by Jianne Carlo
For love weakened warriors and made men shy away from battle.
Chapter Eight
Nyssa’s throat ached. Her eyes burned.
Konáll squeezed her shoulders and tugged her back to his chest. He swiped at the tears on her cheeks. “The mare was not supposed to make you cry.”
“They are tears of joy.” She twisted to look at him. “I give you my heartfelt thanks, Konáll. ’Tis a gift I will treasure forever.”
He brushed her face with the back of his hand, the gesture so tender more tears leaked from her eyes. She tried for a smile. “I am squishing our picnic.”
“So you are. Mayhap you should offer the mare one of the apples from the sack?” His arms dropped away and so did his warmth.
“Aye.” She opened the bag, found an apple, and approached the horse slowly. There was naught she loved more than the scent of a horse, the tang of wildness and freedom she associated with the beautiful animals. Nyssa inhaled and crooned soft praises when the mare chomped into the fruit.
“The storm will be on us soon. We will not have time for a ride.” Konáll edged forward and scratched the horse’s twitching ear.
She looked over her shoulder and took in the heavy carpet of angry smoky clouds blocking the sun. An ominous boom rolled around the narrow clearing. “You have the right of it. What of the horses?”
“I will have the pages take them to the caves at the bottom of the cliffs. Come, mìlseachd. We must hurry.”
“I will put the rest of the picnic in her feed bucket.” As she spoke Nyssa emptied the contents of the sack. She laid her cheek to the horse’s neck, whispered her farewell, and promised to visit that eve.
Konáll set his palm to the small of her back and urged her into a brisk stride. All about the camp warriors bustled back and forth making preparations for the coming storm.
Fat raindrops glanced her shoulders.
Grabbing her hand, Konáll barked, “Run for it. We go to the tent you were in yester eve afore the vow saying.”
They broke into a sprint.
Nyssa scanned the area to get her bearings. The tent was located adjacent to the cliff and a short distance from the river Taigh-Grùide. She checked the sooty horizon and lengthened her stride.
The moment they ducked into the tent, the skies erupted.
“We made it,” Konáll declared. “Though I would nay have minded stripping off your wet cyrtel.”
A delicious shiver washed over her, and she swept him a sidelong peek. Images of the blue tunic plastered to his wondrous chest and the loose breeches he wore sticking to his magnificent cock danced in her head.
“’Tis not as elaborate as Grelod and Thōrfin’s.” He waved a wide arc.
She followed his cue and smiled at the tent’s transformation.
Two iron trunks bracketed a pallet on which lay a thick, sheet-covered mattress decorated with three embroidered bed cushions. A clay pitcher, two glass goblets and a platter covered with a length of linen lay on one of the chests. On the other stood an array of candles, of which about half were lit.
“Dráddør retrieved the chest from the cave. He also brought your sacks of gold.” Konáll unclasped the brooch holding his woolen cloak together. “Where did you get so much coin?”
Nyssa scuffed the fresh rushes and the sweet scent of pine wafted to her nose. “’Twas but a wee portion of the gold the sirens stole from the ships they lured to shore. I but borrowed the coin.”
He chuckled.
Surprised she blurted, “You are not angry?”
“Nay, wife. Tell me you do not really consider returning gold to thieves?” His beamed smile vanquished all the shadows in the tent.
She could not prevent an answering grin. “Nay. But borrow sounds better than stole.”
He crossed his arms. “And what did you intend to do with the coin?”
She shrugged. “Having much coin is always an advantage. Mayhap to avoid having to marry to provide for my people. Mayhap to use as bribes when I escaped from the sirens’ isle.”
“How did you escape?” Konáll captured her hands. He kissed the knuckles on one hand.
Barely able to think with each contact of his mouth on her skin, she took a deep breath and said in a rush, “A Saracen trader stops at the sirens’ isle every season. I had heard them speaking of his coming visit. I snuck aboard the eve afore he departed.”
When he moved onto to brush his lips across the back of her other hand, she yearned to edge closer and bury her face in his chest. Smell him. Touch him. Be surrounded by his arms.
