor Rúna had ever mentioned such a thing in all of the time that they'd spent together. What had happened? It pained her to think that they had kept this hidden from her. What other secrets did Ásta hide?

  The comb paused mid-stroke. When Ásta spoke, her voice was heavy with sorrow. "I was married once, but he died."

  "That is dreadful, Ásta. I had no idea." Heaviness filled her chest at the loss that undoubtedly still pained her friend greatly.

  "It was long ago." Ásta paused, and Samara heard the telltale intake of a fortifying breath before she changed the subject. "I see how you look at Valen, and how he watches you too. He has feelings for you."

  Samara stiffened at once, her body buzzing under the impact of Ásta's words. "He watches me?"

  Ásta laughed heartily and the deep melancholy of earlier melted away. "He can scarcely tear his eyes away."

  "Nothing can come of it. I must—" Samara pulled the braid over her shoulder and spun around to face her friend. How did one explain the expectations placed on royal daughters to a handmaiden?

  "Nei," Ásta interrupted, and then reached out and gripped her shoulders in both hands firmly.

  "What?"

  Ásta's tone was adamant when she continued. "The goddess Freya has brought you together for a reason, Samara. If you love him, then embrace it."

  "But—" Ásta did not understand that it was her duty, as had long been her people's custom, that she wed a man of her father's choosing.

  "Don't think, feel what your heart wants. Love can vanish in a heartbeat and all that you are left with are memories, little glowing embers to light the path though the darkness and pain that follow. Love him while you can."

  "Love him..." Samara whispered, under her breath. Dare she, just this once, cast aside duty for love?

  Chapter Twelve

  Samara

  Samara woke to the dawn birdsong drifting through the open window on the chilly breeze. Her heart skipped a beat. Last eve, she'd decided to heed Ásta's advice. This would be her last chance to bed a man of her choosing before her father married her off. She may never feel like this for a man again. No way would she live the rest of her life filled with regret because she was afraid to take a chance.

  She sat up and threw off the blanket. She had to act fast. With each day that passed, her time with Valen lessened. She pulled on a clean woollen overdress, combed her hair, and rushed outside. Tonight she would seduce him.

  Her stomach fluttered with anticipation as she ducked beneath the branch of an apple tree, rushed across the grass, and into the great hall. She was later than usual to break her fast, but Valen may have waited to dine with her.

  "Samara!"

&nb
sp; Her father's deep guttural tone stopped her in her tracks—the Caliph had arrived. Her eyes instantly dropped to the floor in the deferential reflex ingrained from years in the Abbasid court. As she exhaled a heavy breath her shoulders slumped, all lightness and joy abandoning her as the heavy burden of duty returned.

  "Are you well, daughter?"

  Nei. She felt like saying it aloud. Go away. I'm not ready to leave yet. Instead, she straightened her shoulders and looked at the father she'd always adored.

  His mouth was a grim line, his troubled eyes surrounded by deep wrinkles produced by age and harsh desert sun. He looked older and more weary than she remembered, and less intimidating. Not long ago she would have done anything for his favor, but no more.

  "Samara?" When she didn't respond, her father rose from his seat at the table, his long white robes giving the impression he was floating as he signalled his Haras guards to remain in position against the wall and walked toward her.

  He'd betrayed her. He'd let her believe that he would always keep her at his side because he trusted and valued her council. The moment that he'd said she needed to marry so she'd have a husband to protect her, her adoration had disappeared like the sun over the horizon never to rise again. He'd promised her freedom, only to snatch it away.

  "Daughter?" He tilted his head as he approached her.

  As she looked at the dark shadows beneath his eyes, her heart sank. Now that he was here, everything would change. She let him pull her into an embrace and glanced over his shoulder.

  Valen sat at the table beside the seat her father had vacated, his expression devoid of emotion, the soft lips that had set her body alight pressed together in a harsh line.

  Her chest tightened. His face confirmed what she already knew—her father's arrival had ended their agreement. She'd lost him.

  Her father pulled back and looked at her, holding her shoulders in his hands. "Daughter, are you hurt?" he asked, in the familiar cadence of her native tongue so the Vikings could not understand.