Blaze Historicals Bundle II

by Jacquie D'Alessandro

  And it wasn’t just her mind that traveled back to sensual moments they’d shared. Her whole body recalled the way Wulf made her feel, surprising her with heated flushes and tingling in unmentionable places. Her daydreams had been wildly inappropriate and wickedly delicious at the same time.

  “I’m starving.” She searched for the eating knife he had given her eagerly, grateful to pry her thoughts away from Wulf and the fluttery feelings he inspired. “I fear my appetite may match yours this eve.”

  She did not miss the predatory gaze he cast upon her.

  “It does not even come close.” Raw, masculine interest lit his words. “But I can always hope.”

  He turned back to serve them, leaving her shaky and breathless, but not frightened in the least. Something about that promise he’d made gave her a new security in being around him. She would bet the whole of her wealth that Wulf Geirsson had never broken an oath before.

  They ate in silence, chasing down bites of succulent fish with the fresh creek water. Later, as she licked the last of the meal from her fingertips, an unexpected thought occurred to her.

  “It seems strange to me that just yesterday, I threw my embroidery down and complained heartily over the mundane boredom of such pursuits while the men stood on the walls and prepared for battle.”

  “Maybe you have a warrior’s heart.”

  “Nay.” She shook her head, understanding herself better than that. “I have an adventurer’s spirit like my mother and father. They wandered far and wide while I’ve been tethered tight to my overlord’s home or my husband’s home my whole life. Yet now, I sit outside under the stars, far from home, experiencing exactly the kind of thing that I longed for then.”

  “You are having an adventure.” Wulf poured himself a cup of mead from his wineskin and raised the vessel. “Here’s to new quests and safe voyages.”

  “You are quick to toast my exploits, but not as fast to share your strong potion tonight, I notice.” Her mouth watered at the memory of the taste. “Is that part of your vow to protect me, I wonder?”

  She did not know what madness prompted her to ask when his potent libation had kept her spellbound through his kiss the previous night.

  “You are in charge of your own adventure.” He handed her the cup, the scent of clover and honey intoxicating her before she even took a sip. “And I do not think a bit of mead will do you any harm.”

  His deep voice wrapped around her in the dark, the sound as pleasing to her ear as the dinner had been to her tongue. She had been surrounded by the high chatter of unhappy women who did not really like her for so long that Wulf’s rich tone, punctuated by periods of total quiet, soothed her.

  “Thank you.” She sipped carefully, respecting the power of the brew after the experience of the night before. Still, the spicy magic infiltrated her veins quickly, infusing her blood with sweet warmth. “I am surprised you have so much left. I thought we drank more last night.”

  He must have packed his supplies well, in fact, because he possessed more of everything than she would have guessed they could carry. Then again, Wulf had carted her, her bag and his bag the whole way. The Dane was so hearty and strong she almost wondered if he’d wandered out of Valhalla itself.

  “The joy of strong mead is that a small amount goes a long way.”

  “I have learned this well.” Grinning, she took one more sip before passing the cup back to him.

  His hand brushed hers as he took it, and the charge that ran through her felt like a lightning strike. This was not an effect of the mead, she knew. Although the fact that her fingers remained there a bit longer than necessary could probably be attributed to the drink and the way it made her blood run thick in her veins like the sweet honey it had been made from.

  “Tell me about your family.” Wulf joined her on the log, bringing a blanket with him and tossing it over her legs as the night turned fully dark. “You are an only child?”

  “Yes.” She tucked her hand beneath the blanket to limit the possibility of more accidental touches. As curious as she might be about Wulf and her reaction to him, she was not ready to explore such tumultuous feelings with a man who could offer her no future. “My father was born to a maid of Byzantium, though he was the son of a Wessex lord. He lived there for almost ten years while his father established trade for the king, and he grew up with a fine education. When he returned to his father’s home, he sought the best monastery schools to study with the monks and won acclaim for his math and healing. But he was most sought after for his translations. He spoke, read and wrote in many languages.”

