Sandra Hill - [Vikings I 05]

by The Blue Viking

  Maire snarled once again. “Toste and Vagn have been taking turns in the bed furs with that young witch from Inverness, and I swear, if the stories are true, she is teaching them some really perverted things.”

  “Naught wrong with that,” Cailleach opined, examining her overlong fingernails with unconcern. “A man can never learn enough things about the sex arts … a woman, either, for that matter,” she added, staring pointedly at Maire.

  By the faith! Is she really advising me to learn sexual perversions?

  “At least ten witches have offered to supply me with a love potion to lure Rurik back to my bed,” she complained.

  “And that is a bad thing?” Cailleach’s gray eyebrows lifted. “Seems to me ye need all the help ye can get, lassie.”

  “Old John claims that a love elixir was put in the barrel of uisge-beatha last night, which caused the men to be more virile and the women more passionate.”

  “Surely, no one is complaining about that.”

  “Some of the witches have gone into business … selling the men antidotes for lying and shrinking manparts. ’Tis a sham, and you surely cannot condone such chicanery.”

  “Ye can’t blame a witch fer tryin’ to make a livin’. Times are tough fer witches, ye know. And who’s to say the concoctions don’t work?”

  “There are rowan ashes on all the windowsills.”

  “ ’Tis the best remedy for warding off the evil eye.”

  Maire took a deep breath for patience. “Cook is practically steaming from the ears over all the cauldrons missing from his kitchen, and he says you have been roasting what resembles a dog in his fireplace. The place reeks.”

  “Me?” Cailleach demurred, all innocence and batting eyelashes … or what few eyelashes she had left. Then she laughed… or rather cackled. “It’s a small roe deer I’m roasting. I needed the heart and liver fer one of my special remedies, not to mention the hooves, ears, and testicles.”

  Maire’s jaw dropped open.

  “Yer problem, dearie, is not witches,” Cailleach said, patting her hand lovingly. “It’s frustration, pure and simple.”

  “Frus-frustration?” Maire was so flummoxed by Cailleach’s need for animal testicles that she could scarce speak about this new contention of hers.

  “Aye, ’tis a well-known fact that men get frustrated when they canna get enough… you know, loveplay. Actually, in some of them, the frustration builds and builds till they are nigh blue in their manparts.” She scrutinized Maire, who was shocked into temporary silence, before adding, “Have you checked your female parts lately?”

  “For… for what?” Almost immediately, Maire regretted her question. “Blueness.”

  “Aaarrgh!” was Maire’s only response as she rushed away from the courtyard and toward the exercise fields, where it appeared as if her son… her little boy … was about to participate in the archery contest. Blessed Virgin! With his inexperience, he was more likely to miss the target and shoot his cat.

  And Rurik, fire in his blue eyes, was staring at her as if he’d like to make her the target.

  Of what? That was the question.

  Revenge?

  Lust?

  Love?

  Maire was so tense and upset over all the happenings of the past day that her entire body was rigid. She glanced down at her clenched fists… then winced.

  She was squeezing so tight they were blue.

  Bolthor was standing next to Rurik as they both watched Maire come sailing toward them.

  “I know what your problem is, if you ask me,” Bolthor offered.

  “Who asked you?”

  “Frustration.”

  “Huh?” He turned on his friend with disbelief. His life was falling apart. The woman he’d cared about and trusted had betrayed him. He had a son he’d never been aware of. There were witches everywhere. He couldn’t hit a target today, for the life of him. And Bolthor spoke of frustration.

  “Yea.” Bolthor nodded his head vigorously. “What you need to do is bed the wench. That is the best method for solving problems betwixt men and women. Otherwise, all these frustrations build up inside a man and make him miserable.”

  Rurik gaped at Bolthor, then shook his head as if he were a hopeless case … which he was, of course. “Go away.”

