Brienne picked up her courage and rose from the security of the bed. ‘Twas not Rurik she feared, only the act itself, the unknown. For a moment she clung to the sheet’s slender protection, then, her heart beating high in her throat, she allowed it to slip from her fingers.
A wave of hot yearning pounded through Rurik as he gazed unreservedly on his wife’s shapely charms. She moved toward him with an unhurried tread, her full, rosy-tipped breasts swaying gently over a wondrously small waist and narrow hips.
Heat suffused his loins as Brienne presented herself to him and laid a cool hand upon his chest. He felt the tremor in that touch and was moved. How desperately he loved her.
Rurik laced his long fingers through the wealth of her hair, tilting her face to his as he gently drew aside the mass of silken tendrils that veiled one shoulder. He wished every pore of her creamy flesh to be exposed to his view, and now he drank his fill of the heavenly vision before him, entrancing in the fireglow. Her temples pulsed beneath his fingertips and he searched her face, a fierce desire hungering through him.
Brienne smiled up at him. Though her lips faintly trembled, love shone in her eyes. Rurik groaned deep in his spirit. At last the drought was at an end. There be no more waiting or denials. There be no need for restraint except where it might increase their mutual pleasure. Warm currents of understanding passed between them. This would not be a mere coupling of bodies, but a melding of hearts and binding of souls.
The moment seemed suspended on the brink of eternity as his mouth descended over hers, caressing, tasting, tenderly exploring the sweetness of her lips. Brienne’s hand fluttered over the steely planes of his chest, over his heart whose drubbing matched her own, then crept upward around his neck. Her lips parted under his, welcoming him, greeting him as her tongue met his, shyly at first then with wonderment and longing.
Rurik gathered her to him, one hand gliding over the fragile length of her spine. Her soft womanly contours yielded to his hardened muscle as he plundered the warm recesses of her mouth.
A delicate flame lit beneath Brienne’s skin and swept like quickfire through her veins, blazing its way to the center of her being. She felt liquid and breathless. Flesh burned against flesh, and she ached with such need that she trembled at its force.
Rurik felt her limbs quake against him, his own alarmingly unstable as waves of long-suppressed emotion and elemental need crashed through him. Without interrupting the play of their lips, he bent to slip an arm behind her knees. Lifting her from her feet, he bore her to the bed and gently lay down with her.
Their kisses grew more urgent as their passions mounted. Their hands strayed, Brienne’s chasing over Rurik’s hard back, his trailing fire to a silken hip, hers venturing boldly over the smooth firmness of his buttocks, his singeing the satin length of her legs. She marveled at the feelings he aroused in her, but his torture had just begun.
Rurik’s mouth left hers to sprinkle kisses over her brow, eyes, cheek, nose, and into her hair, stirring its clean scent. He traced a molten path over the smooth column of her neck and shoulder. Downward he continued, showering kisses over her breasts and beneath them, moving to the smooth flatness of her stomach, tasting her navel, the curve of waist and hip, skimming her thighs, the backs of her knees, then suddenly returned to press a burning kiss to the pulse point at the hollow of her neck.
On and on he inflicted his torment. He savored the delicious swell of her breasts, avoiding the pouting crests that ached for his attention, driving Brienne to madness.
When at last Rurik covered her nipple with the warmth of his mouth, she gasped and gripped him covetously. Exquisitely, he encircled the sweet bud, his tongue flicking over the swelling globe, then finally he tugged and sucked till she sobbed aloud.
A world of sensation awakened in Brienne, every nerve lay open and exposed, tingling and acute. Her consciousness ebbed as a fire storm of desire raged through her, converging between her thighs to leave her throbbing for some unknown release.
Attuned to her need, Rurik’s hands strayed down over her abdomen, questing ever further and lower. Again and again he returned to tease and tantalize her thighs apart. She opened instinctively to him. When his fingers slipped inside to stroke her intimately, she jolted against him, shocked by his boldness. But her mind could frame no protest as startling waves of pleasure washed through her. She prayed he’d never cease.
