Stolen Fruits: The Complete Collection (A Historical Viking Erotic Romance Novella)

by Ashley Spector

  I heard a wagon train rattling up the street and stepped to the side; some of the wagon drivers were less than considerate of people on foot. I set down my supplies for a moment, waiting for the wagon train to pass by me. I watched as it approached and moved past, lost in my thoughts and ready to go home. I would need to find some way to locate my husband. I was staring off into space, waiting for the wagons to head away. Suddenly—it was like a dream—I thought I spotted Brynjulf. I gasped, blinking and rubbing my eyes and searching for him again; the man had turned around, and I could see a great deal of blonde hair, but not enough of his face to be able to tell if it was really my husband. The wagons hastened down the road and I started to follow, almost leaving behind my purchases. I stopped in my tracks almost as soon as I had started.

  There was no way to know for sure that the man I had seen was my husband. I wasn’t going to find my beloved by chance, I told myself firmly, picking up my sack and heaving it over my shoulder. I would only find him by dint of hard work and finding the right person to tell me the right information. And even then I may not be able to recover him. I was needed at home. I had finished my errands, and the other people in my house were counting on me. My heart was racing though; what if it really had been Brynjulf? What if I was walking in the wrong direction? I walked more slowly, wondering. If nothing else, the stranger in the wagon had given me hope. I would find my husband eventually. I knew it in my bones—somehow, I would find him, and we would be together again, and have another child. He would live to see a babe of our blood grow into an adult. I forced myself to hurry home, even though I was no longer particularly interested in having supper. I would go straight out into the garden, I thought, shifting the weight of my sack once more and hurrying my steps. The sooner I put the day behind me the sooner I could put my mind more practically to finding my husband. At night, after the servants and Brandt had gone to sleep, I would think about it again, as I had thought about it almost every night since our parting.

  Chapter Ten

  In spite of working hard the rest of the day, I was restless when I went to bed. Brandt was fast asleep on his pallet nearby, sprawled and gone to the world; I could only wish my mind were as at ease as his, that sleep would come for me before my head even hit the pillow. Instead, I was turning over and over in my mind what the man who had looked like my husband meant. If it had actually been my husband, had I been a fool not to rush after him? I’d had my sword, but could I really have freed him? If it had not been my husband, was it an omen? The wagon train could not have gotten far; I could potentially track them down, and find out for myself if the man I had seen was truly my husband. I was trying to decide whether or not to indulge my desire to know when I finally found sleep.

  “Hilda,” I heard, in my husband’s voice—a faintly echoing sound. I opened my eyes and saw Brynjulf before me, smiling musingly. “Ah, you’re finally awake,” he murmured, kissing me on the forehead. I felt myself smiling back, my eyes watering with tears. It had been so long since I had seen him.

  “Oh, husband!” I cried out, reaching for him and pulling him close. “I’ve missed you so much.” Brynjulf chuckled, his hands slowly roaming over my body. He cupped my breasts through my gown, teased my nipples through the fabric until they hardened at his touch and I moaned, leaning into his caresses.

  “And I’ve missed you,” my husband said in a purr. I could feel the warmth of him through our clothes, his muscled body hard and wonderful against mine. I reached up and dashed away the tears that were crowding my eyes, pulling Brynjulf in for a deep kiss. I could taste the mead and spices on his lips, the indefinable flavor of his mouth as his tongue pushed past my lips, his hands tightening on my waist. I couldn’t believe that I was with my husband again, feeling him so close to me. I was torn between wanting to cry and wanting to pull off all of his clothes—and my own—and let him have me immediately. In spite of my sorrow of missing him, I was still a woman with needs. I had not lain with a man in three years, after all. As he pressed my body close to his, I could feel the heat of his hard cock through his clothes and I almost laughed from wonder at it—my husband was a man with needs as well.