“’Twas a risk you will not repeat. If they had discovered you were a female—”
“But they did not. Forsooth, the trader was kind. He gave me food in return for scrubbing the decks.”
She could not take her gaze away from his thumb absently caressing the underside of her wrist. His soft stroking both aroused and comforted her. The same way the gift of the mare had made her feel cherished, though he could not have known the depth of her love of horses. Yearning to give him back in kind, she wet her lips and, before her courage faded, blurted, “Will you come inside me again, Konáll?”
His eyes widened and his jaw sagged. He wore a grin so wide she was cert his lips stung, whooshed her into his arms, and waggled his brows. “You shock me, wanton wife. My pecker and I have been trying to find a way to ease inside of you since we sat to break our fast earlier.”
This Konáll she loved. The warrior who shed his grimness and laughed with abandon. The man who teased and tickled and spoke of lovings she would ne’er forget.
When she had agreed to marry him, Nyssa knew their time together would be short and had vowed to savor every moment. She had hoped to guard her heart, but ’twas not possible any longer. The realization crumbled the last wall she’d erected, and she wanted no secrets ’tween them, save the one that would sever their vows.
“’Tis another truth from the sirens then, peckers can think.” Nyssa fought to still her twitching lips at his deep guffaw.
“Aye, mìlseachd. Not only do they think, they plot and scheme. For peckers are only happy when they are sheathed and milked dry.” He jiggled his brows.
“Peckers appear to require much milking.”
“Aye. Milking, stroking, kissing. But ’tis not the only male part which enjoys such attentions.”
“The sirens said there were no male body parts that did not crave attention.”
He smile widened. “No truer words have e’er been spoken.”
The urge to feel him overcame her fear of rejection. Though her fingers shook, she looped her hands around his neck, and with great daring, stroked his nape.
He closed his eyes and leaned into the caress.
Encouraged by his reaction, she massaged the bridge of his shoulder. ’Twas one thing to touch him in the heat of passion and in the middle of the night, but afore midday and while he studied her features so fiercely that she could feel his gaze on her without e’en peeking at him, required all her courage.
“’Twill be hard and fast the first time, Nyssa. I have been thinking of naught but burying my cock in your sweet puss all morn.” He staggered to the pallet and laid her on the mattress.
She was wet and aching. Her sex vibrated with need. The constant small convulsions fluttered low in her belly and had her breasts tingling.
He tugged his tunic off, ripped apart the rope tie of his breeches, swore, and sat next to her. The straw dipped with his weight and the linen strained when he whipped one boot off and tossed it to the floor. The other boot followed with a heavy thud.
Color suffused his face, he stood and footed his breeches off, hopping to tug the garment free. From behind he was e’en more beautiful. High sleek haunches, deep hollows in the sides of his bottom cheeks, the curve there too inviting to resist, she rose onto her elbows and cupped one rump.
His fingers bunched into fists, and he snapped, “Remove your hand.”
She flinched, yanked her arm to the side, set her jaw,
and focused on the loose weave of the sheet, biting back the tears. When he turned to face the pallet his feet came into view. He had long toes and strong, tanned ankles.
He dropped onto one knee and caught her chin. “To me, Nyssa.”
The gentleness of his tone was such a contrast to his barked order of moments afore. She searched his face for some clue as to why he didn’t want her caresses.
“If you had but stroked my ass, I would have spilled my seed at once. ’Tis the only reason I asked you to remove your hand.”
“Oh.” At a loss for words and unsure what to do, she managed a smile and waited for a signal from him.
“To be cert, from the first time I opened my eyes in the cave and saw you, I have been hard and aching.”
Automatically she stared at his jutting cock and glimpsed a shiny drop leaking from the slit. Curiosity got the better of her. “’Tis all it takes? To see a woman?”
He snorted. “To see you. To smell you, to touch you. Aye, ’tis all it takes. Forsooth, I have no need e’en of that. Dráddør nigh severed my arm during our practice this morn because I suddenly thought of your expression when you find your pleasure and my pecker rose.”