His hands continued to work their magic till Brienne moaned and writhed beneath him, nipping at his arm and shoulder in sweet delirium.
Nearing the limits of his own control, Rurik moved over her. He brushed back her hair and framed her face with his hands. “Astin min,” he whispered raggedly, “the first time . . . there will be pain. There is no help for it.”
Brienne sought his lips, pulling him to her. “Love me, Rurik,” she pleaded urgently. “Love me now.”
At that, he captured Brienne’s mouth in a deep, ravenous kiss and settled himself between her thighs. Her legs twined about his and he entered her slowly, carefully. She was tight and so incredibly hot. He placed a steel grip on his control, wanting this first union to be perfect for her.
Pressing forward, he met with the dread barrier and paused in frustration, loath to hurt her. He debated whether to push with a gentle, steady pressure or break it with one rapid thrust.
But Brienne grew impatient. Eager to be one with him, she tightened her legs around his and arched her hips forward. Pain sheared through her loins as she sheathed him completely.
Rurik hushed her cry, holding himself still as he lavished her with kisses and whispered endearments in her hair, her ear, though only he could understand them. The moment passed, and when she reassured him with a smile and caught at his lower lip, he began his seduction anew.
With skilled fingers and irresistible mouth, Rurik stirred the embers of her desire. Cautiously, he moved against her, guiding her hips with his hands till she matched his building rhythm.
Brienne’s ardor flamed, sharp and bright. She panted breathlessly against his mouth as she hurtled toward the edge of some unknown precipice. Suddenly, she seemed to spiral free of all earthly bounds and explode into a starburst of light.
Just when Rurik feared he had exhausted the limits of his control, Brienne released a primitive moan and erupted against him. Her contractions triggered his own violent climax. Roaring his triumph, he joined her in a brilliant and shuddering release.
Together they rode their passions, blazing higher and higher, faster and faster, till at last they reached the heavens and touched the stars.
Chapter 13
Brienne awakened to Rurik’s warmth. Their long night of lovemaking had left her exhausted yet exhilarated. In the soft glow of early morn, she studied his features — the sweep of his golden brows, the darker lashes, the fine straight nose, the high cheekbones. The deep cleft in his chin beckoned her to place a finger there. Rurik’s eyes opened immediately.
“Insatiable wench.” His voice was deep with sleep. Enfolding her hand, he moved her finger to his lips. “You will scarce be able to walk if we continue in this madness.”
Brienne traced her finger lovingly over the firm contours of his mouth, a dangerous mouth, she decided, as she glowed with intimate memories. “My body owns no complaint, my love. Truly, I am able enough to ride.”
Rurik flashed her a smile in the dim light. It was the first time she had referred to him in that manner. “If my lady wishes to ride, then ride she will.”
Rurik drew her atop him and settled her on his waiting manhood. Brienne’s gasps turned to moans as he pulled her forward, poising her full breasts above his mouth. He sucked first one nipple then the other as he coaxed her hips into a steady rhythm.
An hour later they still lay entwined, Rurik now above, gently caressing her lips with his. They remained sated in the glow of each other until the chamber door swung open and the duke strode in, loudly commanding a half-dozen men to place their burdens before the hearth.
Mort
ified, Brienne slid beneath Rurik and tried to conceal herself. He covered her as best he could, yanking up the sheet while casting an impatient look over his shoulder to his uncle.
Hands planted on hips, Rollo’s throat rippled with laughter. “Christ’s toes! Do you mate her still? Give the doe her rest. She’ll have naught of you this eve if she must ease herself on cushions. But, ho! Look here — another gift.” He gestured toward an enormous oaken tub that was now being filled with heated water and a sprinkling of herbs.
‘Twas sized for myself, but I imagine the two of you should fit comfortably enough. Poppa and I managed.” He sighed at that thought, unconsciously smoothing a hand over his stomach, then adjusted his wide belt.
“Well, see that your bride soaks what you have abused so eagerly this night, but don’t be about it all day. The sheets need be hung so the king’s man might view them and take his report to Charles.”
Brienne slid further beneath Rurik, feeling herself flush three shades of scarlet.
