by Bambi Lynn
“I snared it this afternoon.”
Peeking around from behind them, her modor started to comment, but Rolf interrupted her.
“’Tis a fine supper you’ve provided, Wulf. Let’s dig in.”
Her stomach clenched at the delicious smell. Even if there was little meat to be had, it would be a pleasure to suck on the bones and eradicate the taste of cabbage and apples. But how could she savor such a feast when her fellows had nothing?
“We have to share.”
“We do not.” Edlyn’s tone was almost venomous. “There’s barely enough for us. For once, let us eat a meal without concerning ourselves with everyone else.”
Her modor was right. She could never put words to such selfish behavior, yet Edlyn seemed to know exactly how she felt.
The three of them eagerly joined Wulf at the hearth. He blew on it until he felt brave enough to take a bite. With grease dripping down his chin, he passed it to her.
She tried not to take too much, but, Dear Lord, it tasted so good. She chewed slowly, savoring the juicy meat. It was tough and gamey, but no less delicious after such a prolonged limited diet. With eyes closed, she handed the skewer to her modor.
By the time they had passed it around again, there was barely a bite of flesh to be found. An uncomfortable silence loomed around them. Her modor was about to retire to her sleeping palate when Rolf spoke.
“Take up your weapon, Wulf. Let’s see what you learned today.”
Wulf wiped his sleeve across his mouth and jumped to his feet. He returned with the long-knife he had been practicing with this afternoon.
Rolf fetched the sword, the only one in the entire village, and issued Wulf a challenge. “Show me what you can do.”
Wulf rushed at the Viking. Before she could take a deep breath, Rolf had him pinned to the ground, sword at his throat. Her heart lurched, and she started to her feet.
Her modor stopped her with one hand on her arm. “Wait,” she whispered.
Rolf took Wulf’s hand and hauled him to his feet. She watched, fascinated by him as she had been all afternoon. As he demonstrated an easy technique to defend against such an attack, his muscles rippled beneath his taut skin. He had discarded the torn jerkin as soon as they had entered the hut and now towered over them all bare chested…and magnificent.
She would have to mend that jerkin.
But when? She could no longer lie to herself. She had to face the threat that would bear down on them on the morrow.
Then what?
She hated to think of the outcome. Most likely she would be dead or enslaved to some brute who would show her no mercy.
What would happen to her modor? And Wulf? She couldn’t bear the thought. She resisted the urge to glance over at her, but kept her eyes on their unlikely champion.
I will not think about that.
She had eaten well. She would sleep hard.
She drank in the sight of Rolf Bloodhands teaching her little brother how to be a warrior. He was fierce. Beautiful. His hair brushed his shoulders as he moved. Her mouth watered.
She had shadowed him throughout the afternoon, drawn to him in a way she would never have expected. Betimes he had been ill-mannered, demanding too much of her kinsmen. But she understood the urgency. They had so little time to prepare. He had used that time wisely, teaching them things most would never have learned in a lifetime.
Her heart seemed to swell inside her as she watched him with Wulf. She felt so much safer knowing he would be fighting alongside them, that he would fight to protect them.
To protect her.
She swallowed hard against the nagging fear that he would play them false. Just look at him. He is like a savior sent from God. Strong. Fierce.
Magnificent.
She noticed her modor was not immune to him, either. Kaylla nudged her, causing her to glance away in embarrassment.
But she looked back with an expression of ‘what do you expect?’ She pushed to her feet. “I’m going to sleep.”
“G’night, Frue.”
Her modor stopped at the sound of his voice. Kaylla held her breath. She had not bid them good night in an age. After a brief pause, she gave a slight nod before she turned and padded to her bed.
“You too, Wulf.” She stood and brushed out her skirt. “Off t’ bed.”
He glared up at her. “I am a man, Sissy. I don’t have to do what you say.”
“Aye, she’s right. A warrior needs a good sleep on the eve of battle.”