  Instead of going away, Bolthor had the affrontery to suggest, “Methinks I have the perfect name for my next poem. ‘Rurik the Greater: Saga of the Blue-Balled Viking.’ I could describe how yer blue balls match yer blue face and how there must be some significance to that happenstance. What think you—”

  Rurik did not think. In fact, without thinking, he reached out and punched his skald in the nose. Bolthor swerved at the last moment, and the punch glanced off his jaw, instead. Still, he was knocked to the ground, where he rolled about, laughing like an idiot. It was Rurik then who went away … right toward Maire … whom he had been avoiding all day.

  Could life get any worse than this?

  “You!” she said in the steeliest voice she could manage, pointing to Jamie and the bow and arrow in his tiny hands. She motioned with her forefinger that he was to put the weapons down instantly and move off the game area.

  Jamie grumbled under his breath but did as he was told, dragging the bow, which was as tall as he was, in the dirt after him.

  Then she turned on Rurik. “You!” she said, also in a steely voice, and motioned with her crooked finger for him to follow her. She didn’t look back to see if he obeyed her orders, as Jamie had done. She hoped, though. Fervently.

  Maire had had more than enough of her wildly ricocheting emotions. Here, there, everywhere. He loves me, he loves me not. I love him, I love him not… well, that latter hadn’t entered her field of emotions yet, but it probably would. He’s angry with me; he’s hurt. He wants my body; he wants revenge. I want his body; I want deeper affections. I want him gone; I want him to stay. At any one moment, she had no idea how either of them was feeling.

  Mayhap it was time for Rurik to leave Beinne Breagha, just as it was time for the witches to leave. As heartsick as Maire felt over that prospect, she was more distraught over the upheaval in her life, and that of her son. Now that the MacNab threat was over—and, aye, she was thankful to Rurik for that—the Campbell clan needed to set a new course, with her as acting laird till Jamie came of age.

  But how would Rurik fit into that picture? That was what Maire needed to know from Rurik. That was why she had ordered him to follow her to a private place.

  He soon caught up and walked side by side with her, in silence. It was not an uncomfortable silence. In truth, they both needed the solitude of their own thoughts to formulate what they would say to each other.

  To Maire’s surprise, they had unconsciously walked to the judgment stone … that rocking boulder where she’d had such a memorable physical encounter with Rurik. She glanced at him. He glanced at her. And they both glanced away quickly, lest their true sentiments be revealed.

  Giving the flat boulder a quick shove with his booted foot, he watched it rock back and forth, staring pensively. Was he thinking about placing her on the rock, and letting it judge her? Could the rock be any more unfair than his current assessment of her transgressions?

  He walked away from the boulder then and leaned against a tree, legs crossed at the ankles—a lazy posture that was belied by the tense set of his jaw and the thin line of his pressed lips. He waited for her to speak.

  “I’m sorry,” she said simply.

  “You said that afore.”

  “It needed saying again.”

  “If you say so.”

  “What are your plans?”

  “For what?”

  For me. For us, her heart cried out. But what she said was, “For Jamie.”

  He shrugged.

  “Are you happy about being a father?”

  He didn’t answer immediately. When he did, she could tell that he was trying to hold some strong emotion in check. “Yea, I am happy to be father to Jamie. He’s a
fine boy, despite… well, he’s a fine boy. But I am not happy to have lost five years of his life.”

  “Oh, Rurik! How could it have been any different? Even if I’d informed you, I was married by then. I had never actually told Kenneth about how Jamie was conceived. Be honest. I was nothing to you. A bairn would have been an inconvenience.”

  He shook his head. “I would have wanted to know. Even if I could not have taken an active part in his life, I had a right to know. I would have looked out for his welfare … even if only from afar.”

  Maire could understand that sentiment. “What will you do now?”

  “About what?”

  Me? What about me? What about us? “Will you stay in the Highlands?”

  “I cannot. I must go to the Hebrides to… well, suffice it to say, I have a … uh, job to do there.”

  A lump the size of the rocking boulder formed in her throat. “You will allow yourself no time to become acquainted with your son?” she choked out.

  “Mayhap … mayhap I could take him with me.”

  Before his words were out, Maire cried, “No!”