  “I could never forget our last night together,” I told my beloved, breaking away from his lips only to cover his face with hungry, needy kisses. Brynjulf laughed out loud, nuzzling his face against my neck and kissing and nipping the tender flesh. I gasped, already feeling myself becoming wet with arousal. I had to have my husband inside of me again, had to feel his hard cock. I reached down between our bodies and found the hard ridge of his erection pressing against his trousers. Brynjulf moaned into my skin, squeezing my hips in his hands and thrusting his hips mindlessly.

  “I’ve relived all of our nights of sex in my mind,” Brynjulf told me in a low voice, his hands already moving to strip my clothes off of me. I smiled at the thought of my fearsome, strong husband imagining all of our passages in arms. I leaned in and nibbled at his ear, reaching for the hem of his shirt and pulling it up. I had to see his body—the thought of the fabric keeping or skin from pressing together was torture.

  “Did you pleasure yourself, thinking of me?” I asked, dragging his shirt over his head. I felt the cool air brushing against my skin as Brynjulf removed my gown, his hands tracing over every inch of my naked body as I busied myself removing his trousers. I couldn’t wait to feel Brynjulf’s hard cock in my hand, thrusting up into my pussy. I whimpered as my husband teased me, stroking the insides of my thighs, moving up to my aching sex slowly. I was on edge already, squirming and writhing, my mind consumed with the necessity of being touched. Brynjulf grinned down at me.

  “Many, many times,” he whispered, his fingers caressing my labia. “Oh, you have missed me, little wife,” he said with a little amused smile, parting my wet folds and finding my clit. “You’re already wet for me. You’ve had no men since we parted?” He asked with mock sternness. I giggled.

  “I haven’t even thought of another man. I put on a sword to threaten any men who would try and claim me.” Brynjulf laughed out loud, rubbing my clit firmly until I trembled underneath him. I felt unreal and utterly present at the same time, my body almost aching from the long absence of my husband.

  “That sounds just like my fearsome little Hilda.” Brynjulf rubbed me with little circular movements of his thumb while one of his fingers slid into my pussy. I shifted my hips down, moaning for his touch. “You’re so tight, beloved,” he told me, moving his finger in and out of me slowly. I pulled Brynjulf’s face down to mine and kissed him deeply, needing the sensation of his hot mouth, the taste of his lips. Brynjulf’s other hand reached up and claimed one of my breasts, giving it a careful squeeze.

  “Oh, Brynjulf,” I cried out, arching into his touches. I finally had his trousers down over his hips and my husband kicked them off behind him, resting his weight deliciously against me. I reached down and took his hard cock in my hand, slowly pumping him, loving the velvety feel of his skin, the heat and heaviness of his erection. Brynjulf ducked his head down and claimed my other nipple with his mouth, making me moan out loud as he sucked and licked it. My pussy became even wetter from the stimulation of my husband’s mouth and hands all over me. Brynjulf rolled my nipple between his finger and thumb, twisting it firmly and sending thrills of pain and pleasure throughout my body, shooting straight down to my sex. My hand tightened on his cock, moving more quickly. I rubbed the tip of his erection with my thumb with every stroke of my hand, spreading the precum that formed there.

  “Ah, Hilda,” Brynjulf moaned, pulling away from my breasts to kiss me quickly as he pressed his body firmly against mine. “I have to have you, little wife.” I smiled up at him and opened my legs a little wider, guiding his cock to my pussy. Brynjulf thrust into me in one quick movement, making me gasp with the pleasure of being filled. I clutched him close, my nails already digging into the hard, muscled flesh of his back. I could feel the crisp hair on his chest brushing against my breasts, tickling my hardened nipples. I wra
pped my legs around his waist, pushing myself down on him, taking him as deeply as I could.