Wulf fairly ran and jumped into bed. The frame shook but held firm. She suddenly understood why her faeder had so often slept on the floor with her modor. He scurried beneath the cover and closed his eyes.
Rolf cast her a lopsided grin and shrugged his shoulders.
She rolled her eyes and tried to ignore him as she passed so close she could feel the heat coming off his naked torso. She arranged her sleeping mat before the door and sank down on it.
Through a mist of fatigue, she watched Rolf strip off his clothes and lay naked on his own pallet. He turned on his side and met her gaze. They stared silently at each other across the earth floor.
She had never felt more exulted or more terrified.
Could she trust him? Doubt nagged at her. She had heard nothing but horror tales of these invaders from the north. Stories of their brutality reached for leagues. And had she not witnessed poor Hugh’s mutilated body with her own eyes?
Maybe not all the stories were true. She certainly had heard no counts that would lead her to expect the tenderness with which he had treated her thus far. Nor the immense pleasure he had awakened in her.
Nor the deep concern he had shown for her kinsmen. He was a stranger on foreign soil, yet he had taught them so much today. So many ways to defend their own, to protect their land and families.
Late that afternoon, he had dragged her behind a hut and kissed her until she almost forgot there was anything but love in the world. Then with a jolt, he had reminded her that the invaders who would bear down on them would bring the opposite of love.
Hatred.
Death.
Destruction.
He had showed her then the quickest ways to kill a man, using the only weapons she possessed: her own knife and a short sword Rolf had chosen for her. Again and again, he came at her, correcting her fighting tactics until he was satisfied she at least had a chance.
Would she be able to put that instruction to use? Would she be able to kill a man? When she had first found him washed ashore, she had been unable to end his life. But, she argued with herself, he had been unarmed and unconscious. Tomorrow would be different.
As she stared at him in the near darkness, she wondered, would he uphold his promise? Or had he merely prepared the way for his fellows? Why would he help them?
She caught her lower lip between her teeth. She could not think about that. Whatever his intentions, he had passed along skills that had been nonexistent afore today. At least they stood a better chance tomorrow than they would have otherwise.
“Dost think we stand a chance?” Her whisper sounded loud in the silence of the hut.
His gaze held hers. The embers from the hearth reflected in his eyes making them appear golden. “Perhaps,” he whispered.
Kaylla turned onto her back and glared at the thatched roof. “I will die before I let myself be taken as a slave,” she said, her voice laced with conviction.
This time she barely heard his voice.
“Perhaps.”
Despite her exhaustion, Kaylla stared at the overhead beams until the moon peaked through the single window. She half hoped that if she did not sleep, morning would not come. Alas, she could keep her eyes open no longer and allowed them to close.
They flew open instantly when a calloused hand clamped over her mouth.
Chapter Thirteen
“Shhh…’tis I.”
’Twas barely light enough to see, but she still would have known him. His manly, leather scent invaded her. She inhale
d and let it wash over her. Her lips tingled where his palm pressed against them. She forced herself to breathe slowly hoping to ease the relentless pounding in her chest.
When she relaxed, he removed his hand, letting the pads of his fingers trail across her lips. Without thinking, she allowed her tongue to flick across them. His eyes darkened. He nodded toward the window. “’Tis morning,” he said.
With a sense of panic, she made to toss back the coverlet. But he stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. “Never rush into battle,” he whispered.
“They are here?” Her gaze darted about the room. She must have tossed around during the night. Her pallet lay rumpled beneath her and far from the door.
“We have time.” He stretched out on the floor next to her. With a feather-light caress, he slid his rough palm down her bare arm. She had shed everything except her shift before going to bed. Little stood between her naked body and his roving hand.
She blew out an exasperated breath. “Time to wait, to anticipate our deaths.” She relaxed against him, staring into his face in the near darkness.
“Are you afraid?” His sultry voice soothed her nerves.
Despite his tireless instruction, she could tell he lacked confidence in their success. Yet, he had driven everyone with conviction. He had shouted threats of what they could expect from his countrymen, frightening them into overcoming any qualms about taking up arms. His dark outlook unsettled her.
