Beyond the Sea Mist

by Mary Gillgannon

  But, nay, she was virgin. If he penetrated her before she was ready, he would hurt her. He took a deep breath and approached. Having waited this long; he could control his body’s yearnings a while longer. “Lie down on the bed.”

  Ailinn did as he bid, feeling almost faint with desire. She hadn’t imagined she could feel like this, as if she would burst into flame at his touch. As if her heart would leap from her chest if he caressed her between the legs the way he once had.

  He’d removed his tunic and his muscular chest was revealed in all its glory. He’d also removed his shoes, but not his trews. She wondered why. Did he think she would be frightened if she saw him aroused? She’d already felt the swelling bulge of his phallus when he kissed her. He was big everywhere else; she had no doubt that part of him would be impressive as well.

  He climbed on the bed, straddling her on his hands and knees. As he gazed down at her, Ailinn licked her lips, anticipating his kiss. But then he edged downward on the bed and slid up her shift, exposing her legs. Starting at her ankles, he began to stroke then. Ailinn closed her eyes and went limp. She longed to open her thighs and offer up her intimate parts to him, but she struggled against the urge. All too soon he would know how much she wanted him. All too soon, she would be moaning and writhing with need.

  He was taking his time, teasing her. His hands glided up her thighs and stopped at the juncture of her legs. Then he began the motion once again. Each time he drew ever nearer to the aching center of her, but still didn’t touch. She moaned with impatience and despite her resolve, slid her legs wide apart.

  She knew he was looking at her. Her most secret parts were revealed to his gaze. He was seeing her as she’d never seen herself. She felt his fingers cup the soft folds of her womanhood and waited, breathless for the delicious pressure of his touch.

  But it wasn’t his fingers that stroked her. With a gasp she realized he’d leaned over and was caressing her with his mouth. Never had she imagined this sort of loveplay. He kissed her, licked her, then sucked on the slippery petals of flesh, thrusting her into a blind, heaving convulsion of pleasure. Vaguely, she heard her own hoarse cries. Felt her body spasm with ecstasy. The waves of rapture seemed to go on and on. She felt she would faint with it.

  At last, he stopped, and she realized she wanted something more. Something intangible. For all her intense enjoyment of his attentions, her body still yearned.

  He seemed to know what she felt, for after helping her remove the shift, he continued to stoke the embers of her passion, gliding his hands over the rest of her body. His strong callused hands slid over her skin. Down the side of her hips. Along her waist. Up to her shoulders. Down her arms. Circling closer and closer to her breasts. Finally, he cupped them in his hands and gently squeezed. New sensations and delights surged through her. He teased the nipples with his thumbs, then leaned down to suckle.

  Ailinn gave into the deliciousness. The tension built anew. By the time he kissed and nuzzled her other nipple, she was taut with need once again. She raised her hips, silently urging him to satisfy her as he once had. He brought his hand to her groin and fondled her briefly, making her moan and stiffen against him. Then he climbed off the bed.

  She sat up, alarmed. Nay! He couldn’t leave her now! “Magnus,” she breathed. “Please.”

  He cocked his head. “Please, what?”

  “I...I want you.”

  “What do you want? Tell me.”

  She swallowed in embarrassment. He would make her say it. Make her admit that she wanted him to mount her. To fill her with his flesh. “I want you to...” She licked her lips. “I want you inside me.”

  He smiled, a dazzling smile of white teeth and obvious satisfaction. “Aye, you do.” He looked away to undo his trews. Slid them down and climbed onto the bed. In seconds he was straddling her once again. “What is it that you desire, lady? Tell me again.”

  She cast a glance at his groin, at the pulsing, ruddy shaft of flesh thrusting out boldly. For a moment, she hesitated, wondering how she would endure having him inside her. He was bigger than she’d imagined; the idea that she could accommodate him seemed unreasonable. But her body had no doubts. It felt more than ready. She feared if he drew away now, she would do something shameful like spreading her legs wide and begging him.

