The Temperate Warrior

by Renee Vincent

  Æsa blushed beneath his compliment. He enjoyed the way her body readily reacted to him. The smooth alabaster skin of her face and neck changed from a soft milky white to a lovely pale pink. He knew from experience that the flush of blood beneath her skin extended passed the dainty edge of her collarbones and between the valley of her voluptuous breasts. But he was unable to witness such a glorious sight because of the woolen kirtle she wore.

  Hell-bent on catching a glimpse of her embarrassment, he gripped the fabric of her tunic in his fists and raised it over her head. She wiggled out of the confining material, bumping her bare stomach against his groin. Before he could stop himself, he grabbed her around the waist and pulled her against him. The warmth of her naked skin soothed the harsh cold from his body. The inadequacy of his manhood, shrunken by the frigid temperature of the stream, sought as much heat as he did, regaining full length and girth in a matter of seconds.

  She reached between them and cupped him soundly with long feminine fingers. He gasped under the feel of her grip, trembling like a fool. He pulled away from her instantly and swept her up in his arms. “You’re a cruel woman, Æsa,” he scolded and made his way back to the babbling creek.

  “Nay, my lord! Please!” Æsa screamed, clutching his neck. She bucked her bottom further up his body, wriggling to escape his hold. He ignored her desperate pleas and tossed her into the water.

  Gustaf should have felt guilty for throwing her into the stream, but her reaction kept him from feeling any remorse. She rushed to him and practically climbed his body like a tree to escape the cold. He held her tightly in his arms, enjoying the feel of their wet naked bodies clinging to each other for warmth. Though she adhered to his body like a drenched cloth, she didn’t lose the fire in her tongue.

  “You ad-d-dle brained s-s-sod!” she stammered, convulsively shivering. “I sh-should c-c-castrate you f-f-or this!”

  Her trembling lower lip tempted him beyond reasoning. He imagined the taste of her spicy, ferocious nature blended well with her warm, sweet essence. Unafraid of her sadistic threats, he ravaged the mouth which spat those vicious words at him. At first, she fought to be kissed, pounding on his chest in retaliation. He had no idea how arousing it was to steal a kiss from her unwilling lips, but he knew she wouldn’t be unwilling for long.

  As predicted, her fists unclenched and wound around his neck, threading in his hair, tugging, pulling to get closer. The scrape of her nails on his scalp sent shivers throughout his body. He was now tired of the cold and extremely eager to feel the blazing fire inside the longhouse. He picked her up and carried her out of the stream. Staggering back along the well-worn path, he finally burst through the door. The welcoming warmth enveloped them in a blanket of dry heat and soft amber light.

  Tangled together, they made their way to the boxbed. Æsa refused to let go and he refused to stop kissing her. His Æsa.

  His wife.

  The echo of that word in his brain sounded better than anything in the world. He had spent so much of his life without the love and affection of a woman, that he long feared it was the will of the gods. To die honorably on a battlefield or in the throes of dutiful vengeance was his calling and he’d embrace whatever path Odin laid out for him. But now, his course had taken a sharp turn. With Æsa in his arms, his days of living and dying by the sword were over. He could finally hang up his weapon and raise a family like he’d always dreamed.

  Breathless from his roaming thoughts of the future and Æsa’s impassioned kiss, he stepped back from her. He caught her wrists and pulled her fingers from his hair. Her eyes flew open, stunned, hurt.

  He smiled to ease her worry and brought her hands, bound between his, up to his mouth. He planted a soft kiss on the inside of her right wrist. She smelled of lavender and primrose, oils she must have bought with the silver he’d left her.

  “I want to stoke the fire,” he murmured, relating his only reason for bringing a pause to their heated kiss. He glanced at the boxbed and back at her. “Wait for me.”

  Æsa obliged him and gracefully slipped beneath the furs, the cool draft from her body’s absence forcing him to work fast. He knelt to grab the iron rod at the hearth and stirred the glowing embers. In a flash of light and heat, hungry tongues of fire lapped the turf, begging for more. He fed the flames generously, throwing three logs atop the blaze.

