Brandewyne, Rebecca

by Swan Road

  Abruptly startled from her reverie by the sound of shouts, she spied Naddod racing down the shore, his sealskin boots sending foam and sand flying. Something had happened, she realized, glancing around fearfully, thinking that perhaps Ragnar Lodbrók and Ivar the Boneless had decided to march on Wulfgar's markland, after all. Leaving her half-full basket on the strand, she, too, began to run toward Wulfgar, instinctively relying on him to protect her. But then she understood at last what Naddod was yelling and that, to her relief, they were not under attack.

  "Whale!" Naddod cried again. "There's a whale, lord, stranded on the beach!"

  At that, to Rhowenna's astonishment, all the men— thegns, freedmen, and slaves alike— working on the longship threw down their tools and, shouting and laughing, began to rush down the shore to where a whale lay on the sand. Awed, even frightened by the sight and size of the gargantuan creature, Rhowenna halted a little distance away. She had never seen a whale so close; it was as big as a longship, bigger, dwarfing her and everyone else around it. In its natural milieu, the sea, it could be a dangerous animal, she knew. Yet at the moment, it was helpless, belly down on the beach, making no attempt to return to the sea, despite the white-foamed combers that swept in upon the sand. Had the whale's sides not heaved now and then, she would have thought that it was dead.

  "How did it get here?" she asked Wulfgar, puzzled and pitying the great beast, for it would surely die if it did not get back to the sea.

  "Sometimes, we just find them like this," he explained, shaking his head at the mystery of it. "It's as though they deliberately cast themselves upon the strands. No one knows why."

  "Can't you— can't you do something for it? Tow it back out to sea?"

  "Nay, and even if we could, 'twould only return. I've seen it happen before with some of the smaller whales. 'Tis destined to die here— and perhaps it came here for that reason. Only the gods know. But its sad fate is our glad fortune, lady. 'Twill mean hide for rigging, and meat and blubber and oil for the lamps this winter. 'Twill mean that no man must die on a whale hunt this season, leaving behind a widow and fatherless children. But do you go back to the hof, Rhowenna; for although 'twill be a kindness for the men to kill the whale, to end its suffering, its slaughter will not be a pretty sight, and you will not care to see it, I am thinking."

  "Nay, you are right. I will not, my lord."

  Still, for some strange, unknown reason, Rhowenna found it difficult to turn away from the magnificent, doomed creature. Its image haunted her all day, as did the thought of its dying, alone, beyond its vast home of the sea. In some way, she felt a kinship to the beast washed up upon the strand, as the tides of destiny had brought her also to the Northland; and she knew that she did not want the whale's lonely fate to become her own. Her parents were dead, and even if somehow Usk had survived, whoever now sat upon its throne would view her only as a political pawn. Her own father had used her as such; how, then, could she expect another man, who bore no father's love for her, to do any less? The thought of being bartered away yet again to someone like Prince Cerdic of Mercia was more than Rhowenna could endure. She felt torn inside; she longed for the pain to end. Surely, she owed Usk no more than what she had already given; surely, she now deserved something for herself, a chance for something more than just a life of mere survival or, worse, an uncertain death.

  Still, when Wulfgar entered their sleeping chamber that night, Rhowenna shuddered at what she thought to do; and she wished fervently, of a sudden, that he had, after all, forced himself upon her in the beginning, so she would not now be compelled to bear the responsibility for her surrender to him. In some ways, it would have been easier that way, she felt; for if afterward he had loved her truly and deeply, she could have forgiven him for constraining her to admit what was in her heart for him. But she was a woman grown, and he had given her both the privilege and the burden of deciding for herself the path in life she would take. She should be glad of that; it was a mark of his respect for her, although a small, scared part of her wished perversely that he had instead chosen for her, had taken upon his own strong shoulders the accountability and risk that must now be hers alone. Aye, risk, Rhowenna thought again anxiously; for to love someone, to trust someone, was to open yourself to hurt and to rejection. What if all Wulfgar had told her of his love had been lies? How deeply that would wound her. And what if he rejected her, as Gwydion had? At least she had not lain with Gwydion; she had had that thought to comfort her when he had turned away from her. If she gave in to Wulfgar, she would not even have that balm, however meager, for her pain.