  “Not forever,” he offered in a voice that was soft and conciliatory. “Just for a short time.”

  “No!” she repeated adamantly, then added quickly, “I could not leave Scotland with him, even for a short time.”

  Rurik’s face pinkened with embarrassment.

  Maire tilted her head in question, then realized her mistake. Rurik hadn’t invited her. Just his son.

  “You are not taking my son from me,” she declared firmly. “Do not even think I would allow you to do that.”

  “Not even if it’s for Jamie’s own good?”

  “What good could there be in taking a child from his mother?”

  “Young boys are sent away to foster all the time.”

  “Not my boy!”

  “Perchance this is a decision best left to the boy. Ask him, Maire. Ask him what he wants.”

  “This is my decision to make, and mine only.”

  “Nay, you are wrong. ’Tis my decision, too. I am his father.”

  “You told Cailleach that you are incapable of love.”

  “Cailleach has a big mouth.”

  “That is neither here nor there. Jamie is only five years old. He needs love.”

  “He has it,” Rurik said flatly.

  “You love him? Already?” Oh, this was worse than Maire had envisioned. If Rurik loved him so soon, he would never abandon the boy to her sole care. Never. “Rurik,” she pleaded, “it would kill me to lose my son.”

  He pushed away from the tree and brushed past her as he returned to the path leading back to the keep. Over his shoulder, he informed her in a voice so muted she could scarce hear, “Just as you are killing me.”

  “Seduce him.”

  “Wh-what?” Maire shrieked, jumping with fright. Cailleach had come up behind her where she stood on a small knoll overlooking an inlet on the loch behind the keep at Beinne Breagha. Rurik was alone, swimming … swimming hard … the kind of energetic exercise a person engaged in when he had a demon riding on his back … or a witch.

  “Ye heard me. Seduce the Viking. It won’t be the first time.”

  Maire’s face warmed with embarrassment at the idea that Cailleach might be aware of exactly what she’d done to seduce Rurik the last time they’d been together. But she couldn’t know that. Could she? “What good would that do? It will take a lot more than a bout of lovemaking to solve our problems.”

  Cailleach rolled her eyes. “For a witch, betimes ye are mighty dumb. It might open the door a crack, girlie, and that’s all ye need. A crack can be as great an opening as a wide-open door in some circumstances.”

  Maire knew Cailleach had only her best interests at heart, but could she really seduce Rurik again? That business with the chain mail had been an inspiration. She had no more tricks up her sleeve.

  “You need no tricks, Maire,” Cailleach said, as if reading her mind. “Just you.”

  Maire was about to question her old friend some more, but the witch was gone in a whirl of dust. So, Maire turned back to her study of the loch, and the swimming Rurik, and already she was walking downward, murmuring to herself, “I… can’t… believe … I’m … going … to … do … this. I… can’t … believe … I’m … going … to … do … this. I… can’t… believe …”

  Rurik couldn’t believe his eyes.

  Maire was walking gingerly into the lapping waters of the loch … naked as the day she was born … except for the amber necklet. Her hair was plaited off her face into a single braid down her back. She shivered, then dove into the cool water. When she came up out of the water, like a red-haired sea nymph, she didn’t even glance at him. She just began swimming toward him with firm overhead strokes that propelled her swiftly to his side.

  If Rurik could have run, or swum away, he would have. But there was nowhere to go, except toward the shore… and her. He stood his ground in abdomen-high water and waited. She arrived moments later, splashing water around her like a puppy just learning to swim.

  He was not going to be amused.

  “What are you doing here, Maire?” he growled.

  She stood wobbily and brushed some loose strands of wet, red hair off her face. As she panted for breath, her breasts heaved where they were barely covered by the blue water. Droplets of water rolled down in a mesmerizing path from the amber pendant toward the enticing cleavage between her breasts.

  He was not going to be mesmerized by her breasts.

  “I came to seduce you,” she informed him, finally answering his question … not that he recalled precisely what his question had been.

  He was not going to be seduced.

  “Why?” he asked, and his question sounded lackwitted even to himself.

