“My cooperation? I won’t give it to you and I won’t give up Poher!”
“I don’t ask for it. You have no choice in that matter. I only ask that you care for my wounds.”
Gwened was at first tempted to throw the bowl of poultice in his face, but she somehow managed self-restraint. She wasn’t particularly gentle in applying it this time, but other than a grunt or two, the Viking made no complaint.
When Bjorn opened his eyes, the room was dark, save for a flickering rushlight. He sat up in confusion. This wasn’t his bed or his chamber. Where was he?
“How do you feel?”
It took a moment before the countess’ face came fully into focus. “What in Odin’s name did you put in that tea?” he groaned. “My head feels as if I’ve been struck by Thor’s hammer.”
“I added some poppy extract to help you sleep. It seems to have worked.”
“Too well,” he grumbled. “How long have I been unconscious?”
“A day and a half,” she answered. “It appears your fever has finally broken. How is your leg?”
He reached down to touch the flesh. The heat and pain had dissipated. “It seems improved.”
“Good,” she said. “I would very much like to have my bed back.”
“It is a large bed,” he commented with a grin, “there is room for two.”
“I am accustomed to sleeping alone,” she replied stiffly.
Her answer was all too telling. “Your husband does not sleep with you? Is that why you are childless?”
She stared back at him wide-eyed. “How would you know I am childless?”
“Tis obvious. You never voiced concern over the care of your children when I said I would keep you here. Any mother would have done so. Are you barren?”
Her face flushed. “I don’t have any reason to believe I am, but Mateudoi has not been a true husband to me. Ours was not a… normal… marriage.”
“He prefers men?”
“No!” Gwened exclaimed aghast. “At least I have no reason to believe such a thing.”
“Then he must have a mistress.”
“Mateudoi’s only mistress is the Holy Mother Church!” she declared bitterly.
Her answer confused him. “I have not heard these things of the Christians. They condemn our fertility rites, yet perform sexual acts with the priestess of your church?”
“There is no priestess!” she declared with a look of exasperation. “I didn’t mean a literal mistress. I meant that his devotion is only to the Church. Before we wed, he was studying for the priesthood. He never wanted the marriage… he never wanted me.”
Bjorn studied her with growing incredulity. What sane man would reject such a woman? “I cannot comprehend this. Why would he not desire you?”
“Because Mateudoi is not like other men… he is malformed.”
“Aye? What is the nature of this deformity?” he asked.
“The left side of his body is crippled,” she replied. “He has difficulty walking and has limited use of his left hand, but he is otherwise whole.”
Bjorn snorted. “Your family forced you to wed such a man? In my country, he would have been given back to the gods at birth.”
“You mean left to die? His father wanted to do that, but his mother did not.”
“She disobeyed her husband?”
“She protected her child! Any loving mother would do the same.”
“Would you have nurtured such a child?” he asked. “You would have allowed it to suffer?”
“Mateudoi does not suffer,” she said. “True, he does have some physical limitations, but he is a brilliant scholar.”
“Do you know so little of men?” he scoffed. “Do you really think he would have chosen to live this way had he been allowed to choose?”
“I don’t know his mind on the matter,” she said softly. “I don’t really know him at all.”
“So you are married to a cripple who cannot protect you, provide for you or even sire children upon you. This makes no sense! Why do you continue in this farce of a marriage? Why not divorce him? A Norse woman would not hesitate to do so.”
“There is no divorce. Our Church is very strict about marital unions. A marriage can only be dissolved by a special dispensation from the Pope. It can take months or even years… if it is granted at all.”
“It is a husband’s duty to give his wife children,” he declared. “Do you not desire them?”
“Yes,” she answered sadly. “I do.”
“Then the solution is simple. If you cannot divorce him—take a lover.”
Her eyes flickered. “’Tis not done! ’Twould be adultery.”
He shook his head with a humorless laugh. “Though I try, I cannot comprehend your nonsensical Christian beliefs.”
“Nor can I comprehend your animal sacrifices,” she challenged.
“My gods require gifts for special favors. Have you never offered anything to your god in exchange for something you desire?”
“I offer my prayers, my obedience, and my devotion. My God does not require any other sacrifice. Why do you feel compelled to offer every boar you kill? Is one not enough?”
“It can take many offerings to remove a curse,” he replied.
Her gaze softened. “Why would you believe you are cursed?”
“Because one moment I had everything and the next I had nothing! The gods took my wife and child from me.”
“I lost Hugo,” she said softly. “But I do not blame God.” She was silent for a long moment. “At least that’s what I tell myself.”
“Yet you also feel cursed?”
“Perhaps. How can I not when my whole world is crumbling?” she replied with a bitter laugh. “I have no husband, no children, my brother is dead, and now Vikings have invaded my homeland.”
Her desolate expression moved him. He reached for her hand. “You are a beautiful woman, Gwened. You could have any man you desired.”
She shook her head. “I have never known that kind of desire for a man.”
“What of this Hugo? You said you loved him.”
“I did love him,” she said. “Everyone loved him. But we were never together that way. We merely exchanged a few kisses. We were chaste.”