  Yet, when she gazed at him, Rhowenna saw only love and desire for her in his blue eyes, no guardedness that would have warned her that he withheld a part of himself from her out of malice or deceit, no shadows that would have hinted at an inner self confused or conflicted where she was concerned. His eyes were honest, frank, assured, surveying her in that way he had that made her blush and tremble with the emotions welling inside her; for no man had ever looked at her as Wulfgar did, as though he knew her intimately, down to her very bones. At the thought, the slow-burning fire his glance ignited inside her spread like a fever through her body, making her shiver as though delirious, with mingled fear and excitement. Her mouth went dry, and the pulse at the hollow of her throat throbbed. Without warning, the night wind that whipped through the forests and across the heaths and meres beyond the palisade lulled, as though before a sudden storm; and the sleeping chamber itself seemed strangely to fade away into the smoke that filled it, leaving Rhowenna's senses focused acutely on Wulfgar. Her breath caught in her throat, and she cast down her eyes so he would not guess that this night would be different from all the rest she had spent in his arms, in his bed.

  To give her a modicum of privacy, he seldom used the bathtub in their sleeping chamber. But he had been to the bathhouse, she knew. For earlier when she had seen him, he had been covered with blood from the slaying and butchering of the doomed whale; and now, despite the chilliness of the night, he was naked to the waist and dripping water. His bronze flesh glistened in the fire and the lamplight, so that the hard muscles beneath seemed to shimmer and to ripple, exciting her, making her long to touch him, to feel him touching her. Overcome by a wave of violent emotion, she half turned from him, clutching the material of her loose, thin-woven white shift tightly to her, but whether to ward him off or to contain herself, she did not know, could not have said.

  "Rhowenna?" Slowly, Wulfgar came to stand behind her, his hands upon her arms, sliding up her shoulders to draw her long, unbound hair aside so that he might glimpse her face. His breath was warm against her cheek, her ear, making her shiver as he spoke again. "Elsket? You are very quiet tonight. Something troubles you?"

  "Nay... aye... I don't know. The whale has preyed on my mind. I still do not understand why it would cast itself upon the strand, knowing that it would die."

  "Why do you not yield to me, knowing that there is no other man for you— nor will there ever be?" When she was silent, he laughed softly, gently tugging the fabric of her shift from her tight hold, until her shoulders were bare, and his lips and hands caressed them. "Perhaps the whale is but as stubborn and foolish as you, lady."

  "I... I do not want to end up alone, Wulfgar," she confessed softly, her voice catching on a ragged breath that caused his hands to tighten so suddenly and painfully upon her shoulders that she winced. "I do not want to die alone, at the hands of my enemies."

  "You are not going to die, kjœreste, and I am not your enemy." His voice was low, husky in her ear before he slowly turned her around to face him, his fingers weaving through the strands of hair at her temples, tilting her head back so he could see her face. Beneath his hooded lids, his eyes gleamed dark with passion. "Surely, you know that by now. For have I not told you in more ways than I can count how much I love and desire you?"

  "Aye, Wulfgar, you have. Still, I am afraid."

  "Of what? Of me? Why, sweeting? Tell me!"

  "I... I
do not want to be hurt again."

  "There is always pain for a maiden the first time she lies with a man. But 'tis only a small one that soon passes— and the only hurt I would ever cause you, Rhowenna. By the gods, I swear it! I am not like him to whom you gave your heart before. Do you give it into my keeping, you will learn that. Yield to me, now, and I will show you. In your heart, you know that it must come to that in the end, that you have no one now save me, and that I will not let you go, not ever!"

  "Aye..." she breathed, an anguished consent.

  His mouth claimed hers fiercely then, as he joyously sensed that at long last, she would be his; and without warning, the passion that had crouched like a predator within him, and within her, too, suddenly sprang upon them both to devour them. Wulfgar growled low in his throat as his lips swooped to capture hers again and again, as though he could not get enough of her. His mouth was hard and demanding against hers; his tongue was soft and insistent. His teeth grazed the tender flesh of her lower lip, and Rhowenna tasted her blood upon it as a thrill of pleasure and pain such as she had never before experienced shot through her, arousing and exciting her, filling her with savage yearning. She had not guessed, had not known that it could be like this, wild and violent, an emotion, a want so purely primeval that it was feral, animalistic. Boldly, Wulfgar's tongue ravaged her mouth, dizzying her and making her so weak that she knew she would have fallen had he not held her so tightly.