  The room glowed. Muted orange and red hues cast over every object surrounding the hearth, including his lovely maiden seductively reclined on the nearby boxbed. As he strengthened the fire, she’d exposed one long leg for his viewing. It was one of things he liked about her. Æsa was not ashamed of her body, nor was she modest. She’d use her nakedness as well as a warrior would wield a sword: cunning and skillful. And he was an easy adversary, for it was highly unlikely he’d ever stop her.

  The smooth skin of her calf shimmered in the firelight, her knee slightly bent. He swallowed hard as she ran her hand delicately down the outside of her shapely thigh, across her knee, and back up the inside. His eyes followed the path of her fingertips to her apex until they disappeared beneath the animal skins covering her.

  Her eyes widened momentarily and then fluttered, as if she grazed herself accidentally. Gustaf knew better. She meant to touch herself as much as she meant for him to see her do it. His erection thickened, pulsating hard with anticipation.

  “Starting without me?” he teased, rising slowly to his feet.

  He stared down at her and walked past the fire, each step deliberate and measured, until he was but inches from her. His heart skipped when her gaze fell below his waist. At eye-level with his groin, she licked her lips. The hope of feeling her warm, satiny mouth around him buzzed through his entire body. His legs faltered.

  Æsa tilted her head back and looked up at him, her lids lazy and seductive. “I would not dare begin without first pleasing you, my lord.”

  He tried to speak, but words failed him. The only thing that registered in his mind was the notion of her sweet mouth on him. Tormented by its overwhelming control, he clenched his jaw.

  Her smile grew devious and her dazzling eyes darkened. “Have you lost your ability to speak?” Her voice was innocent and naïve. But the moment she parted her lips and touched the tip of her tongue to the tip of his manhood, her innocence vanished.

  He shuddered, his head falling back. As soon as his eyes closed, he forced them open. There was no way he’d miss the torturous act of Æsa’s skillful foreplay. She was a talented woman in many ways. She knew how to please him physically, while satisfying his heart and mind with her sincere words of love and affection. She’d talk to him, tease him, tell him things—naughty things a lady should not have the nerve to utter. But Æsa was not a typical woman. She was provocative, mesmerizing, and downright audacious.

  The glitter of her bright blue eyes sparkled with desire as she gazed up at him. The contour of her rose-colored lips puckered to kiss him from base to tip as the delicate flesh of her pink tongue darted to taste him. He was helpless to everything that made Æsa the goddess-like woman she was. If he had the power, he’d freeze every moment in time when he was with her. Nothing made him happier.

  “Why have you lost words for speaking? Are you not happy to see me?” she asked, feeding his very words back to him.

  With his otherwise witty mind in a tizzy, he had no choice but to do the same. “You mistake my silence for displeasure.”

  He watched Æsa’s lips turn into an open-mouthed, mischievous grin before his entire length disappeared behind them. Warm and wet, her velvety tongue swirled around him, his bollocks contracting into hard, round stones. His breath caught in his throat and his legs buckled. Just when he thought he couldn’t stand it any longer, she rotated her mouth around him and sucked. Hard.

  He pulled out, gasping, and held her at arm’s length. The hammering of his blood mildly subsided, giving him the necessary moments he needed to prevent a very untimely end to a favorable beginning. He scowled at her overzealous tactics. “Do you w
ish it to be over before it begins?”

  She kicked off the thick fur hide and revealed her gloriously flushed bare body. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. His arousal was back and at attention. His throat went dry, making speech impossible. He wanted to tell her how beautiful she looked and how much he’d missed the sight of her open legs, but he was literally left aghast by her beauty.

  “Touch me,” Æsa whimpered. She’d already begun to explore places he wished to caress for himself, tempting him to reach out and replace her hands with his.

  As she lifted her foot and dragged her toes up his thigh, he locked his grip around her ankle and held it away. His view of her alluring slit, surrounded by dark auburn curls, opened up for him.

  He smiled.

  She dared to do the same with her other foot and again he seized her ankle, jerking her toward him. With her bottom now resting on the edge of the boxbed, he raised both of her feet and bent to lower his body. Her ankles rested on his shoulders as his arms pressed against the back of her knees.

