Ivar: A Time Travel Romance (Mists of Albion Book 3)

by Joanna Bell

  Sophiefoster – Sophie – put her hands on my shoulders and rocked herself against me. Her tunic was up around her hips, all that separated us was the thin linen I wore. And as she moved, her warmth, her need, soaked through that linen.

  It was as if I were one of the cauldrons in the cooking pits, filled with simmering water – the day's battle with the King and his men, the death-rounds, the success or failure of the conquest itself resting, in the end, on my shoulders alone. Sophie stoked the flames higher, bringing me to boiling, awakening parts of myself that had been put temporarily – and by necessity – to rest.

  Her mouth, when I pulled it down to meet mine, opened willingly for my tongue. And when we both helped pull her tunic off over her head, finally indulging my eyes in the sight of her full, soft breasts, she almost looked surprised, as if she had expected some other outcome to a man and a woman alone together, barely clothed, on a hot night.

  As I dipped my tongue between her lips, only to withdraw it before giving it to her again, I pushed one of my hands, still stinging with a small blade wound from the battle, between her upper thighs. A low moan escaped my throat at the sudden impossible softness of her there, and the sharp answering ache that throbbed up and down the full length of me. I needed to be inside her. I needed to be buried in her.

  She lifted her hips up instinctively, knowing what was coming, and then threw her head back, crying out and digging her fingers into my shoulder as I guided myself into her.

  "Voss," I breathed, straining my hips up off the chair as she slid herself down onto me. Sophie was no over-eager girl, and our union that night was no simple meeting of needs, as it was with Gunnar and his women, or with me and mine, during my younger years. I did not have the feeling of being mildly hungry and chewing unbuttered bread to fill my belly, but instead that of a man who has fasted deliberately, who has denied himself as part of a larger destiny. Sophie fell on me like raindrops onto parched land, washing over me like a summer storm, and it was all I could do, twitching and throbbing inside her, to hold back what I knew was soon to be coming.

  She didn't make it easy. She buried her face in my neck and rode me, sighing as her sweet distress grew. I pushed her away at one point, needing to see the anguish in her eyes, the depth of need. And then when I did I felt her pulse around me and drive herself down faster, harder, until she began to lose herself completely. I held her down, and my breath caught in my throat as her pleasure pulled my own out of me and the sensation of utter indulgence that comes the moment of letting go came over me.

  And then she climbed off me. I wasn't expecting it, or I would have stopped her, but my limbs were already limp with the wave drawing back from the beach. Before I could roar my frustration, before I could even think, she fell on her knees and took me into her mouth and that was the end of me. I spilled myself onto her tongue – she even parted her lips at just the right moment, so I could see my essence filling her mouth – and didn't stop until she'd taken it all.

  Neither of us had the strength to move for quite some time. Sophie simply lay her head on one of my thighs and we stayed there, listening to each other's breath going back to its normal rhythm.

  A thrall poked his head into the roundhouse a few moments later and stirred me from my half-slumber.

  "Jarl?" He asked. "Shall I take her back to –"

  I waved him away. "No. I'll keep her with me tonight."

  Thirteen

  Sophie

  Sleeping with Ivar – or Jarl Ivar, as everyone called him – was not a spontaneous act on my part. But by the time I was on his lap, impaled on his generous length and only half believing that the orgasm building deep inside me was actually happening, all the calculation had gone out of me. Before then, during the feast when he could barely keep his eyes off me – or afterwards, when I was brought to him in a way I did not think women were brought to men any longer? I knew very well what he wanted, and I knew it was in my interests to give it to him. Even when all we'd done was intertwine our fingers, he was already reassuring me that I wouldn't be killed.

  Perhaps I would still be harmed. Beaten, maybe, or chased, or simply ignored. But not killed. Ashley was with my mom, and worried though I knew they would be, both were safe and, when I had the chance to explain to them where I'd been, and why, I knew they would understand.