  “What of your mother?” Wulf pointed out a shooting star in the clear night sky as he spoke.

  Idly, she wondered if the sight was so common to him that it hardly bore remarking. For her part, she’d never seen the like and her eyes lingered on the spot where the bright flare of light had disappeared.

  “My mother told me all of those things about my father’s past,” she explained, drawing on vivid memories of the woman who had been such a strong force in their home. “She was quick to tout her husband’s brilliant mind and abilities, as he was frequently lost in his studies for days on end and was more apt to talk about his latest reading than himself. She was the daughter of a wealthy Mercian house and knew the nobles who patronized my father’s work.”

  Gwendolyn could not recall the last time she’d told their stories and promised herself that she would do so more often in the future. Like the shooting stars, her parents’ lives had left blazing trails that should be remembered.

  “They sound well suited,” Wulf remarked, causing Gwendolyn to wonder if he’d ever thought of taking a wife.

  For that matter, didn’t the Danes keep wives and concubines at the same time? Gerald had certainly believed that to be so, claiming he’d learned the custom from them.

  “Are you married?” she blurted, unable to wait another moment to find out. The thought of touching a man who belonged to another was abhorrent to her, no matter how well-accepted the practice might be in their culture.

  “Of course not.” His denial was immediate and heartfelt, yet it seemed tinged with an emotion she could not read. Regret? “I have not set foot on my native soil for a year. If I had a wife, I am sure she would be most ill-disposed toward me by now.”

  “But it would not bother you to keep a wife and take another woman to bed?” She had never been a woman to mind her tongue, a fact that had been pointed out to her repeatedly by her overlord, her husband, the other widows…well, everyone.

  But Wulf had been forthright with her thus far. Why should she concern herself with social convention?

  “I would never wed a woman unless I wished to touch no one but her for the rest of my days.” He retrieved the mead and finished the contents of the cup. “So there would never be a question of wanting another.”

  He replaced the cup in the dirt and stared into the flames. She assumed his thoughts were far away until he turned that clear blue gaze toward her. Then she realized his thoughts were very much here. With her. About her.

  Her mouth went dry. Her own thoughts vanished.

  Swallowing hard, she finally found an answer.

  “That is a noble sentiment.” She liked his sense of honor and his passionate avowals.

  Indeed, she liked many, many things about Wulf Geirsson.

  “My thoughts are for one woman at a time, Gwendolyn.” He leaned closer to make his point. “And lately, all my thoughts are of you.”

  Her breath hitched at the idea of him thinking about her. From the mead in her blood and the blanket around her that held his scent, her world narrowed to him.

  “I fear I cannot give you what you seek.” As much as she had resented her marriage and the need to bind herself to a man, at least marriage came with a certain amount of respect in the eyes of the world. As a Dane’s concubine, she had no assurance of a protector, no legal claim to Wulf. He could simply trade her away when he tired of her…“As a noblewoman, I was not
raised to be some man’s pleasure thing. My overlord will come for me and then I will remarry—”

  “And you could end up with someone just like Gerald. What stops you from finding pleasure—adventure, if you will—with a man who has vowed never to do you harm?”

  He had struck a nerve. The idea that she might be living the same life as Margery—dutiful and dry, more worried about well-stitched wedding garments than finding joy in the world—stopped Gwendolyn cold.

  “You are an enemy to my king and my people—”

  “But not an enemy to you. You know this.” His eyes darkened to a deeper blue as he spoke. His jaw had grown shadowed with the bristle of his unshaven face. He looked even more dangerous than when they’d first met and yet—not. She knew him better now. “And you must know your Saxons will assume you have suffered the touch of a Dane whether you return to them as pure as the day you left or not. Why cling to someone else’s notion of how you should conduct yourself when you have been denied passion your whole life?”