  Gazes locked, he shifted his hips and guided the tip of his manhood over her entrance. She arched toward him, her lips parting, her breath shallow. With one immediate thrust, he sunk himself deep inside her, her sharp gasp resonating in his ears.

  Truth be told, this was not how he had intended to take her; swift and demanding. He’d spent the better part of his journey from Inis Mór to Skúvoy fantasizing about all the things he wanted to do to Æsa upon his return, none of which were hurried or brief. In fact, he wanted to take his time with her. Savor her. He wanted to kiss every inch of her ivory skin, nibble every freckle dotted across her shoulders, and dip his tongue into every cute indentation dimpling her body. He wanted make love to her agonizingly slow even if it took hours upon hours to satiate his hunger.

  But buried within her, it was too late for slow and agonizing. He knew it. She knew it. And nothing felt more right than an unrestrained, euphoric stint of heart pounding, powerful sex. At this moment, wild horses couldn’t hold him back.

  Together, they met each other thrust for thrust. Her body took all of him as he repeatedly sank into her, deep and hard. Their carnal pleasure rose to heights so far above their control, neither had the ability to withhold it. Like two blazing flames, they fused as one, body and soul.

  Æsa’s release came moments before his, her final sweet gasp sending him over the edge. Surging like the hammering pulse of his blood, he let his head fall back and emptied himself into her. Her body constricted around him, milking him, and his strength drained from his body. Eventually depleted of might and mind, he untangled himself from her legs and collapsed upon her.

  He felt her arms wrap around his back as he fought to catch his breath, her rapid heartbeat thumping in his ear. Pulling her close, he inhaled deeply. The scent of primrose and perspiration on her beautiful naked breasts was the last thing he remembered before a deep sleep consumed him.

  Chapter Seven

  A fit of muffled male laughter broke the pleasantry of Gustaf’s dreams. His eyelids, heavy with exhaustion, flitted open and a blurry sight of seven men sitting around his hearth came into view. He moaned and stirred about in his bed, thinking he was still lost in a dream, and reached across the boxbed for Æsa. When he came up short, he sought for her warm body with a sluggish hand, patting the spot where she had once lain entangled with him.

  Finding the place beside him empty and cool to the touch, his eyes shot open. He sat up in a jolt to find himself surrounded by the company of his men. The shock of their presence had him bewildered. He searched their faces, each looking at him as though he knew some secret Gustaf didn’t.

  “Sleep well, m’lord?” Jørgen asked coolly.

  “Where’s Æsa?”

  “Out back. Perhaps gathering the pile of clothing you two left behind.”

  He glanced down at his bare body, the warm hide hardly covering his lower half. “Is she?”

  “Walking about as naked as her lover?” Jørgen finished for him. “Nay.”

  A brief spell of snickering hissed around the fire and Gustaf wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or maddened. Given his vulnerable state, he let it slide. He’d only look like a buffoon barking out reprimands in his nudity.

  “How long have I been asleep?” he finally inquired, running his hand down the length of his tired face.

  “Long enough for us to hear you talk in your slumber,” Snorri remarked.

  Gustaf stopped mid stroke, glancing between each man. “I talk not in my sleep.”

  “Tell that to my stomach. I could barely keep my food down while listening to you all evening.”

  Gustaf sat helpless as Snorri lay his head on Jørgen’s shoulder and imitated him in his sleep, spouting off exaggerated words of affection about Æsa. A few more joined in, offering their best impersonation of their chieftain in love, each one more inflated than the next.

  “Enough,” Gustaf waved. “If you wanted not to hear it, you should have excused yourself from invading my home.”

  “And miss the soft, delicate side of the eldest warrior son of Rælik?” Snorri badgered. “I think not.”

  Gustaf rolled his eyes and slouched back into the boxbed. It was useless trying to convince Snorri of anything. Everything that came out of his mouth was a snide comment and it was best to ignore the old brute.

  “E-e-e-e-r!”

  Gustaf nearly came out of his skin upon hearing a harsh, high-pitched shriek seconds before a bird dive-bombed from the rafters and landed on Øyven’s forearm. Clutching his chest, he glowered at Øyven sitting at the far corner of the room. “Odin’s blood, what is that?”