A better question was how afraid was she? Everything will work out. She had to believe that.
Yet as he tangled his leg between hers, languorously stroked her arm, and snuggled his chest against her shoulder, she had never felt more settled. This man was a balm to her very soul. She felt safe, protected. With him at her side, she could believe no problem was insurmountable.
An unknown future loomed before them. The strength within her surged forward. She could face anything as long as she knew he shielded her back. Please, God, let him prove true.
How could she be anything besides terrified? “For certes, I am afraid. Are you not?”
“I am never afraid for myself. During the fighting, you will not be afraid, either. Something inside you takes over, relieves your mind of fear and replaces it with a most urgent drive to survive at all costs.”
He tangled his fingers through hers and drew her hand to his lips. He nipped the tender center of her palm. Jolts of pleasure crashed over her. “I am afraid for you, kjæresten.”
She could barely remember to be frightened. She whimpered at the velvety glide of his tongue over her sensitive skin. She should pull her hand away, but the truth was, he felt so good, she did not want to separate herself from him.
She knew she was not prepared to take a man’s life. When she found him washed ashore, she had known how to kill him but had been unable to do so. He had truly been at her mercy. Defenseless. Yet she had been unable to kill him, a man who represented everything she hated in life.
“You know these men? The ones Rheda spoke of?”
He shook his head. “I have my suspicions, but I did not get a look at the traitor who led the attack on our fleet.”
“But you know who it was.”
He nodded slightly. “I believe so. The king’s nephew, Boddi, has always coveted the title. I suspect he was behind the attack.”
“Are they as brutal as Rheda claims?” She wanted to believe that the stories were exaggerated. That all Vikings were like Rolf, rude and self-righteous, but honorable, loyal.
“Worse.” He fell silent, idly rubbing her palm against his cheek. Finally he spoke in a quiet voice. “There was a slave that Boddi captured, a young girl, innocent of men. He forced her to perform the most degrading of tasks while his men watched. Then he let them all have a turn with her.”
Horrified, she stared up at him. “What did you do?”
His grip on her hand tightened. ‘I have ever felt the need to protect those who were weaker, but I could do little to help that girl. I was severely outnumbered and no one else in my clan would dare confront Boddi.”
“What happened to the girl?” She was afraid of his answer.
“She killed herself first chance she got.”
She swallowed hard. Had they really been so brutal that the girl would risk eternal damnation?
“I wanted to kill you, the day I found you. I stood over you, blade in hand, remembering my brother’s mutilated body. My poor Hugh so brutally murdered. Then Faeder gone off to engage the hordes from the north. Most likely dead, as well, by now.” She blinked back stinging tears. “Hatred surged through me like never before.” Even as she spoke the accusing words, her ire rose.
“Yet here I am–in your bed.”
All too aware that he was indeed in bed with her, she let her eyes roam from his face down to his naked chest. A light dusting of blond curls covered the muscles that stretched his skin taut. His arms and shoulders protruded with the evidence of his strength, his power. Her heart flipped and once again began its incessant pounding. Her tongue darted out to moisten dry lips.
“I still hate you.” Her words sounded feeble, and she bristled at her own weakness.
Releasing her hand, Rolf brushed her hair back from her face. “Why didst not kill me, then?”
“I… I thought to use you,” she said. Leastways she could hide her weakness from him.
With a sly grin, Rolf leaned back, raised his arm in welcome. “By all means, lady. Use me to your deepest satisfaction.”
Heat flushed her face. She hoped it was too dark for him to see. “How can you think of swiving with the enemy bearing down on us?”
“How can I think of anything else with a beautiful woman lying beneath me?” He reached down to her ankle and dragged his hand up the length of her leg until he could rest it on her hip. The heat from his palm seared the tender skin. She shivered when he flicked his thumb across the ticklish spot.