  The afternoon after the night I spent in Ivar's bed, we left. The entire camp packed up, put what they could carry on their horses backs – and their own – and left. And I went with them, because I didn't seem to have a choice – and because I still hadn't been able to get to the bottom of Ragnar, the man who had eaten at the high table with Ivar and myself during the feast – and his wife, Emma. I did manage to build a small pile of stones next to the path that led back to the beach where I'd first been taken, so I would know that was the way when I retraced my steps.

  I rode with Ivar once more, on horseback. The woods were thick, unruly, and the Great 'Road' – as my companions insisted on calling it – was nothing more than a narrow dirt track. Only the warriors were on horses. The others, the servants and cooks and everyone who wasn't a fighting man, went on foot. Well, all except me – and I pretended not to notice when Bryn and Jorunn eyed with open jealousy.

  I relaxed against the Viking as we rode, shifting sometimes as my thighs began to ache with the lack of movement, and pretended to doze. But I wasn't dozing – I was listening. The mood was serious, somewhat subdued, and there wasn't much conversation. I was able to glean, though, that now the 'King' had been beaten the people were moving deeper into his land, intending to occupy it physically now. At one point, someone mentioned a wintering spot and a cold shiver ran down my spine – winter was months away.

  Ivar was already slipping, though, already doing that thing men do when their ardor is fresh, of believing it impossible that you will ever betray them. My hands were no longer tied, and the people around Ivar seemed to take their cue from him, keeping less of an eye on me than they had before my night with their leader. It wouldn't be long – certainly not months – before I could slip away and find my way back to the Renner property.

  That's what I told myself, anyway. That's what I had to tell myself. I had to keep believing, as a day's ride turned into 2 days, and then 3, and then 6, that I was just following a lead. That's all it was. Following a lead. Being a good cop. Doing my job.

  On the sixth day – I think it was the sixth day, it was surprising how easily they blended into each other – Ivar brought his horse to a sudden sharp stop – sharp enough to alert me to the fact that something was happening.

  "What is –" I started, but he lifted one of his hands quickly and I understood what the gesture meant.

  Ragnar and another man, one I'd seen Ivar speaking to frequently, approached a few minutes later.

  "Looks like a monastery," one said. "There are a few guards, no match for us."

  "Is it large enough for gold?" Ivar replied. "Silver?"

  "Aye, I reckon it is."

  That was it, the entire extent of the discussion. Jarl Ivar turned back to the other mounted men and gave them a hand signal, followed by a wave towards the monastery.

  A monastery? In the middle of the woods? Another impossible thing – but I was beginning to get used to impossible things by then.

  "Stay here," he said, lifting me down from the horse and kissing my forehead. "Not on the path – here, back in the woods. Out of sight."

  "But I thought there were only a few guards?" I asked, as a little knot of worry formed in my belly. "Why do I have to –"

  "Stay here!" he repeated, physically dragging me off the path and positioning me out of sight of anyone riding by. "Listen to me, woman, this is important – it's not the time for defiance now."

  So I stayed where he put me, only stepping back onto the path when the warriors on horseback had thundered off in the direction of the supposed monastery.

  "What are you doing?" A female voice came from behind me when I began to walk toward
s a clearing ahead, where the sounds of a confrontation could be heard. "Stay here! The Jarl said to –"

  Whoever was talking grabbed at my sleeve but I shook the hand off, annoyed. And then I kept going, until I could see what was going on.

  A clearing, almost a small field, lay to one side of the path. Surrounded by woods, a stone building stood almost in the middle. Rows of rectangular gardens, protected by fences of woven wood, ran the length of the southern side of the field, overflowing in the summer heat with vegetable bounty. Sheep and pigs ran for the cover provided by the trees, frightened by the sound of the fight taking place in front of my eyes.