  Øyven glanced at the bird and spoke the obvious. “’Tis a falcon, m’lord.”

  Gustaf was not amused. “I know what ’tis. Why is it in here?”

  “I traded for her at the harbor,” Øyven said admiringly, watching the bird snatch the morsel of food from his gloved hand. “Is she not beautiful?”

  Gustaf grunted, still waiting for his heart to settle.

  “She is smart, too,” Øyven added. “She already knows to come to me.”

  “It does not take much intelligence for a starving bird to come where food is offered,” Snorri sneered.

  Øyven didn’t so much as bat an eye at the insult. Instead, he continued to smile and appreciate the bird as it perched on his wrist.

  “Have you a cage for it?”

  Øyven looked at Gustaf and his mood instantly dropped. “Aye.”

  By the look on Øyven’s face, he knew Øyven didn’t want to trap the bird behind bars unless absolutely necessary. The lad’s sensitivity to animals reminded him of himself as a boy learning to hunt. It had taken a long time for Gustaf to become accustomed to trapping game and killing it. He recalled his mother once saying that because of his respect for living things, he’d be the best hunter there was—making certain each kill was swift and direct so there was no risk for the animal to suffer. As it turned out, his mother was right. Every kill he ever made was on target, which also made him a deadly warrior against his enemies. Many men would attest to that, if they were alive to speak.

  “If I must cage her,” Øyven said, reluctance dripping from his voice. “I will.”

  “Nay,” Gustaf relinquished. “I am only making certain you can transport the bird while we are at sea. I would hate for you to lose your trade before you get a chance to train it properly.”

  Øyven’s smile returned. “Thank you, m’lord.”

  “That chicken better not shite on me while I am sleeping tonight,” Snorri warned. “Or else I might have to boil her feathers off and eat her for breakfast.”

  “For that little remark, I hope she does,” muttered Øyven. “’Twill not only prove her to be intelligent, but a good judge of character.”

  Snorri didn’t look impressed. “Clever birds taste just as good as dim-witted ones.”

  Gustaf had to laugh. “You would do best to keep that falcon of yours out of Snorri’s reach, Øyven. We
all know how much the man likes to eat. Speaking of, I assume you set aside some fish for me?”

  Jørgen handed Gustaf a few slivers of charred meat. “I think you will find your woman to be a skilled cook.”

  His mouth watered as he lifted the savory flesh to his nose. Before he took his first bite, he gave Jørgen a look of severity. “Please tell me Æsa ate three fish as I instructed.”

  “Of course, m’lord.”

  Pleased with his friend’s answer, he bit into the meat, his eyes closing as he savored it. An abundance of flavor from herbs he’d never tasted before filled his mouth. As he finished the first piece and made quick work of the other, he hummed with satisfaction. “Æsa made this?”

  “Indeed, I did.” Æsa entered the room carrying an armful of clothing and a bucket of fresh water. “You like it?”

  He answered with an overzealous nod and scarfed the rest to feed his growling stomach. Licking each finger, he watched as Æsa folded his clothes and set them on the table, his boots neatly placed on the floor beneath. When she was through, she bustled around the room, refilling each man’s cup.

  She was a natural, he noted. She seemed at ease with his men’s company, offering casual conversation as she went. He admired the way she took charge and tended to their needs. Even Snorri seem less cantankerous around her, actually smiling as she filled his stein.

  He also noticed the kirtle she wore was not the one she had on previously. If he remembered correctly, it was the tunic he had purchased for her before he left the isle a month ago. The light shade of blue went well with the light hue of her eyes, the red embroidery coordinating with the vibrant color of her hair. The fabric hugged her curves in all the right places, despite the slight weight she had lost, which made him believe she must have altered it recently. But what struck him most was seeing her move about in a casual grace akin to a noble woman’s charm and elegance. His mother would be so proud.

  He smiled at the thought of seeing her as a wife and mother, sewing clothes, cooking dinner in the hearth, and performing all kinds of domestic duties as his equal head of household. In his mind, a flock of giddy children tugged at her skirt as she busied herself about the home—a spacious longhouse, of course, to accommodate all the children he wanted to have with her.