  “Your phallus,” she said. “I desire it inside me.”

  His smile altered. His expression grew almost savage. “You shall have your wish, lady.”

  Even then, he didn’t pounce on her, but moved with slow deliberation. He fondled her some more, pushing one finger inside her, then two. The intense pressure was almost enough to make her reconsider what she’d asked for. If two fingers filled her so completely, how would she ever...? But then he moved his hand to another place and stroked a little nub of flesh she hadn’t known was there. Her desire exploded, making her cry out. He continued his gentle caressing, pushing her to the point of desperation. Finally, when she was so wet and swollen and aroused she thought she might die from it, he pressed his great, hot shaft against her opening and eased himself in.

  The rest came to her in a mindless haze. Pain, but mingled so completely with pleasure that the two things become the same. His slow, deep rhythm. The amazing feeling of him inside her. So close they were. Flesh to flesh. Their hearts beating as one. The sweat on their skin merging. Their scents mingling. Even their spirits—joined together.

  She found to her surprise that she was peaking again. And again. She marveled at his stamina. When he finally found his own release, it was with a roar. His body arched over hers and grew rigid. She felt his seed pulse into her and she welcomed it. He was her mate. There could be no other.

  * * *

  Magnus lay back on the bed. He felt perfectly content. Never had he imagined sex could be like this. She was a goddess, a wild, fiery valkerie of passion. He opened his eyes, wanting to see her again. Wanting to make certain it wasn’t a dream.

  She curled up next to him, a vision of silky hair and rosy skin. At this moment she looked very small and vulnerable, almost fragile. But he knew her delicate appearance was deceiving. For all her petal-like skin and dainty form, her spirit—her essence--was as strong and fierce as any man’s. She was like the blade of a fine sword, sleek, graceful and beautiful, but also incredibly strong and resilient. She’d been tempered by her life, as iron is tempered in a smith’s fire.

  When it came to lovemaking, she was no meek, tender thing either. His breath caught as he recalled her passion. The way she screamed like a vixen when she reached her peak. The way she arched her back and thrust her hips up to meet him. Never had he had a woman so responsive, so hungry for him.

  And it was for him she yearned. She’d told him she wanted him, wanted his shaft inside her. If he thought about it too much he would become aroused again! He grinned at the thought.

  She stirred beside him and opened her eyes. The pupils were enormous, the irises a gray-green hue, like a stormy sea. He smiled and reached out to smooth a lock of hair away from her face. “You’re a maiden no more.”

  She looked down at her body. “Aye,” she murmured. He followed the direction of her gaze, and the glint of her vivid maidenhair sent a spark of desire to his loins. “Have you any regrets?”

  “Nay.” She met his gaze squarely. “’Twas exactly as I wished it would be.”

  “Aye. It was.”

  She motioned. “It was very thoughtful of you to arrange all this—the bed, the water to bathe in, the candles...”

  “I wanted it to be as a princess’s deflowering should be.”

  Her expression grew thoughtful. “If I were still a princess, perhaps my wedding night would have been like this.” She raised her eyes to his. “Although I doubt my bridegroom would have been as handsome and virile as you.”

  Her words made him smile with pleasure. “I would never have dreamed I would have a chance to bed a woman as beautiful as you.” He reached out and touched the soft skin of her arm. “You are a dream, so l
ovely I can scarce believe you’re real.”

  Magnus watched her, his gaze taking in her feminine splendor—the perfection of her form, the magic of her coloring—fair, cool skin contrasting with the fire of her maidenhair. Looking made him want to touch. So he did, trailing his fingers over the curve of her breast. The caress made her nipple contract into a rosy bud that seemed to call to his lips to kiss and lick and suckle.

  He withdrew his hand. It was too soon. She would be sore. Although, there were other things they could do besides coupling. He wanted to explore her body some more. Before, he had concentrated on arousing her, and also keeping his own lust in check. Now he wanted to linger over every curve and hollow.