“Chaste?” Bjorn nearly roared with laughter. “He did not lie with you? A man loves a woman with his body or he does not love her at all!”
“I don’t believe that!” she snapped.
“You would if you had ever experienced it.”
“Get out!” she cried. She jerked the covers off the bed “Get out of my bed and out of my chamber!”
“The truth offends you?”
“You offend me!” She answered with a shove that nearly sent him tumbling to the floor.
Her eyes flashed with fury. He would never have imagined the icy countess a woman of such strong passion. He also never could have imagined becoming aroused by it…but he was.
Undeniably aroused.
He reached for her.
She slapped at his arms and pounded his chest as he pulled her into an embrace, but he wasn’t the true cause of her fury. It was pain she unleashed. Raw and unadulterated. He recognized it because he had lived it.
Though she continued to fight, her protests grew weaker until she finally buried her face against his chest and sobbed.
Gwened wept until she could weep no more while Bjorn held her close, enveloping her in his strong arms and in his musky scent. She was furious that he’d pushed her to her breaking point, but at the same time, she was strangely relieved to have unburdened the secrets of her heart.
“Are you finished now?” His rumbled out of the chest that lay against her ear.
“I’m finished.” Yet, she couldn’t seem to break away from him.
It felt good to be held. Why did she feel safe in her enemy’s embrace? She couldn’t comprehend it, nor could she deny it. Until this moment, Gwened hadn’t realized just how deeply she’d craved a man’s touch. For the past six years, she’d be
en living a half-life. Devoid of love and joy, she felt as if she were slowly withering away.
Bjorn had given her the touch she desperately needed, but it was more than just warmth and comfort. Beneath the surface, something else was growing. An acute awareness of his body made her tingle deep inside. As he slightly shifted his stance, she realized he felt it, too. He was aroused.
His arms loosened but he didn’t release her. Instead, he tilted her face upward. His eyes dropped down to her mouth. “I want you,” he said in a husky voice. “And I have denied myself for a long time. If you still want me to go. Tell me now.”
Gwened knew what she should say, but somehow the words evaded her.
“Countess,” he repeated. “Do you want me to go?”
“Gwened,” she said. “My Christian name is Gwened. I give you use of it.”
“Gwened, do you understand what will happen if I stay?”
She dumbly nodded her head.
It wasn’t a question. It was an inevitability.
What was she doing? Only moments ago, she’d rejected his suggestion that she take a lover. She knew it was morally wrong, but she ached with loneliness. She had been denied so much in life. If she couldn’t have love, why couldn’t she at least know passion? Just this one time?
“Do you intend only to take your own pleasure?” she asked.
“You wonder what is in it for you?” He moved in closer, close enough that she felt the heat of his body. Her breathing quickened as he cupped her buttocks and pressed himself against her. Her insides jolted with a strange and wonderful sensation as her intimate parts made contact with his.
She licked her lips, her pulse racing with nervous anticipation. “You will make it pleasurable for me also?”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “I am certain you don’t know what you ask for, but I assure you I am more than happy to oblige.”
Her instincts told her that he would be nothing like her Mateudoi. She wanted this. She wanted him.
“Then stay.” Though her body trembled, she willed steadiness to her voice. “As you observed earlier, the bed is big enough for two.”
Chapter Eleven
Even as he sat on the mattress, Bjorn still struggled with guilt. He told himself that they were only two people meeting each other’s physical needs, that there was nothing more between them. She desired a night of passion and he intended to give it to her. After that, they would be done. No words of love, no talk of the future.
He reached out and drew her between his knees. “You have naught to fear.”
“I do not fear,” she replied, yet her hands trembled as she fumbled with the laces at the back of her dress.
“Turn around,” he commanded, making quick work of loosening her kirtle. Her body quivered as he raised the garment over her head. The light was dim but her thin shift hid little from him as he took in the outline of her feminine body.
He loosened the strings at her neck and the shift slipped from her shoulders. It slid down her body and landed in a whisper at her feet. Slowly and appreciatively, he looked his fill. She was slender with long shapely legs and smooth white skin. Her breasts were small but well-shaped with erect nipples that le longed to suckle.
His gaze dipped to the shadowy place between her thighs. His gaze lingered on the crux of her womanhood. His mouth watered for a taste. She wanted to know pleasure, and he fully intended to give it to her.
She shivered.
“Are you cold, or do you tremble because I am looking at you?” he asked.
“’Tis the way you look. You remind me of a wolf,” she said.
Her answer made him chuckle. He felt like one, untamed and hungry. “Is that why you have the look of a frightened sheep?”
She drew back arms wrapped protectively over her breasts. “If I displease you, there is no need to take this any further.”
Bjorn stifled a groan. He was not accustomed to conversation during sex. He also wasn’t accustomed to timid, inexperienced women. But she obviously needed reassurance, and his raging erection needed relief.
“I find you very pleasing. Come, Gwened,” he softly urged. “Let me show you. Let me touch you.”
She licked her lips and took a cautious step toward him.
He reached out and stroked the backs of his fingers over her cheek, along her neck, and then down to one milky white breast. He stroked a beaded nipple with his thumb, and she shivered again. Her sweet scent tantalized him and her breath felt warm against his face. She tilted her head back, silently telling him she wanted more. It pleased him that she didn’t pull away.