  During the battle with the King's men, I'd been protected, somewhat, from seeing the worst of it. But it was right in front of my eyes at the monastery, where the men who lived there appeared to be doing their best to fight off Ivar and his men. I watched as one snuck up behind one of the warriors, who was busy driving his sword through a man's neck, and in turn found a dagger driven straight into the back of his own. He fell forward onto the man he'd just killed, dead himself, and I watched, unable to tear my eyes away, as his blood formed a dark, glistening puddle next to his body.

  The battle had been one thing, an event I could just about explain to myself. If there was one faction of lawless, forest-dwelling people living a technology-free life in the woods of New York state, why not two? And if there were two, why wouldn't they fight? I'd seen enough of men, especially young men – and people in general – not to understand the general truth that sooner or later in any group, factions formed. And out of those factions grew conflict and fights.

  What I was seeing in front of me that day did not seem to be a fight. It seemed to be an attack. Many of the men attempting to defend themselves and their monastery were older, their hair peppered with gray, and only a few looked to be in decent shape for combat. It didn't take long for most of them to be killed, and of the four or so who remained alive at the end, none chose to confront Ivar or his men again as they kicked in the door to the stone building.

  Ivar knew I was a police officer. And so, I presumed, did his men. But it could not have been more obvious that my being a member of law enforcement meant nothing to them. They were killing people in front of my eyes, in ways they would never be able be able to describe in court as motivated by self-defense.

  Where was I? Where was I that even societal drop-outs cared nothing for the possibility of arrest, and jail? I watched, nauseous, as one of the dying men used his last ounce of energy to roll over onto his back and reach up, as if to someone who stood over him. There was nobody there. The man coughed up a spurt of blood and then his body went still. He was dead. I don't know how I could tell the difference between death and loss of consciousness, but I could. I watched the flesh transform in front of me from human being to... nothing. To organic matter. To something that no longer contained within it a soul or the memories of a lifetime.

  I turned away, sickened, and began to make my way back through those who had done what I did and snuck up to the clearing to watch. Why did I need to stay with Ivar? There were obviously more than his group living out there, wherever I was. Perhaps someone else had knowledge of Paige and Emma?

  All I knew was I had to get away from them. My skin crawled with the remembrance of how good Ivar's hands – rough-skinned hands, and now I had seen one of the reasons why – had felt on my body, how naturally the lust had sprung up within me to be next to him.

  "Where do you think you're going?"

  I looked up, jerked out of my reverie of disgust by one of the warriors who was not participating in the carnage.

  "I'm leaving," I told him, only realizing how stupid a thing it was to say when it was too late.

  "No you're not. The Jarl wants you, woman – you're not going anywhere. Now get back to his horse and wait for his return."

  The warrior, who had hardly deigned to look me in the eyes as he spoke, gave me a rough shove. I stumbled, but managed not to fall.

  "I'm a police officer," I said quietly, for about the hundredth time and no longer with any expectation of it meaning anything. And of course, it didn't. The warrior took no notice. "Keep your hands off me. That's assault. That's –"

  He shoved me again, hard enough to make me fall that time, and then he strode over to where I lay and stood over me, daring me to keep talking.

  And I would have, perhaps, if the old woman – Eltha – who had bandaged my hand after the battle, hadn't appeared as if out of nowhere, mumbling to herself, cackling at nothing – and helped me to my feet.

  "You should listen to the Jarl's men," she sing-songed, smiling up at the warrior and then frowning down at me. "You should obey them, woman! How silly and stupid you are! Here, come with me, I will take you back to his horse."

  She began dragging me away from the glowering warrior. When we were a few feet away I yanked my arm out of her grip.

  "Let me go!" I hissed. "You may be fine with being treated like a –"

  And then she hit me. She full on slapped me right across the face and I was so shocked all I could do was stand there, clutching my cheek.

  "Shut up!" Eltha hissed back, yanking me off the path and into the woods, and then a little farther, looking all around to make sure we weren't being watched. "You stupid girl!" She continued in a sharp whisper. "I told you to leave!"

  "But I –" I began, intending to tell her that I still had information to gather.