  Ailinn watched Magnus admiring her and knew a strange kind of fear. This man made her feel weak and helpless. She imagined his seed growing inside her, having a babe with him. She wanted to stay with him, be with him, forever.

  She struggled to shake off the mood of contented lassitude that had come over her, reminding herself that she had a duty, a destiny that had nothing to do with that kind of yearning. She dare not think such futile, impossible thoughts.

  As she began to think clearly again, she grew more uneasy. For a time, she’d been unaware of anything but him. What incredible power he had over her. He had only to touch her and love her and she fell helplessly under his spell. A few more times like that and he would possess not merely her body, but her soul!

  Alarm sparked inside her. She had to get away from him before he loved her again. But how? He’d obviously arranged to have this house for the night. Although men were supposed to need a while to recover from sex, she could sense he was close to being ready to start all over again.

  At the thought of it, she experienced a sharp arousal of her own. He had only to touch her or even look at her, and she melted like silver turning liquid in the heat of a smith’s forge. Panicked, she rose from the bed and pulled the shift over her head.

  “What are you doing?” He sounded puzzled rather than angry. Her heart twisted inside her.

  “Ailinn? What’s wrong?”

  How could she answer him? How to explain that she was falling in love with him and that was something she could not—must not—do?

  She shot a brief glance at him. How spectacular he looked. The sight of his big, muscular body and handsome face made her want to lie down on the bed and hold out her arms. She wanted him, not merely as a lover, but as a mate.

  She recalled having that thought at the moment she peaked. Remembered the sense of their spirits being connected even as their bodies were joined. Her anguish increased. There must be some way to stop what was happening before it was too late. Before she completely forgot her duty, forgot who she was. As things were now, it was inevitable that they would couple again...and again.

  What could she do to turn aside his lust? What if she angered him? Would he forget his desire if he became enraged? She wasn’t certain it would work, but it seemed the only path open to her. She must find the means to make him hate her.

  Her mind worked rapidly. She trained her face to impassivity, then looked at him. “Are you still going to sell me?”

  His expression altered in a heartbeat. He sat up on the bed. “Sell you? I thought I’d made it clear I’ll never give you up.”

  “But now, you’ve gotten what you wished...” She shrugged.

  He reached over and grabbed her by the arm. “I haven’t gotten what I wished! Don’t you understand? What I wish is to possess you forever! You’re mine, Ailinn! I won’t give you up—not while there’s breath in my body!”

  She made her voice cold and distant as she said, “But when you vowed to rescue me, I thought you meant to set me free, not take possession of me for yourself.”

  He frowned, reminding her of a small boy who has been disappointed. She felt a stab of guilt and pain at the realization of how much her words hurt him.

  “Aye, I did...but that was before...” He let out his breath in a sigh. A moment later, his dismay turned to anger. “Perhaps I will take you back to Ireland....someday. But first, I mean to enjoy every moment of possessing you.” His gaze moved over her body, and she could tell he wanted her once again. His shaft rose up, swelling to the formidable size she remembered.

  At the sight, her legs suddenly felt weak. Her whole body shivered with longing. Desperate, she moved away from the bed and said, “I’ll do whatever you wish, but only if you agree to give me a portion of the treasure.”

  He closed his eyes, then opened them again, looking at her bleakly.

  Magnus felt his arousal fading. How could she think about the treasure at a time like this? Was she truly as cold and calculating as she appeared? It seemed he’d been a fool, imagining he could seduce her and make her love him. For that to happen, she needed to have a heart, and it appeared she didn’t.

  He didn’t understand. Men were the ones who were supposed to be able to engage in loveplay and then walk away. She couldn’t deny he’d given her pleasure. The way she’d moaned and screamed. The way her body had welcomed him—so wet, so eager. That was not something any woman could pretend. She’d enjoyed their lovemaking. So why did she ignore what she’d experienced and think only of the cold, empty gleam of gold and silver?

  He raised his gaze to look at her. She was so exquisitely fair. And so frustrating.

  And—the gods curse him—he still wanted her.