  She blinked at him, the wet clumps of her lashes oddly endearing. Her lips quivered slightly, as if she were unsure what to reply. And the water continued to lap about her breasts.

  Really, he was not going to like her clumpy eyelashes, or her trembling mouth… even if it did look moist and kiss-some … and he most definitely was not going to notice those bobbing breasts.

  “Because I want to,” she said boldly, “… to seduce you, that is. Because it seems to be the only way to break through that wall you’ve erected around yourself. Because I’m so sorry, and I want to make it up to you. Because it’s not right for the parents of a little boy to be so at odds with each other. Because I’m afraid you’ll leave suddenly, and this might be my last chance.”

  He was not going to … oh, to hell with the inner protests!

  He didn’t know what to say, being drawn in two different directions as he was. Anger and the need for revenge were powerful emotions, even when offset by a soul-deep yearning to surrender to her seduction … not to mention an erection, luckily hidden underwater, strong enough to float a boat.

  Tears welled in Maire’s green eyes as he waited too long to respond, and she spun around, proceeding back to shore with steady, proud steps.

  “Oh, all right,” he called after her. Rurik didn’t know where those words came from. They just emerged, and he had to admit, they felt good… as if he’d just shrugged off a huge weight.

  She stopped in her tracks, and waited.

  He couldn’t find the right utterance to please her; so he decided to act, instead. Diving underwater, he came up quickly behind her. Wrapping his arms around her knees, he dragged her underwater with him, hearing her squeal of surprise through a watery filter.

  They rolled around together, underwater, as each tried to wrest control from the other. Legs entwined, arms around each other’s shoulders, they pressed their lips together, then let the waters float them to the top.

  For a minute, they stood, just staring into each other’s eyes, afraid to speak, not wanting all their problems to intrude. Maire’s hands were still on his shoulders, his were at her waist. Her breasts ebbed and flowed against his chest hairs, and he could see that the nipp
les were turgid from the cool water.

  He was about to tell himself that he was not going to be aroused by that erotic sight, but that would be a lie. And Rurik was not about to risk the fate of a lying Viking … especially not at this instant.

  “Wrap your legs around my hips,” he urged in a sex-husky voice.

  Without speaking, she did as he asked.

  He took her buttocks in each of his palms and eased himself into her sheath. “You are so incredibly tight… and welcoming,” he whispered against her exposed ear, as he adjusted himself inside her.

  “You are hot marble,” she whispered back. “How can you be so hot when the water is cold?”

  “You heat me, heartling.” Rurik had no idea where that endearment came from when moments ago he had been hating her… or thought he’d been hating her. But he could tell that the endearment pleased Maire because she moaned softly and repeated the endearment back to him. He had to admit, he liked the sound of it on her lips.

  Then he showed her how to move on him. And, Holy Thor, she was a fast learner. By the time he lowered his mouth to hers, he was voracious in his appetite. His hands were everywhere at once. His lips were alternately pressing and gentling her, his tongue plundering, then licking. As his peak fast approached, he wanted to end his torment, and he wanted this agonizing pleasure to last forever.

  “Aaaaaahhhhhhh!” he cried out, his head reared back over his arched neck as his orgasm arrived in deep waves that seemed to suck the very life out of him. And Maire’s insides continued to clench and unclench him as she arrived at her own peak and shattered with little sobs of, “Oh … oh … oh … oh!”

  He stood stock still in the water, her face buried in his neck, his arms wrapped tightly about her lower back as he kissed the top of her hair. What had just happened?

  He’d been seduced, good and proper, and in a humiliatingly short period of time, that’s what. He should have been angry, he supposed. Instead, he smiled.

  “Uhmmmm, Rurik,” she inquired, leaning back slightly, which caused his “Lance” to take new interest in her shifting channel, “you did not pull out before the end. Do you suppose that spilling your man seed inside my body while we are in a loch will prevent me from conceiving? Will the water wash it away?” Her face was flame-red as she asked her question, but it was an important one … one he’d obviously not thought of.