  “Oh, oh,” I cried out, running my fingers through his hair and kissing him deeply. Brynjulf moaned loud and low, pushing up deeper and deeper into me. “Oh, husband,” I moaned, my thighs tightening around my husband. I had wanted him so badly and for so long, I could feel myself moving quickly toward orgasm already. “I’m so close,” I told Brynjulf, twisting my hips and pushing myself down on his cock. Brynjulf chuckled lowly between moans, thrusting deeply into my pussy while his hands roamed all over me. He reached down between us and began to rub my clit again, making me pant and gasp and writhe underneath him. The pleasure was almost agony, Brynjulf’s touch and kiss, his cock inside of me. I nibbled on my husband’s lips, kissing him as deeply as I could, holding to him as tightly as possible.

  “I’ve needed you so much,” Brynjulf murmured in my ear, working my legs up from his waist. I cried out as he slowly moved my legs up onto his shoulders. The change in position let me feel his cock even more thoroughly inside of me, so hot, penetrating so deeply. My nails dug into Brynjulf’s arms as he pounded into me, reclaiming me after all of our time apart.

  Finally, my self-control broke and I was coming, moaning my husband’s name out loud over and over again, my thighs flexing and my whole body tensing with the pleasure that flooded through me. I was still feeling jolts of it pulsing through me as my husband came, too, sending a rush of warmth into my pussy and letting my legs fall down off his shoulders as he finished. He collapsed into my arms, half-laughing from the intense pleasure of his orgasm, kissing me all over. “Ah, my little wife,” he murmured into my hair. “I will never be separated from you again.” He kissed me on the lips sweetly, his hands already wandering over my body again as aftershocks of pleasure made me tremble. I could still feel him inside of me even as I began to doze, satisfied and safe in his arms again. I closed my eyes and felt the stubble on his face as I drifted off again.

  Chapter Eleven

  I awoke slowly, disoriented briefly. I didn’t want to open my eyes. There was no warmth in the bed next to me, none of the comforting presence of my husband that I had felt—it had been so real—the night before. I almost cried, knowing that it had all been a dream; a dream I had had before, dozens of times. I had dreamt of my husband so often that he had almost lost his realness. I had felt him on me, inside of me, only to wake and realize that it had never happened, that we were still not reunited. I sighed, opening my eyes on the bright, early morning sun coming in through the window. I was still wet from the intensity of the dream, but Brandt’s presence only a short distance from my bed inhibited me. Sometimes, when I bathed, all by myself in the hot water, I imagined my husband and pleasured myself; but it was never as good as actually having him. I told myself that as soon as we were together again, I would demand—beg—my husband to bathe with me. We would let Jehanne and Agathe take care of Brandt for the day and spend the whole of it in each other’s arms, giving and taking pleasure, feeling wave after wave of orgasm.

  I gritted my teeth and sat up. I knew what I had to do. I would have to find my husband. I would have to go after the wagon train and learn the truth. There was nothing else for it—it was the first, the only sign of any kind that I had had since we were torn apart from each other. If the man wasn’t my husband, then I would have to live with that and think of a new way to find my beloved. If it was my husband—if Brynjulf was so close to me, then I would find some means of recovering him. I didn’t care if I had to kill to do it.

  Careful not to wake my son, I pulled myself out of bed and washed my face, dressing quickly. I didn’t wear any finery, though I considered it; while the finery might make me more impressive, it wouldn’t give me the chance that my sword would. And there was a chance that, fine though I might be, I wouldn’t be able to persuade whoever held my husband captive with looks and wealth alone. I strapped the sword to my body, hidden slightly by my skirts, and wrote a quick message for Jehanne, the only other person in the house who could read. I told her that I had an errand to run, that I might be late. I rushed out of the house, biting my lip as I thought of the fact that Brandt would look for me—and not find me—when he woke. But I had left the house early a few times before. None of the others would worry unduly.