  He was so tall and so powerfully built that he felt like iron against Rhowenna, making her feel as small and fragile as a child, and so pliant that all her bones seemed to have dissolved inside her as, of its own eager accord, her body melded itself to his. Beneath her palms, she could feel his bare arms, his muscles tightening and quivering as he clasped her to him; and she recognized the strength that was his, and wondered if, with such power, he would hurt her inadvertently. She shuddered a little with apprehension at the thought; and Wulfgar, intuiting her sudden maidenly fear, tightened his embrace about her, his mouth sweeping hotly down her bared throat to her breasts, as though to give her no time to think, but only to feel. His hand was at the simple riband that tied her shift at the neck, his fingers deftly unknotting the bow, pulling it free, so the shift itself slipped from her shoulders and would have fallen to the floor had she not, with a soft, sharp cry, caught it at the valley of her breasts, holding it there as though she would never let it go, her now half-naked body quivering with all he had wakened within her. At that, tearing his scalding mouth from her shoulder, Wulfgar drew a little away, his eyes boring into hers, his indrawn breath a hard rasp.

  "Do you want me to stop?" he asked, his voice harsh with arousal and emotion.

  For what seemed an eternity, Rhowenna was silent, her face torn with indecision and fear and desire; and a muscle flexed tensely in his set jaw as he awaited her answer; his hands clenched her arms so tightly that she knew she would have bruises there tomorrow. Then at last, drawing a long, uneven breath, she whispered, "Nay," and swallowing hard, closing her eyes, and turning her head away, her hands shaking, she slowly loosened her grasp on her shift. After a long moment, Wulfgar released her arms, and as he did so, she felt her shift slide from her body, float like a gossamer cloud to the floor, leaving her standing utterly naked before him. She heard him inhale sharply, then felt his hand beneath her chin, turning her face back to his.

  "Look at me, Rhowenna!" he commanded softly. "You are beautiful, more beautiful even than I ever imagined; and I want you as no man has ever wanted a woman, elsket....

  His hands tangled roughly in her hair; his mouth seized hers again, his tongue plunging deep, taking her breath as, without warning, he swept her up in his arms and carried her to the bed. There, he laid her down, still kissing her until, reluctantly, he loosed her to cast away his boots and breeches. Feeling his eyes upon her, embarrassed and shamed by her nakedness before him in the fire and the lamplight, Rhowenna half rose, reaching down to draw about her his huge wolfskin, which lay upon the bed, only to feel his hand close about her wrists, preventing her from covering herself.

  "Nay, kjœreste," he said softly but firmly as he bent over her, pressing her down again, pinioning her hands on either side of her head. "I will not let you hide yourself from me, as though our lovemaking were a thing of which we must be ashamed, to be done beneath blankets and in darkness. I will see you— all of you— and I will watch your face when I come into you, so I will know what you are thinking and feeling when I make you mine. These things, I will not permit you to conceal from me, any more than I now permit you to conceal your body from me. I will have all of you, Rhowenna— not just your body, but also your heart, your mind, and your soul; for 'tis for those things that I love you. Without them, what happens between a man and a woman is but a moment's lust, a fleeting pleasure, as easily found with some other, and thus meaningless, without value. Do you understand? Nay, how could you? For you are a virgin yet. But I will take you; I will teach you, and then you will know I speak the truth...."

  Wulfgar's mouth closed over hers once more, his tongue parting her lips, invading her, pillaging the sweet secrets of her mouth, leaving her weak and dazed and breathless, filled with fear at the magnitude of what she was letting him do, and yet, as well, with a perverse, perfidious, perilous excitement that was like nothing she had ever before felt. Like a wild wind, it caught her up and swept her away, and helpless against it, Rhowenna gave herself up to it and let it carry her where it willed. Time turned, and kept on turning; it might have been minutes, or hours. She did not know as she lay in his arms and let him do as he wished with her. She knew nothing but the sensations that engulfed her as he touched and tasted her endlessly, as though time had stopped and he had all the time in the world to kiss her and to go on kissing her, his tongue darting forth to follow the lush curves of her mouth, teasing, tantalizing, opening her lips to entwine her own tongue.