  Her heartbeat sped along with the rise in his voice, her feelings soaring in time with his speech. In truth, she did not know why she let anyone else’s expectation dictate her behavior when she was in the middle of the woods with a compelling stranger whose kisses roused the sweetest fire she had ever known.

  What harm could it do to see where another kiss led when she knew he could stop himself anytime? When he had sworn he would never hurt her?

  “It is difficult to remember my reasons just now,” she admitted, lured to follow her heart and her instincts.

  “Where is the woman I spied on the battlements? The woman who refused to hide during an invasion while her companions cowered in a locked hall?” Gently, he brushed a finger beneath her chin and tipped her face toward his.

  The call of passion was too great. In him. In her. In the spring night lush with new life and ancient promise.

  “Perhaps she merely waited for the right battle cry.” Tentatively, her hands sought his chest, his strength and daring that spoke to her own. Her eyelids grew heavy and fell to half-mast, the intoxication she felt owing everything to the powerful effect of the man, not the mead. “In my case, I think that might be a kiss.”

  6

  IN A LIFETIME OF CONQUERING foreign lands, Wulf had never wanted to claim new terrain as badly as he did right now.

  Gwendolyn swayed toward him, bringing with her a whole host of enticements a man could scarcely catalog. The scent of her skin beckoned, the heat of her desire intensifying the fragrance of sweet herbs that she must use for bathing. Her flesh felt soft along his fingertip, firm and tender to touch.

  She peered up at him with bold, brown eyes that had turned molten, her shoulders swaying with the ragged breaths she dragged into her lungs.

  He wanted her underneath him, on top of him and sideways. But he would treat her with care. He’d made a vow and he would keep it if it killed him.

  Then she was in his arms and he couldn’t have said who moved first. Her thigh pressed against his, the shape of her leg apparent even through the layers of underskirts and gown. Her hands splayed against his chest, her fingers clutching and clinging to his tunic, as if she could drag him near.

  But it was her kiss that brought him to his knees. The innocent artlessness of the day before had vanished. Her mouth met his fully, hungrily. The reticence was gone, and in its place was a new sensuality. She kissed him like she could not get enough of him, her tongue stroking his with the slow deliberation of a woman who had found a new favored hobby.

  He groaned at the feel of her, a full-scale assault on his senses as she arched into him. Whatever else she feared about intimacy, Gwendolyn was a convert when it came to kissing.

  Shoring up his restraint, he tucked an arm beneath her legs and hauled her into his lap. He knew better than to rush her, but the sooner she grew accustomed to the feel of him, the better.

  She pulled back from him suddenly, her hands framing his face as she stared at him in the firelight.

  “I think I will like being in charge of my own adventure,” she whispered, her words throaty with newfound passion.

  The dazed look in her eyes and the moist sheen of her lips told him she was well on the path to readiness, but he vowed not to rush. He intended to hew to the promise of the blood oath in every moment he spent touching her and exploring her body.

  “You must tell me when you feel ready for more,” he urged.

  Already he throbbed with need for her, her thigh nestled against him so that every movement she made proved delicious torment.

  “If you can make it as good as the kissing, I am ready.” Her arms wound about his neck, her plump breasts swelling against his chest. “I am very fond of the way you kiss.”

  He guessed as much from the way she squirmed in his arms, her body making demands she might not be ready to acknowledge. He could not wait to show her what she’d been missing, what he could supply for her in knee-melting abundance. If he was fortunate enough to share her bed tonight, he planned to ensure she never wished to leave it.

  At that moment, it occurred to him that while he’d taken her captive for his pleasure, he had committed himself to hers instead. But he had the feeling doing so would provide him with a new kind of fulfillment.

  “You are in luck then.” His hands skimmed her sides, slowing to untie the laces of her gown. “For I plan to kiss more of you.”