He pressed his mouth to the skin of her neck and worked his way down her shoulders to her beckoning breasts. He lavished them with hot, kisses, rooting from one breast to the other. He then suckled her nipples until she clutched her fingers in his hair and whimpered. Her passionate response fired his hunger for her.
He drew her onto the bed and worked his way down her body, skirting his mouth over her smooth belly, while his hands caressed her long, sleek thighs. The scent of her arousal was growing stronger, teasing and tormenting him. His gently probing fingers were rewarded with a warm wetness that nearly blinded him with lust.
It was agony knowing she was ready, but he’d made her a promise that he had every intention of keeping.
Though she’d denied it, Gwened was indeed afraid. But it wasn’t Bjorn that evoked her fear, it was the reactions of her body to his. The sensations overwhelmed her. She could never have imagined experiencing such bliss from a man’s touch, but when he’d suckled her breasts, she thought she would die. His mouth was like fire on her flesh, searing every inch of her as he moved down her body.
“You are ready for me,” he rumbled.
“What do you mean ready?”
“This,” he remarked, probing a finger into the dampness that pooled between her thighs. “You are very wet.”
She squirmed in embarrassment, but he seemed pleased rather than repulsed by it.
“Do not be ashamed.” He pressed his hands against her thighs, gently pushing them apart. “I want to look upon you. I want to kiss you.”
Gwened gasped. “You can’t mean there? Surely that is wickedness!”
“Wickedness?” He laughed. “Pleasure is the greatest gift the gods ever gave us. There are many means beyond copulation to achieve release. If I am willing to share this gift, why would you reject it?”
He rubbed his soft beard against her inner thighs. His breath was hot and moist as he began kissing, then licking. His mouth was merciless as he teased and tortured her with his tongue, until nothing existed beyond his mouth and her body.
As the sensations continued to swell, Gwened shut her eyes on a whimper. It was too much. Just as she thought she could take no more, something burst inside her, seizing her mind and body with endless echoes of ecstasy.
Bjorn’s bollocks throbbed for release as he’d watched her climax, but having now kept his promise, he would deny himself no longer. Just as he came over her, poised to finally empty his aching bollocks, her body stiffened, as if expecting a violent assault.
Odin’s eye! He’d given her pleasure. What was she afraid of? Bjorn threw himself onto his back with a groan.
“What is wrong?” she whispered.
“I’ve never taken an unwilling woman.”
“I told you I wanted this.”
He rolled onto his side to face her. “Your body says otherwise.”
“I have little experience and you are a very large man. How can you blame me? Please, can we try again?”
Sensing her need for reassurance, he pulled her to him. His gaze dropped to her mouth. Kissing her had never been part of his plan…at least not on her lips. But kissing would surely soothe her anxiety. He cupped her face and plied his lips to hers.
It was only a kiss, but the moment he tasted her, everything changed. Perhaps it was the look of wonderment in her eyes as she surrendered her mouth or the way she molded her body to his. Whatever it wa
s filled him with an overwhelming sense of rightness.
Testing the boundaries of this new sensation, he deepened his exploration. Their breaths mingled as she yielded to his seeking tongue. The kiss continued to intensify, mimicking the motions of thrust and retreat. The ache in his loins returned with a vengeance. He’d never experienced so much power in a kiss.
He was in agony to be inside her.
He rolled her beneath him, never breaking the kiss. Moaning and clinging, she opened her body to him. She tensed only for a moment as he gripped her hips and plunged into welcoming wetness. Though the restraint almost killed him, he held himself back, allowing her to adjust to the fullness before he began moving.
He urged her legs upward and wrapped them tightly around his flanks as he settled into a slow rhythm of plunge and drag. Her soft sighs soon mingled with his guttural groans, her inner walls squeezing him as she began meeting his strokes.
Squeezing his eyes shut, he thrust deeper, harder, faster. His bollocks tightened in his urgent race to release. Suddenly his world contracted, exploding in a burst of heat and light that left him utterly dazed and sated.
Gwened awoke to the warmth of morning light streaming through the window, but it was nothing compared to the glow she felt within. She was a changed woman. It was as if she’d been liberated from a lifetime of bondage, obligation, and guilt. She would never view the world through the same eyes.
Bjorn was still soundly asleep, his light snores rumbling from deep within his chest. He lay with his head turned toward her. His nose was strong and proud with a small hump at the bridge. Had he broken it? His square jaw was lightly bearded. She shivered at the recollection of his bristle against her skin.
Her gaze lingered on his mouth and the soft, full lips that had filled her with indescribable delight. She flushed at the remembrance of the lavish attention he’d paid to her most intimate places, but it was the kiss on her lips she remembered best. The moment their lips met, everything had changed. Finally, she understood the potency of sexual desire. It was a truly formidable force.
They had become lovers in truth, yet she wasn’t fool enough to think herself in love. Love was built on mutual trust, respect, and devotion—none of which they shared, but they had indeed shared an undeniable passion.
The Wolves of Brittany Collection: A Romance Bundle Books 1-3 Page 29