Rollo stepped to the door and motioned his men out. “I, also, will take my leave. ‘Tis constricting to be about the rompings of two so freshly wed. Take no offense that I go. There be thighs willing enough in the village, no doubt, but I find my loins ache for Poppa.”
As abruptly as the duke had thundered in, he departed, leaving the couple to their privacy once more.
Rurik rested his forehead against Brienne’s as she eased upward to the pillow. “Forgive me, ástin mín, I forgot to bar the door. I shall have three more slats added if it pleases you.” He brushed his lips over her burning cheeks and into her hair. “But I suspect ‘twould delay the duke little if he truly wished to enter.”
“Rurik, what of Poppa?” Brienne fretted. “She has just given birth. Would Rollo really force her to — ?”
Rurik lifted himself and kissed away the tiny line that creased her brow. “There are many ways to make love, Brienne. Poppa knows well how to care for her duke.”
He chuckled at her perplexed look and rolled from the bed, Brienne still in arm. Crossing to the waiting tub, he stepped in with his prize and sank into its heated depths. The sensation was that of silk gliding over silk as her breasts pillowed against his chest and he settled her between his legs.
‘Twould be inexcusable to neglect our liege’s generosity, especially when it offers so many delights” — he nibbled the curve of her neck — “and possibilities.”
The man was indefatigable, Brienne mused contentedly as he cupped her breast. She lifted a dripping finger and trailed it thoughtfully down the indentation in his chin. Droplets lingered there and she sought them with the warmth of her tongue.
“And these ways of love, will you show me well how to care for my baron?”
“Gladly, ástin mín.” Rurik smiled, then released a pleasurable moan as Brienne’s lips moved along his collarbone and tasted the smooth texture of his muscled shoulder. He shifted in discomfort. “But there is much time. My uncle spoke rightly. The doe needs her rest.” At Brienne’s pout, he laughed. “Besides, once again, I have neglected to latch the door.”
Though their bath was unhurried, Brienne was loath to leave it and allow the world to intrude upon their happiness.
Rurik, too, was reluctant for their honeyed hours to end. He assisted his wife into her dress, keeping Aleth and the maidservants waiting outside the chamber. But he knew naught of tending women’s hair, and when Brienne selected blue and green ribbons to weave through her long tresses, he relented and allowed the others in.
To Brienne’s chagrin, the sheets were stripped and taken for display in the hall. She flushed as Rurik frowned after them. They were liberally sprinkled with blood.
Moving before her, he lifted her chin. “You are . . . unharmed, ástin mín?” he asked gently.
Brienne placed a reassuring hand on his and nodded.
In response, he dropped a kiss to her brow and drew her to sit on the bed. After stepping into the passageway, he voiced a command, then quickly returned with a sizable bundle.
“Ketil was instructed to keep near with your bride gift,” he revealed as he placed the object across her lap.
Delighted as a child, Brienne pulled away the cloth and discovered an elegant silver casket detailed with scroll- work and Christian images. Angular markings incised the front, back, and sides in a continuous band. She had seen such before. Her finger moved from the small embossed figure of a saint to trace along the etchings, then stilled. Katla’s goblet of nabid bore similar inscriptions.
“‘Twas purchased with honest coin, Brienne.” Rurik watched her hesitate over the decoration, then the runes. Did she think the box to be pirated?
Brienne’s heart twinged at his words and the fine edge in his voice. She had not considered that the chest might be booty, gained in a Norse raid. It pained her that Rurik misread her. Uncertain how to respond without risking a recounting of the episode with Katla, Brienne let the remark pass and opened the coffer.
“Oh, Rurik!” she gasped in astonishment at the precious girdle lying on folds of velvet.
It was wrought of fine gold links, each section set with sapphires and pearllike shell. The sapphires alternated between light oval stones and darker square ones set on their points. These were flanked at the top and bottom of each link with white iridescent disks.
“How splendid! Truly, I shall be the envy of every lady in the realm, even the queen herself.”
Setting aside the casket, she withdrew the belt and rose to secure it about her hips. But the unfamiliar clasp thwarted her efforts.