  "You don't understand," she cut me off, shaking her head. "How far from the tree are you now, girl? It might already be too far. You might already be stuck here."

  She had an odd look in her eyes, one I didn't like although I couldn't quite put my finger on why. And what did she mean by 'stuck'? And 'tree' singular? What tree? The one in the woods, on the Renner property? How did she know about that?

  "I'm not stuck anywhere, you crazy old bat!" I snapped. "I'm trying to –"

  "You said you're a cop, right?"

  I nodded. "Yeah."

  "You're looking for someone, right? Someone on the Renner's land – if it's even still called that?"

  I nodded, flooded with relief to hear someone use a place name I was familiar with. But Eltha's face showed no such relief. If anything, she just looked even more worried.

  "You don't understand where you are, girl," she told me. "You don't understand anything. You think I'm crazy, don't you? You haven't considered the possibility that the only way to stay alive with these people, if one is an old woman with no husband, is to make yourself useful and present no threat? Did you see that warrior back there? He only let you go because I danced in there like a nut and took you. He would have beaten you black and blue, girl."

  "OK," I said hesitantly. Eltha certainly had a way of making a lot more sense – and sounding a lot less crazy – when she knew no one else was listening. "Well, uh, thank you for that. I'm sorry I insulted you. I'm just – I saw something really awful up there – Ivar and his men, they're, uh, they're –" I leaned woozily against a tree. "I mean, I was trying to leave! That's what I was trying to do when that man stopped me!"

  She nodded and took another step towards me, so we were so close we could talk in barely audible whispers. "Good. That's the right decision. You can probably still find your way back to the tree, if you go now."

  "What tree?" I asked, wanting to be sure I knew what she was talking about.

  The older woman narrowed her eyes, as if I'd just spoken in a foreign language, and then she nodded slightly. "Of course, this is probably your first time here. You probably still think you're on the Renner's land, don't you?"

  "No," I shook my head, annoyed to be thought of as dumb enough to believe that days of travel – even on foot and horseback – would somehow allow me to remain on a property that was no more than 50 acres in size. "No I do not think I'm still on the –"

  "Where do you think you are then?"

  "Somewhere close to there," I replied. "Six days hike? New York State. River Falls or thereabouts. W
hat do you want me to say? I don't have a compass, you know. Or a map. Who's to say we haven't been going in circles? We haven't come across a road, or a town, or even a single freakin' telephone pole."

  Eltha's eyes turned towards the ground then, an expression of sadness written across her features. Maybe she truly was crazy? None of her reactions were making any sense.

  "Why do you look like that?" I asked, worried but trying not to show how much. "If we're not in New York, then, uh – the where are we?"

  "Another world, Sophie. We're in another world. You think you're in New York State right now? You think you're in America right now?"

  So she was crazy. She had to be crazy. My hands trembled and my stomach churned and Eltha had to be crazy because what she was saying wasn't something my poor mind could fathom.

  "That's not," I rasped, before immediately stopping because my mouth was dry. I swallowed hard and forced myself to smile, to take a deep breath. "That's not possible, Eltha. That can't be real. I don't even know what you mean. What other worlds are there? How can I be in another –"

  We both froze at the sound of commotion from the path. Was the attack over? Were Ivar and his people moving on again? Was Ivar looking for me?

  He was. He appeared a few feet away, his face painted with freckles of blood I knew wasn't his own.

  "What are you doing?" He asked suspiciously, instantly noting – probably from the guilty looks on our faces – that Eltha and I were not in the midst of a conversation about the lovely summer weather.

  "You've chosen a silly woman as your companion!" Eltha trilled, immediately falling back into her nutty-old-woman routine. "She does not know which leaves to wipe herself with and now she has an itchy bum! A very itchy bum! I'm trying to show her how to find the right –"

  Ivar wasn't buying it. He raised a single eyebrow at the two of us and held up his hand, instantly quieting Eltha. "Enough. Come with me now, Sophie, we have further to go before nightfall."