  He got up from the bed and strode to the corner where he’d left his clothing. He grabbed up one of the armbands he’d been wearing under his tunic and threw it on the bed. “Here. Is this what you wish?”

  He seized the two daggers and dumped them next to the armband. Digging in the secret pouch of the tunic, he seized the amulets and dropped them beside the rest of the metalwork. “I’ve traded the rest of it—to pay the crew, to buy you things, to arrange this house for the night. That’s all I have left. Is it enough to satisfy you?”

  She stared at the precious objects. “Magnus...I...” Her forehead creased in a frown. “You don’t understand. I tried to tell you earlier. I need the metalwork to get back to Ireland. And, once I’m there, to hire warriors to avenge my family and regain our lands.”

  Magnus couldn’t quite believe what she’d said. It was the most absurd thing he’d ever heard. “You can’t do that. It’s impossible. Even if you were a man, it would be ridiculous for you to imagine you could do such a thing.”

  Magnus got up and went to the other room of the dwelling. The food and wine he’d bought still sat on the table, untouched. He went to table and grasped the handle of the bronze ewer and poured some wine into one of the glass beakers. He picked up the beaker and swirled the garnet red liquid around in circles. The wine reminded him of blood...like the faint streaks on Ailinn’s thighs, the clear evidence of their coupling.

  He took a swallow of the wine. The wine was sweet, but even the pleasing taste of it couldn’t banish the tight feeling in his stomach. He wanted this woman, wanted her with all his heart. But he wasn’t prepared for her to be consumed with vengeance toward her enemies.

  Perhaps that was how princesses were—at least Irish princesses. They didn’t have the usual feminine longings for a hearth and home and babies. They wanted to avenge themselves and their families and regain what they believed belonged to them.

  He took another swallow of wine. Then another. He longed to forget what she’d said, to go back to where they were a short while ago. Enjoying each other’s bodies, writhing in each other’s arms like wild creatures.

  He wouldn’t let what she’d told him ruin this night. So long he’d planned for this, and he wanted to hold her and love her long into the night. No one would expect them back at the ship until well into the morn.

  Magnus watched as Ailinn went to where her discarded clothing lay and picked up her gown.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Getting dressed.”

  He was beside her in three quick strides. “Nay, you’re not.”

&n
bsp; “I...I’m cold.”

  He took hold of her arm. “I know a way to warm you.”

  “Magnus...please...” She sounded desperate. A moment later, the tone of her voice altered. “I’m sore and tired. Please leave me be.”

  He felt a stab of anger, thinking she said these things to put him off. Then he realized it might be true. There was every reason to think she might be sore. She was so small, and he hadn’t been altogether gentle. Once he was inside her, he’d lost control. He recalled the streaks of blood on her thighs. When blood was shed, there was usually pain.

  “I will bathe you,” he said. “So you’re not so uncomfortable.”

  “Nay!”

  “Aye.” He tightened his grip on her arm. “Come.”

  As Magnus guided her to the bathing tub, Ailinn felt a choking panic. Heaven help her, she couldn’t bear to have him touch her there!

  When they reached the tub, he let go of her arm and got down on his knees. He took the drying cloth lying there and dipped it in the bathwater. As he lifted the hem of the shift, Ailinn felt her mouth go dry. She envisioned him touching her damp, tender parts with the cloth. It would feel wonderful. All her will to resist him, to push him away would dissolve.

  “Nay!” she cried, pushing him away.

  She saw anger darken his eyes. Good. She must make him hate her.

  Then his expression changed. “What are you afraid of, Ailinn? Why do you fear me?"

  “I...I don’t.”

  “Then why won’t you let me touch you? You were eager enough for it earlier. Why do you resist me now?”

  “I told you...I’m tired and sore. I want only to sleep.”

  His blue eyes fixed on her. He seemed to be assessing her words, trying to decide if she were being truthful. “I’m trying to help you. If you’re sore, I’m certain you would feel better if you washed.”