Rurik took it from her hands, but next chuckled. A squirrel would be easier to harness, he thought, much amused. Brienne scarce stood still an instant, dipping from side to side to glimpse the finery, then bending over his fingers, blocking his view.
He abandoned any attempt to explain the fastener and simply enjoyed the sight of Brienne as she pleasured in the gift and twirled full circle before him. Suddenly she stopped, as she remembered something and hurried to her coffer. A moment later she returned, smiling demurely.
“My present pales beside yours, I fear. But know, ‘tis given from the heart.” She held forth the blue tunic that she had carefully folded to display the Beaumanoir falcons.
Rurik accepted the garment, handling it with great care, and unfolded it. The warmest of smiles spread over his face and touched his eyes.
“Handsomer attire I do not own, Brienne. You fashioned it yourself?” He admired the border of gleaming birds. “Have I not seen you wear a like emblem?”
‘Twas my father’s and his father’s. It has long been embraced by the barons of Valsemé. I had hoped . . . well, that you might — “
Warmth flowed through him. It stirred Rurik deeply that she would honor him in so personal and meaningful a way. “I shall wear it with pride, ástin mín.”
“Then a favor, I pray,” Brienne pressed, suddenly restive.
‘Tis more the season for linens than woolens, I realize, but could you wear the tunic till Lord Robert is away?” At Rurik’s puzzled frown, she added more precisely, “I would leave no doubt that I accept my Norman husband.”
“If it pleases you, ástin mín.”
Rurik refrained from asking whether the gesture was intended for the Seigneur’s benefit or the king’s. Something had transpired between Brienne and Robert Coustance. Something that upset her thoroughly. Rurik hoped in time she would confide in him. For now, he would not press.
A short while later he questioned that wisdom as he stood with Brienne in the crowded bailey, accepting the Seigneur d’Esternay’s leave. She had been taut as a bowstring since they had first entered the hall and the knight approached them.
Rurik had watched the fire bank in Esternay’s eyes as he stared at the tunic, then challenged Brienne with a glaring look. She had simmered with defiance and boldly returned the hard gaze but said nothing. Now, as Esternay sat mounted at the head of his retinue, extending the hospitality of Roubaix, Rurik felt Brienne’s finge
rs digging into his forearm. It was not until he uttered some vague, noncommittal response that her grip eased.
Rurik fast became vexed with himself for not drawing the details from Brienne. He disliked seeing her so troubled. Of course, if that revelation had truly outraged him, he might have decided to have the man’s lungs for his supper — a poor way for a new baron to begin relations with his sovereign, dining on the emissary.
Brienne avoided Lord Robert’s eyes, which glowed like heated coals in their sockets. Instead, she scanned the familiar faces among the Frankish soldiery, silently bidding her farewells. Leveque she acknowledged with the faintest of nods, then her gaze drifted over the ducal retainers and Valsemé’s garrison, who were congesting the courtyard in no particular order.
As the Seigneur d’Esternay turned his mount and commanded his men from the bailey, Brienne expelled a long sigh of relief. But as the last of the Frankish contingent clattered across the bridge, she felt strangely bereft, for they were her kindred.
A small, unreasonable thread of fear penetrated her thoughts and coiled around the back of her brain. Her eyes traveled slowly to the sea of pale and fiery heads, Norsemen all, in her father’s keep.
»«
In their first weeks of marriage, Rurik and Brienne rarely found time to themselves except in the deep hours of the night. They were ever attended or sought out, having to make countless decisions, to direct and advise. Neither was wholly prepared for such obligations. The absence of the privacy they’d each once enjoyed grated on them sorely.
True, cloistered life was communal, not private in the literal sense of the word, but it was ordered and predictable. Brienne had always been able to find quiet moments in which to renew herself throughout the day, be they in prayer and reflection or amid her chores and duties. Even while gathering fruit in the orchards with twenty other souls, she could find a degree of solitude, for she was not constantly approached with the needs of others.
The Valiant Heart (Kathleen Kirkwood HEART series) Page 22