“During battle, a man thinks not about the outcome. His body simply takes over.” He reached up and pulled her chemise over one shoulder then the other, exposing the rounded tops of her breasts. “His brain ceases to make the decisions that propel him.” He stroked his fingertips over her soft flesh.
Her breasts felt full and heavy beneath the fabric covering them. She trembled as gooseflesh spread seemingly to her toes. She arched her back, pressing the swollen globes upward, hoping for more attention.
“The need for survival flows strong through his veins and drives him to kill or be killed.” Using his own leg, he nudged hers apart.
His ramrod cock dug into her hip, spurring her to tilt her body towards him. He pulled her tunic away, exposing her. Finally! Her nipples, already puckered with excitement, ached at the sudden rush of cold air.
“The excitement builds, until that moment when he realizes he will continue living, at least another day.” He leaned steadily toward her as he spoke.
She closed her eyes and inhaled a deep breath when his mouth closed over her nipple. His masculine scent filled her, chasing all thoughts of impending doom from her mind. His full lips pulled her into his mouth. Alternately, he suckled her nipple and swirled his tongue around the peak. A soft moan escaped her lips.
Disappointment washed over her when her nipple popped from his mouth. Before she could protest, he trailed his lips to the tender skin along her throat.
She felt lost in him. The exquisite pleasure could not be good for her immortal soul.
She pressed her hands against his chest, but she did not push him away as was her intention. Chills racked her body as he continued to kiss along her jaw, gliding his way further, taking the soft flesh of her ear between his lips.
“You must fight like a man this day,” he whispered. “You must be a warrior.” With a swiftness and agility she would never have suspected from such a bulk of a man, he rolled over and wedged himself between her thighs. “So should you fuck like one.”
His words roused her. No man had ever spoken to her thus. She knew she faced a danger beyond m
ere invasion by a horde of Vikings. More than the loss of her soul.
This man was going to steal her heart.
Barely able to grip his bulging arms in her small hands, Kaylla tried again to resist him. She could not think with so great an ache between her legs. Or so large a man.
Rolf’s warm breath against her ear did little to assuage the pressure, the yearning she felt for him to be inside her. “I will not give myself to a Viking.” Even as she made that declaration, Kaylla spread her thighs. Their hips fit perfectly together. “I would rather die a maid.”
“’Tis an ill omen to threaten death.” He continued to nuzzle his whiskers against the tender flesh of her neck. He reached one hand between their bodies and brushed his fingers along the delicate skin at her opening.
Her quim clenched and relaxed over and over, reaching for him, trying to draw him inside of her. “If I die, so be it.” She could barely choke out the words. Indeed, she felt she would die if he did not fill her soon.
No sooner did Kaylla have the thought, Rolf slipped his fingers inside her at the same time he brought his mouth down against hers. With her lips already parted in a deep sigh, he plunged his tongue within. Kaylla groaned with the pleasure of it. He had kissed her before. But now, his kiss held an urgency she found contagious.
Pressing herself against the fingers that probed her, Kaylla met the thrust of his tongue with an urgency of her own. Might this be the only opportunity she had to know a man? Would she wake to a new day on the morrow? Would this Viking? This man who thrilled her so she could barely remember her name?
In a last, feeble effort to dispel her lust, she conjured an image of the pending annihilation faced by everyone she cared about. Unfortunately, the image that came to mind included Rolf’s lifeless body. The feeling of vengeance she had hoped for turned instead to a sense of despair that threatened to overwhelm her.
Kaylla threaded her fingers through the blonde waves that curtained her. Tangling her hands in his hair, she pulled him against her in earnest.
“Mmm…so warm, so wet,” he whispered against her lips.
Lifting himself up, Rolf reached down, drawing her gaze to where he gripped the base of his cock. He slid the smooth head up and down her moist slit, occasionally rubbing her quim juice over the sensitive bud at the top, before settling between her thighs. He stroked his rough palm against her leg, pulled it up to encircle his hips. He moved his lips to plant feather-light kisses all over her face.