  I didn’t make it far. If the man I sought was my husband, then he would want to see Brandt—and I wanted to make sure that Brandt met his father as quickly as possible. I turned on my heel and rushed back into the house, adding a line to the note that I was taking Brandt with me on my errands. I went into my room. Brandt was already beginning to stir, and he woke as soon as I knelt down next to him. “Hey my little one,” I said, trying to keep my voice as light as possible. “We’re going to go on an adventure!” Brandt rubbed the sleep from his eyes, peering up at me. I couldn’t stand the thought of being without my son. If I was disappointed, I would need my son there to bolster me.

  I got Brandt dressed, and grabbed some leftover bread for him to eat as we walked. “Where are we going, Mama?” he asked me. I forced myself to smile, even as anxious as I already felt.

  “We’re going to look for something, little one,” I replied, hauling Brandt into my arms. While he was becoming a faster walker—and a determined runner—every day, his short three-year-old legs were not up to the pace I needed to set. I briefly wished that he was a baby again, that I could put him in a sling and easily travel the speed I wanted. I needed to do better than this. I looked around as we reached the edge of the village, heading in the direction the wagon train had gone the day before. I barely knew the people who lived in this part of town. I bit my lip—I was already ashamed of myself, guilty at what I was starting to consider. But there was nothing to it.

  I darted into the rough stable of one of the villagers. I spotted a horse—dark, alert, almost looking for me. I tore a piece off of the bread I had given Brandt to eat and offered it as a bribe to the magnificent beast. I looked around, both trying to find gear to equip the horse with and see the first sign of the horse’s owner. “Brandt,” I told my son quietly. “Go over there and get the saddle off of the wall.” It was low, easy for my son to reach—though likely it would be a little heavy for him. I cooed and stroked the horse, making sure he remained calm, and began to let him out of the roughly-hewn stall he was standing in. Brandt dragged the saddle over and I clumsily got it onto the horse, still looking around at every moment. I found a stool and brought it over to the horse, careful not to startle him. He was well cared for, I could tell—all of the handful of horses in the stable were well cared for. I pushed aside my sense of guilt for my theft by telling myself that I would return the horse at night. I would know by then whether the man in the wagon was my husband. If he was, I would bring him back to the home I had made. If he was not, I would ride back.

  I positioned Brandt at the front of the saddle and mounted behind him, making sure he was snug and secure before I started out of the stable. Maybe, I thought, the farmer who owned the horse would think that he hadn’t latched the stall gate properly and the horse had gotten out on his own. I smiled at my sense of whimsy. I covered my son’s mouth with my hand until we were well away from the farmer’s house, out of the village entirely and heading along the road. Brandt caroled his delight; he hadn’t ridden on a horse before, and I knew that if the wagon train had traveled very far, that I would have to let him rest. I hadn’t thought far enough ahead to really provision myself, but I knew how to forage in the woods. Besides, I told myself, it couldn’t be more than half a day’s ride to wherever the wagon train was now. They were much slower than a single horse, and it was early yet.

  I had to give both Brandt and myself a quick rest after a couple of hours of riding. I let my son down and gathered some fruit from the trees at the edge of the woods we were traveling through—enough to slake my son’s thirst and at least give him enough that he wouldn’t be starving. I should have brought Alder with me, I thought with a grimace. We gorged ours
elves on berries, however, and soon Brandt was ready to go up on “the big horse” again. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest continuously, seeming to skip a beat every time we got a little closer. Even if I was disappointed, I would have something more of an answer than I had had before. That was an improvement on total mystery, at least.

  It wasn’t very long after that when I spotted the wagon train again. It was moving down the road ahead me, and I almost called out my husband’s name right then—but restrained myself. I would see up close. I didn’t need to announce my intentions; I needed to be sensible, be careful. I had no idea what kind of men these would be. I reached down and gripped the handle of my sword as Brandt and I caught up with the train. “Halloo!” I called out, reining the fast horse and coming to a stop. Train gradually slowed—and then stopped. One of the men at the head of the wagons made his way slowly back to where I was. “Stay up on the horse, little one,” I told my son, dismounting and tying the horse by the reins to a nearby tree.