Gressa watched as the pain and sudden loss of blood clouded Rhys’s vision. He was only moments away from death, but she was impatient to see one of her nemeses breathe his last. She drew the blade across his throat. Blood splattered across her face and her chest. She looked around at the crowd that had gathered. No one had attempted to intervene. Rhys was not a well-liked man by those who owed their fealty to his brother nor the ones who had met him through conscription to Grímr. Gressa swept her tongue over her lips as though she savored the taste of Grímr’s blood. It made her want to retch, but it had the desired effect on the Highlanders and Welshmen. They collectively took a large step backwards mortified to see a woman revel in wearing the blood of her enemy. The Norsemen turned their backs unsurprised and unimpressed. Gressa waited for men to rush forward and once again seize her, but no one appeared inclined to come near her. She looked around, trying to determine whether she was free to move about the camp or if someone would spring out to nab her.
When no one attempted to restrain her, she wiped her blade across Rhys’s chest, sheathed the knife, and rushed forward. She wove through the camp looking for the tent where the men dumped Strian. He was not in the one where they had huddled together. She peeked into one tent after another, but to no avail. As she began to grow fearful that they had removed him from the camp, a Highlander she remembered from the battle at the Ross keep stepped from the shadows. She reached for her knife, but he shook his head. He placed his finger to his lips and gestured for her to follow him. He took her to one of the few tents she had not looked into. He pulled back the flap to let her enter but did not follow her in. He stood casually but was on alert as her self-appointed guard.
Strian turned towards the light as he heard someone enter the tent. The eye not swollen shut took in the sight of Gressa running towards him. At first, relief filled him to see her in one piece, but as she approached with blood covering the front of her, he struggled to pull himself onto his feet.
“Strian,” Gressa moaned as she took in the damage done to his handsome face in the short time they had been apart. A part of her took a perverse pleasure in knowing Rhys was dead as she took in Strian’s battered face. He held an arm around his ribs and limped forward. Gressa caught him as he tried to walk on unsteady legs.
“What did they do to you?” Strian pulled away to look at Gressa, his concern clear as he searched for the wound that could cause so much blood but still allow her to move about with apparent ease.
“Rhys is dead. He went too far and now will never make the mistake of insulting our family.”
Strian took in what Gressa said, hearing her say Rhys was dead, but it was one of the few times she mentioned them as a family. The word lingered in his mind as she continued to speak. He was too fixated on her thinking of them as a family to follow along with the conversation.
“Strian?”
“Hmmm? I was just thinking about you calling us a family. You haven’t done that often.”
“Really? We are. We had a child together, and we’ve been married for years. Of course, we’re a family.”
Gressa watched the color drain from Strian’s face as she mentioned the child they lost. She realized he had not even been thinking of their son. He had meant the two of them, perhaps even the family they might one day have. She wrapped both arms around him with care as she held him steady, one of the few times he had needed her strength to be his support. The only other time had been when his mother died. He had depended on her to get through his grief, but only a month later, he lost her and his father.
“We’ll have more children, Strian. If we keep going the way we have been, it’ll be sooner rather than later.”
“You want more children?” Strian’s hushed tones seemed to amplify his doubt.
“I want as many children as the gods bless us with. I understand now that my body was too battered and weak to grow a healthy babe the first time. I have no reason to doubt I can carry a healthy babe.” Gressa cupped Strian’s cheek. “There is nothing I want more than to be the mother of the children we create together, and there is no other man I would ever accept as the father of my children. I love you, Strian.”
Gressa strained to reach his cheek, and he angled his battered face so she could give him a peck on the cheek. He turned toward her, and despite the blackened and swollen eye and the bruised jaw, he anchored her against him as she opened to him. The kiss held all the passion that always fired between them. Gressa welcomed his tongue into her mouth as it swept the velvet interior, and Strian groaned as he felt his body harden with a need he ignored since before they left the homestead. He was in a permanent state of semi-arousal whenever Gressa was near or he even thought of her. Now, with her body pressed against his, his body urged him to claim her. Relieved they were both alive and together, the soft mewling sounds that escaped her clearly reciprocated Strian’s need to join with Gressa.
“I need you, Strian, but I’m scared that I’ll make your injuries worse.” Gressa murmured against his lips. “I’m even more scared that we might never have the chance to make love again. I haven’t a clue what Grímr will do when he discovers I killed Rhys.”
“Gressa, short of being dead, I will never turn down the chance to make love to you. My need is as strong as yours. Just be careful.” Strian ended with a grin even though it tugged on his bruised cheeks.
Gressa looked around the tent for the first time and spotted a low table and stool along with a bedroll. She led Strian to the stool then pressed his shoulder down to indicate she wanted him to sit. Once he lowered himself on the carved down tree trunk, she sank to her knees and unlaced his trousers. She pulled the opening wide and eased his length free. She watched his eyes as she used lazy strokes. She recognized the expression as one he only ever wore for her. It was a mixture of love, need, reverence, and fascination. She always hoped that her face reflected the same feelings.
“I don’t know that we have much time. I don’t know that they won’t catch us. But if this is the day we are to die, then I will go to my death knowing I didn’t waste another moment with you,” Gressa murmured.