  He did not wait for her to consider the implication of that. Instead, he dipped to kiss a place beneath her ear while he further loosened the ties of her gown. A vein in her neck jumped against his tongue and he stroked the spot with care until her head tipped back to give him more access.

  The gift of her willingness did not escape him. He had no doubt that she’d been hurt before and it humbled him that she would allow him to touch her.

  Would she be so trusting if she knew how much danger awaited them? Harold would pursue him relentlessly. Alchere would call upon King Alfred to help retrieve this woman.

  “What is it?” She blinked at him, straightening.

  Had she read his mind? Nay. He must have stilled somehow.

  “Nothing.” He would not let dark thoughts spoil something that should be special for Gwendolyn. Something wild and passionate that would sweep her away on the waves of pleasure like a longship. “I only thought of your comfort. We should go in where there is a pallet and you will be warmer.”

  Her assessing gaze studied him so hard that he feared she could see straight into his soul. But then, she shook her head.

  “Nay.” She tugged on the blanket he’d given her earlier to keep her legs warm. “We can wrap ourselves in this and remain under the stars.”

  Her unlikely proposition chased the last thoughts of an uncertain future from his mind, bringing him fully into the moment with her again.

  “You have the spirit of a Dane,” he accused, unwinding the wool from her legs and then tossing it on the ground near the fire. “Wild at heart.”

  He returned his mouth to her neck, lavishing long kisses there until she panted for breath. Then he carried her to the blanket and laid her upon it before stretching out beside her beneath the glittering heavens.

  “Give me your hand.” She gripped the sleeve of his tunic, showing him what she wanted, and he followed her command, unsure what she had in mind.

  As her tongue ran across the place where his blade had cut a thin line, he understood her purpose. She soothed the spot again and again, placing tender kisses there between more provocative strokes.

  “The sting is long gone,” he assured her, wondering if she had any idea how those deliberate movements enflamed him. “The only ache I feel now is for want of you.”

  She tensed, her shoulders stiffening as she drew in a small breath.

  He’d briefly forgotten about her bastard of a husband, but something about his words had obviously brought her painful memories.

  “Gwendolyn.” He released her, careful that his touches could never be constr
ued as restraint. “It is a turn of phrase, no more. You could not hurt me if you tried. And a Dane never admits to suffering anyhow.” He thunked his chest with his fist in a gesture well-known among his men. “Invincible, you see?”

  Her smile was like cooling rain after heated battle, a fresh beginning.

  “Touch me more, Viking,” she demanded, propping her elbow on the blanket so that she could look down upon him as he lay on his back. “I begin to think I understand the kind of suffering you speak of. It began for me when you allowed the night air to chill my skin.”

  She had wriggled free of the top half of her gown. With the laces loosened, the shoulders had slid off, leaving the heavy fabric to droop down to her waist. Now her arms and breasts were covered only by the under dress, a thin layer of linen that tempted him with intriguing shadows beneath the pale material.

  He dragged cooling breath into his lungs like a drown ing man, his fingers itching for a comprehensive feel of her.

  Then suddenly, his hands were all over her, cradling the sides of her breasts and palming their full, heavy weight. He stroked up the valley between them with two fingers, then bent to kiss that place. A moan tore free from her throat, but he felt it more than he heard it, the sound vibrating beneath his lips.

  Gwendolyn wondered if she might be coming apart at the seams.

  Not just her garments, which certainly were falling away as if of their own volition. But her.

  Control slipped. Defenses flattened. Fear did not even exist. All of the dark emotions she’d stockpiled about men and—this—melted in the light of Wulf’s sworn vow, his sensual arrogance and his toe-curling kisses.

  She hardly recognized herself, but she liked to think this daring side had always existed. She just hadn’t appreciated it since the rest of the world wanted to call her troublesome and outspoken.

  Now, the desire bubbled up so fast it seeped right through her skin. A fever took hold of her and she wanted Wulf’s lips everywhere at once to soothe it.

  How could one man please her so much?