  "Sweet," he muttered huskily against her lips. "Sweeter than wine is the taste of you. Gods, how I want you! Heks! Witch! You have bewitched me, I swear—"

  His mouth abruptly silenced any reply she might have made before burning across her cheek to her temple, the fragrant strands of her hair, scent sweet and inciting in his nostrils. Like the long, feathery branches of a dark, ancient pine in a mystic forest, blown by an unseen wind, her tresses tangled about her and Wulfgar, irrevocably binding them together as his lips tasted the length of her white throat, his tongue licked the salty sweat from its hollow and that trickled down between her breasts. Gently, his teeth bit the soft spot where her nape joined her shoulder, sending an erotic thrill of pain and pleasure shooting through her before the bite turned into a kiss that scorched its way to her breasts, swollen and aching with passion, straining eagerly against his mouth and tongue and hands as, her head thrashing from side to side, she arched and writhed against him, instinctively craving more.

  Wulfgar's breath caught in his throat at the sight of her. Her skin was so very white that he exulted in it, feeling a deep satisfaction that it should be claimed, covered, and possessed by his own bronze flesh, that this pale Celtic princess should be his, only his, forever his. His blue eyes glittered as they devoured her, palms closing covetously over her full, upthrusting breasts, pressing them high as his mouth lowered to suck again and again of their nectar, first one and then the other, teeth grazing their hearts, tongue stinging like a bee, flicking her nipples into hard, roseate buds bursting to unfurl.

  Her arms wrapped about his neck; her fingers burrowed through his long mane of golden hair, urgently drawing him down to her. As though she were the earth, Rhowenna drank him in, soaking him up as thirstily as though he were necessary to sustain her existence, as though he were draining her very soul from her body and then pouring it back in, the wine of life. He intoxicated her. His body was as hard as horn, in sharp contrast to the fine blond hair on his chest that was like silk beneath her palms and against the sensitive tips of her breasts; his muscles were sinewy, serpentine, rippling beneath her
fervid lips, her caressing hands; his flesh was slick with sweat, glistening in the diffuse light that illuminated the shadowy chamber. He tasted of salt, elemental, atavistic, like the wind and the sea, crumbling her maidenly defenses as surely as the breakers that swept in upon the strands of the Northland crumbled the land, molding and shaping it as they willed, as Wulfgar did her. She was breathless in his wake, kissing and touching him everywhere she could reach, discovering, exploring, and charting him as he charted her, mapping every line, every curve of her body, kissing and stroking her shoulders, her breasts, her belly, the inside of her thighs, her spine from her buttocks to her nape, his tongue making her shiver both with desire and delight.

  Like a white-watered stream through the mountains, like the tendrils of smoke that wreathed the sleeping chamber, he twisted and twined himself about her, Hps and tongue and hands unstill, working their devilish spell upon her until she was like fire and ice, burning and melting beneath him, a mass of quivering sensation raised to a feverish pitch. Her womanhood throbbed with a searing ache, an unbearable hollowness she longed to have filled by him; and at last, Wulfgar spread her thighs wide, touching her where no man ever had, a quick, light stroke that was torment in the face of her agonizing need, making her whimper like a wounded animal, a low moan that she only dimly realized came from her own throat. Then, slowly, deliberately, in an encroachment so intimate that Rhowenna wanted to die, he plunged his fingers full length into her well of cinnabar softness, into the dark, secret heart of the mellifluous, engorged petals of her that trembled and opened to him of their own eager, exigent volition. Her breath caught on a ragged sob as he then withdrew his fingers just as torturously, spreading quicksilver heat, before sliding them into her again and yet again. His tongue was in her mouth, mimicking the sweetly agonizing movements of his hand, the flicking of his thumb against the pulsing key to her desire, honing her passion for him to a keen, dagger edge that stabbed her like a blade, making her strain desperately against him, driven by blind, primitive need, frantic for release and fulfillment.