She preened and all the need returned to her loins. Her folds grew damp, and her breasts heavy. Her fingers itched to take his cock in hand, to discover if the shiny drop had the texture of water or honey.
“Better?” His thumb traced the shape of her mouth leaving her lips all atingle.
“Aye,” she whispered. “I am aching too.”
He lurched to his feet and his pecker bobbed right afore her nose. “I can wait no longer, mit hiärta.”
A fever caught ahold of her. She reached to her back and fumbled for the laces.
Konáll picked her up and rolled her onto her belly.
She peeked over one shoulder and a smile chased her lips at his furious concentration. He straddled her on his knees and fair tore the laces out of their neat holes. His pecker twitched and jerked on her gown and the liquid leaking from the slit flicked onto the fabric.
“At last,” he growled and shifted to the outside of the pallet.
Eager to help and hoping to accelerate his entry into her body, she pushed onto her haunches, worried the cyrtel down her shoulders, and wriggled and shimmied the fine velvet past her hips.
“Aye,” he growled and latched onto her nipple taking both the chemise and nigh the whole breast into his mouth.
The wonder of his tongue and teeth, she clasped the back of his head and urged him closer, kneading his scalp and tangling his hair. She moaned when he tweaked the other desolate bud, and lost her balance reaching for his flat nipple. They tumbled onto the straw; she opened her legs, and he settled between them.
His arousal rode her nub.
She dug her heels into the mattress and arched to grind on his cock. The pressure wasn’t enough, so she grabbed his shoulders and lifted higher.
“Please,” she begged. The thin chemise separating her flesh from his spiked her frustration. Nyssa pulled at the fabric and swore when the chemise refused to budge. “Mother Mary, give me some ease!”
“I will give you the all of it, wife.” He knelt, ripped the material from top to bottom, and urged her onto her knees. Confused, she tried to turn back to face him.
“Trust me.” He palmed her spine. “’Twill be good.”
It went against Nyssa’s nature to be in such a vulnerable position, but she wanted to please him and remained on her hands and knees.
One of his hands gripped her waist, the other cupped her breast, and then she felt his cock probing her entrance. She gulped and twisted the sheets hard. He plunged inside her, and she caught her breath and went down on her forearms. The angle sank him deeper, his penetration so complete her walls strained to contain his thickness.
He muttered something in Norse, his voice so guttural she couldn’t make out his meaning.
She whimpered when he withdrew, the momentary loss of his girth and fullness, nigh too much to bear. But he hammered back in at once. Her clutch on the linen slipped under the power of his thrust. She grabbed the wooden sides of the pallet and fair screamed in pleasure when he started pounding into her. His stones slapped her folds. His cock battered her sheath. He hit her nub on each stroke. She knew now what to expect and when the exquisite convulsions began, she gave over to sheer sensation, let her eyelids droop, and savored his plundering.
When he pummeled that sweet spot just inside her sheath, she fractured. Her walls contracted furiously. In the distance she registered his victorious bellow, “Mine, mine, mine.”
He held her fast to him, pushing deeper, and collapsed over her back, shuddering into her sweat-slicked flesh. His rasped inhales and exhales thundered in her ears.
* * *
Gritting his teeth, Konáll lifted off Nyssa, caught her in his arms, plopped onto the mattress, and tucked her under his chin. He let out a long, long sigh. Satisfaction and contentment oozed from his pores.
Nyssa rubbed her cheek on his chest, and she wrapped her arm around his waist. “I begin to understand why this act preoccupies all. ’Tis incredible. The peak empties your mind and you float in ecstasy.”
“Aye. You have captured the moment aright, mit hiärta.” He kissed her forehead and squeezed her closer. “But ’tis not always such. I have joined with many women afore and ne’er have I felt such bliss as I do with you.”
His declaration pleased her, he decided, when she toyed with the hair surrounding his nipple and thumbed the flat bud. His flaccid cock jerked, and he pressed her shoulder.