“This might not be the place, but it is the time. Neither of us will meet Odin without sharing our love once more.” Strian cupped her cheek. They both knew making love in their enemy’s camp while awaiting their fate would seem ridiculous to most, but their need for one another had often overcome their common sense.
When a pearl of white viscous liquid formed on the tip of his cock, she licked it away with a long swipe of her tongue before continuing along the ridge until she reached the base. She ran her tongue along him until there was not a spot that had not received her ministrations. She lowered her mouth onto him, consuming all of it, the position giving her the opportunity to take all of him in. Her eyelids floated closed as she hummed, enjoying the taste and feel of her husband and the pleasure she knew she gave him. He combed his fingers through the hair that had come loose from her braid. His fingertips massaging her scalp as she continued to work his length. Strian groaned as his need swelled along with his cock. There were mere wisps of memories of what it had felt like with the women who came before Gressa, but he had known the first time she pleasured him with her mouth, there would never be another woman for him, and no woman had ever made the experience feel so earth shattering.
Gressa pulled away, needing a deep breath as her heart pounded and the ache in her belly made her shift in discomfort. She continued to stroke him as she blew cool air over the head of his sword. Once she was able, she resumed her task, using her hand to continue stroking what she did not suck or lick. She squealed when strong hands tightened around her waist, and she found herself being lifted off the ground. Strian stood with surprising ease and walked with Gressa to the bedroll.
“Put me down! You will hurt yourself even more.” It amazed Gressa that Strian possessed such strength that despite injured ribs. He carried her as though she was little more than a feather.
“I will once we’re at
the bedroll.”
Strian stepped next to the meager blanket that would serve as their only bedding. He lowered Gressa to the ground then attacked the lacing of her trousers. He pushed them down her hips before helping her to the ground. He stifled the groan that tried to escape him as he bent at the waist. He knew Gressa would argue with him about making love if she feared she would hurt him. Their protectiveness equaled their craving for one another’s body. Strian kneeled beside her as he took in the taught belly and muscled thighs, a mere teaser of what he knew was hidden beneath her curves. He ran his fingers over the thin white lines that marked her belly just over the thatch of dark curls. He had not recognized them for what they were the first time he made love to her after their return from Scotland. Now he knew they were the evidence that she had once carried their babe.
Gressa watched Strian graze his fingers along the marks she had been nervous about him seeing then embarrassed. Before she had been ready to confess their origin, she had worried he would know what caused them. It still embarrassed her that they marred skin Strian had once claimed was perfect. She captured his fingers, making him stop, but Strian used his other hand to remove hers.
“Let me look. Please,” he beseeched. “I wasn’t there. This is all I have from a time stolen from us. From the time as a family we lost.”
Strian lowered his lips to her stomach and smattered kisses over the scars. Gressa ran her fingers through his hair as it brushed against and tickled her skin. Strian pushed her vest and tunic higher until he could slide his hand up to her breast. He massaged the flesh that felt fuller and heavier as Gressa’s need enveloped her. She became restless with a need to take his sword into her sheath.
“I know, my love. Soon.” Strian reassured as his lips scorched a trail from her belly up to her breasts. He took his turn laving and suckling her heated flesh. He felt her nipple tighten to a dart as his tongue swirled around the darker skin surrounding her nipple. His other hand teased her as it drew circles around her other nipple, bringing that one to a puckered head. He blew cool air over the wet skin before he switched his attention to the neglected nipple. He lowered his body over hers. Her pants kept her from opening her legs wide, but her knees cradled his thighs as he thrust into her.
Their sounds of relief as their bodies fused together filled the tent, neither caring if everyone in the camp knew what husband and wife were doing. Strian used their limited ability to move, trapped by their clothes, to rock against Gressa, pressing as deeply as he could. Gressa gripped his backside, her nails biting into the taut skin. She marveled at how even his buttocks was chiseled muscle. She buried her face in his neck, muffling her moans. She nipped at the skin, unworried about leaving marks. Strian used one arm to brace himself as the other clenched around her hip.
“I’m scared I will hurt you,” Gressa whispered. “It might feel good now, but what about later?”
“It feels a far sight better than just ‘good.’ My body, as well as my mind and heart, know what it needs. It needs you. It needs to be buried to the hilt, swallowed by your satin skin until I spill my seed into you and I feel as though Valhalla’s doors are open to me.”
Gressa moaned again, the sensations within her core colliding with the arousal his words fueled. She and Strian had discovered early in their relationship, even before they married, that they enjoyed hearing one another describe their need and what they wanted.
“Then don’t stop. I’m so close. Always so close too soon.” Gressa now panted as she felt the beginnings of her release blossom. She shifted and ground her mons against Strian’s pelvis. With her head flung back, the cords of her throat called to Strian. He kissed along her neck until he came to the sensitive skin behind her ear.
“I will push you over the edge as I grind my cock into you. Gods, Gressa. You’re so tight I can’t wait much longer. I need to finish. I feel like my body is about to explode. All because of you. You do this for me.”