“Now I wish I had paid more attention to the many couplings and initiations during my time with the sirens.” Her expelled breath sifted the hair on his chest.
“Glad I am you did not.” He twirled a curl around a finger. “For I am want to teach you all the pleasures myself. You liked this new position, did you not?”
Color dusted her cheeks. “’Twas amazing.”
“We have many more to explore. The rain has stopped and I have not heard thunder in the last while. Loathe though I am to disturb this sweet slice of peace, we have an invasion to plan.”
She pushed onto her elbow and their gazes met. “Will you allow the elder men of my keep to assist in the plans?”
He shrugged. “Indeed. Any who know the holding well and can pinpoint weaknesses are welcome. I am troubled though as to how to include Mús in the planning. You and I can hear him when he speaks, but will any other?”
Nyssa shook her head. “Nay. And most see him with his blue coat. They think of naught but Sleipnir and are terrified, then panic and flee.”
“I believed my eyes had deceived me when I first saw him.” Konáll sat up taking her with him. “His fur is blue, then?”
“Only when his ire is high. Though lately I believe he can now change the color at whim. I worry, Konáll. When Aegir first transformed him, he remained a man in beast form. Since he found me on the beach I have discovered he is now more a beast who can barely recall being a man.” She met his gaze. “I know not how to break Aegir’s spell.”
He would not add to her worry by telling her of Mús’s craving for mortal blood. “Know you how Aegir cast the spell? His exact wording?”
“Nay. It happened after Mús and I were separated when the Saracen took me captive. I only know what Mús has told me this past sennight.”
“Sennight?” He brushed his lips to hers, stood, and stretched bowing his back.
“Aye. It has been but a sennight since I left the sirens’ isle.” She threw off the sheet when he snatched his breeches from the floor. “Forsooth, if Mús had not found me after I was thrown overboard, I doubt we would be here speaking.”
Konáll froze. “You were thrown overboard?”
“Aye.” She met his stare. “As were you. And we both washed up on Iomlaid.”
“Iomlaid? ’Tis a Gaelic term I know not.” He pulled on his trousers.
“The cove where I found you is called Change Co
ve for it changes appearance with each storm that passes.” He handed her the cyrtel and grimaced at the torn chemise. “I will have Grelod’s ladies sew you another.”
She cocked her head. “Ah, now I understand why my wedding gown fits so well. Grelod’s ladies. And to think you had me believing you had magikally engineered the all of it.”
“I am no sorcerer, but I can work magik on your sweet puss.” He winked. “Have you and Grelod declared peace?”
Her face took on the bland expression he so disliked.
“What plan have you in mind for retaking Castle Caerleah?”
Konáll worked his jaw at her barked query. “None at this time. I would first know the layout of the holding, the number of Picts within, and the one who now leads them.”
She tugged on the gown, stood, and turned her back to him. “Will you do the laces? I cannot see how you will know who has taken Bagan One-Eye’s place.”
“Thōrfin dispatched spies to the castle two days ago. We are to meet with them this eve.” He set to the task and tied the leather strings into a bow.
“Two days? How so?” She whipped around and faced him, arms akimbo. “I found you not four days ago.”
“Olaf the Longface arrived with orders from King Harald for Thōrfin and Grelod to witness our marriage the morn I left Thōrfin’s holding for Castle Caerleah. Thōrfin sent a messenger ahead to let your Da know of his arrival. The messenger reported the Picts invasion and Thōrfin, not knowing if I had been taken prisoner or not, sent spies to determine the situation.”
“Thōrfin did not know my uncle now holds the keep?”
“Nay.” He scrubbed the bristles on his jaw. “I did not know and I had taken great pains to find out about both the castle and you.”
She blinked. “You had?”
He liked surprising her. “Aye. I fair questioned Eldar the Learned dry. How think you I knew a mare would be the perfect bride gift? What I do not understand, however, is why Eldar thought you petite and plump.”
Twin slashes of red stained her cheeks. “I was short and prone to roundness as a girl. When I gained my third and tenth summer, I sprouted to this height.”