“Then don’t wait. I want to feel your release inside of me as my body clings to yours. You’re so deep,” A moan interrupted Gressa as it pushed its way out from deep within her chest. Her climax consuming her.
“So big,” were the last words she managed as before his name spilled out on another long moan. Strian felt her inner muscles tighten around him, wringing the seed from him. He thrust as hard as he could thrice before going rigid. The extra force carried Gressa into a second release, the first ending moments before the next one seized her. Her back arched off the ground as she whimpered, frustrated that her ongoing pleasure beginning to wane.
Strian slid his arms beneath her, clutching her against him as he held her. He kissed her temple as he, too, came down from the high of their love making. Gressa clung to him, her inner muscles refusing to let go just as her arms pressed him chest to chest with her.
“Shh, my love. I feel the same. I never want to stop, never let you go,” Strian soothed.
Gressa’s belly and inner muscles contracted as she curled upward to kiss Strian’s neck just as he had done to her moments before. Strian groaned as his cock twitched, demanding he continue moving within.
A long, languid kiss stole their words as they rocked together until each of them found pleasure once more. When they could no longer delay putting their clothes back in place, voices too close to their tent to keep their love making private, Strian withdrew.
“I hate that part,” Strian grumbled.
“It’s my least favorite, too,” Gressa grinned. “We need to learn how to make it last longer. But I don’t know that it’s possible. It always feels so damn good; I can’t keep my body from racing to the finish.”
“You and me both.” Strian kissed her nose as he rolled away to lace his pants as Gressa did the same.
They had not noticed that the sun had set, no light shining in under the tent. Strian pulled the blanket free then covered them. The bare ground their only mattress. They pressed against one another, this time for the warmth the meager blanket did not provide. With no idea what time it was, and exhausted from the day, they both drifted to sleep within a few heartbeats.
Twenty
Strian awoke to the sound of rushing feet and bellowing voices. He looked down to see Gressa coming awake, too. He raised his eyebrows in questions, but Gressa only shrugged. They lay together as they tried to distinguish the sounds.
“They’re only a couple hours out!” A Scottish voice filled the air.
“Who? Ivar? The others?” Gressa’s lips moved still not risking making a sound.
“That’s my guess.” Strian’s lips hardly moved as he responded.
They ripped the flap open as a swarm of Norsemen flooded the entrance. They yanked Strian and Gressa from the ground and shuffled them out of the tent. It was the middle of the night, the stars the scant light. Only a couple of cook fires still burned, but men were smothering them. Gressa recognized a bowman hurrying by. She called out to him asking him what was happening.
“Your friends will be here far too soon,” the man threw back over his shoulder.
Strian and Gressa surveyed the surrounding scene them. It did not look like a warrior camp preparing for battle. Just the opposite. They scrambled to disassemble the camp to prepare for retreat.
“What’s going on?” Gressa no longer tried to remain silent. “Why are they taking the time to break down camp if they’re about to go into battle? If they don’t fight here, which we already assumed, why not lead our forces away from here to a place where they might have a chance?”
Strian shook his head just as confused as Gressa. They had been left standing in the wide open.
“We should run,” Gressa spoke aloud Strian’s thoughts. “In this commotion, with no one guarding us, no one’ll catch us. We could meet the others and prepare them for their attack.”
Strian swept his eyes over the bedlam that had overtaken the mixture of Norsemen, Highlanders, and Welshmen. Grímr was nowhere in sight. He paused before shaking his head.
“Not yet
. There is something really not right about this. I don’t think they’re just packing up to retreat further inland. I think they will make a run for their ships. They’re tearing down the tents but not packing them. I don’t see anyone even trying to gather the larger supplies. They will abandon them. I think they only lowered the tents to make the camp less visible perhaps to buy them a little more time.”
Gressa stared at a group of men who had just yanked the stakes from the ground, and as the tent collapsed, they moved on to the next one.
“He’s fleeing to their ships.” Gressa realized. “He’s going back to Wales.”
“But why? He has no more money to recruit mercenaries, and he’s back where the land he wants to steal lies.”
“I don’t know. I don’t understand this at all. I can’t imagine what is in Wales or even Scotland that would draw him back.” Gressa spotted Grímr’s son who bore an uncanny likeness to him from a distance even though he was Strian’s uncle Einar’s bastard. “Unless he wants to live more than he wants the land or vengeance. I’m sure he fled hours ago, but,” she pointed to the young man, “he left his son behind. He’s the one he uses as a decoy. He’s going to let his son take the brunt of the fight, hoping that our forces will attack only seeing who they think is Grímr. He’ll sacrifice the man for his own life.”
“That part comes as little surprise. Do you think Dafydd will give him sanctuary?”
“As long as a battle doesn’t show up at his door.”
“Then we have no choice but to follow. We can’t let Grímr live. It might take him years to rebuild an army, but he will be back. If nothing else, the man can be patient and holds a grudge with the best of Norsemen,” Strian mused.
“Then we climb into the trees to watch a little longer. With Grímr gone, no one will follow us or even care whether we get left behind. Let’s make sure they are traveling towards the coast.”
Strian (Viking Glory Book 4) Page 15
