by Sandra Hill
Vagn was in the guardroom honing his sword with a whet stone when Helga came sashaying in. And, yea, "sashaying" was the best way to describe the deliberate, sultry sway of her hips.
It had been two days since the "event" in his bedchamber, and he had not forgotten one single bit of it. His male member remembered even more, apparently, because it was always half-hard these days.
Never in all his misbegotten days had a woman approached him with such an outrageous exercise in blood-boiling, bone-melting temptation. And he'd bloody well liked it. Helga, in all her innocence, was a born seductress. If she only knew!
That was why he'd kept his distance these two long days, and would continue to do so. Like right now.
"Go away, Helga. I am not interested," he lied as she got closer to him. He continued to rasp the whet stone along the blade of his sword as if he were not even aware of her presence. Hah!
She stopped directly in front of him. "You thought I was looking for you? Foolish man!"
Did she just call me foolish? I think I'll use her tongue to hone my sword.
"Ha ha ha."
Is she laughing at me?
"I have given up on my efforts with you, Vagn. So you can relax and stop hiding from me."
Who are you attempting to fool? Me or yourself?
"Actually, I have come searching for Finn. Oh, I see him over there."
What? WHAT? Vagn's eyes shot up.
But Helga was already sashaying off to the other side of the guardroom, where Finn was practicing swordplay with another soldier. Finn was a good enough soldier, Vagn thought, but he spent way too much time on personal grooming. A coxcomb, through and through. The only man Vagn had ever met who was more full of himself than Finn was his old comrade, Rurik the Vain. Not only did Finn trim his facial hairs to excess, but he wore his braies so tight that his manparts stood out like two big apples holding up a snake. Probably padding. Helga was too smart a lady to be interested in such a foppish man. She wouldn't give him a second glance. With a resolute shake of his head, Vagn concluded, She wouldn't want Finn's seed.
Even so, he narrowed his eyes and watched helplessly as Helga called out to Finn, who stopped his swordplay and leaned down to listen to what she was saying. Before he did so, though, Finn reached down and adjusted the sack of apples at his groin, and Helga the Porridge-Brain watched him do so with interest.
She would want Finn's seed!
Vagn couldn't hear from this distance, but he saw Finn smile and at one point throw his head back with laughter.
Is she serious? Or just playing more games?
She placed a hand on Finn's wide chest and giggled. She actually giggled.
Vagn saw red. He literally saw a haze of red afore his blazing eyeballs. Has she really given up on her quest for my seed? And is she now about to glean seed elsewhere?
He should not care. What business was it of his? Let her make a fool of herself.
But what if Finn agreed?
I do not care.
Finn would not.
I do not care.
Finn might.
I do not care.
So, what did the uncaring Vagn do? He dropped his sword to the floor with a roar of outrage, stomped over to Helga, who was batting her eyelashes at Finn in the most ridiculous fashion, grabbed her by the upper arm and practically dragged her from the room, proclaiming idiotically, "There is something I must show you."
Hoisted on his own lusty staff...
They had gone all the way back to the scullery behind the kitchens before Vagn stopped dragging her. The man had clearly lost his mind.
"Have you lost your mind?" she asked as he backed her up against the wall.
"It would appear so."
Thor's teeth, but he is unusually somber. What ails him? As if I didn't know. "Why is that tic ticking in your chin?"
"Because I am so angry I might just explode if I don't tick."
Good answer! "What did you want to show me?"
"This." He lifted her by the waist so her feet dangled off the floor and proceeded to kiss her hungrily. No questioning first kiss was this. It was hard and demanding and wet. And it went on forever. He put her down, his hands roved everywhere—her breasts, her hips, her buttocks, the backs of her thighs. This was a man of experience who had been pushed too far.
"You should stop," she said halfheartedly.
He just laughed and kissed her some more.
About then, she realized that he'd reached up her gown, his palms bracing the globes of her bare nether cheeks, and his two middle fingers delving into her woman-folds from behind.
"Aaaaaaaaah," she whimpered, too aroused to be embarrassed by the wetness he encountered there.
"Aaaaaaaaah is right," he answered with a groan when she undulated her hips against him and belatedly realized that she was riding the ridge of his hardened shaft. "Do it again," he rasped out.
She did. Several times.
Which caused his eyes to roll back in his head and his teeth to grit.
"Did I do that right?"
He choked on his own laughter. "Wrap your legs around my waist, sweetling."
"Huh?"
"Just do it."
When she'd complied, he kept one hand wrapped around her waist to hold her in position. The other hand snaked underneath her, and before she had a chance to protest, he was strumming her gently in one particular place that caused the most unusual sensations to shoot out to all the important parts of her body. "I think mayhap you should stop now," she said hesitantly.
"Helga, I don't think I could stop now if I wanted to. Just relax and let me show you something special."
She put her hands on his shoulders then and allowed him to touch her most private places, thus building the odd pressure. It was torture and it was pleasure at the same time. She was losing control and yet she, a person who cherished control of her life above all else, made no effort to stop him. When the pressure got so great and she felt herself begin to spasm inside her woman-place, she arched her neck and began to keen out her pleasure.
That was when Vagn began to buck against her, his hardened staff riding the channel of her womanhood. Back and forth. Hard and fast. In the end, he slammed himself against her and she exploded into ecstasy.
For a long time, she just rested her head in the crook of his neck and panted for breath. He was panting, too. Finally, when he pulled his head back to look at her, she asked, "Will I get pregnant from this?"
"Helga! We didn't do anything. You made me come in my braies like a boyling." He let her slide to her feet then, and she indeed saw the dampness at the groin of his breeches.
Helga felt oddly pleased at that evidence of his losing control, just as she had. "It felt like something."
"It was definitely something… just not the thing that would get you with child. Believe me, there is much more to lovemaking than this." He was brushing strands of hair off her face as he spoke. A soft lover's gesture, which he probably did without thinking.
"Really? I can't wait."
"Nay, you misread me, Helga. There will be no more than this." He stepped back from her as if suddenly aware of what he'd just done… of the danger he'd placed himself in.
"We shall see," she said and sashayed off the way Rona had taught her, which was a real feat because her legs were as weak as melted butter and her woman-place was seeping moisture.
She thought she heard Vagn say behind her, "Gods help me!"
When one clueless man confronts another clueless man…
Vagn confronted Finn the next day in the bathhouse.
He was bare-arsed naked, as was Finn, but men did not care about such things. However, Finn was doing something rather outlandish, even for a Viking.
"What in the name of Odin are you doing?"
"Combing my manhairs," Finn answered, not bothering to look up. He was indeed running a small comb through the short curls that surrounded his balls and cock… occasionally moving his staff from side to side to survey the
effect, even pulling out a pair of shears and snipping the stray hairs.
"Why?"
"Because women like it."
"They do?" Vagn pulled himself up short before he contemplated getting himself such a comb, and broached the subject he'd come to discuss with Finn. "Stay away from Helga."
"Huh?" Dumb as dung, Finn was, in Vagn's opinion. He had to be to be combing his cock.
"You heard me. Stay away from Helga."
"Why? Does she belong to you?"
Vagn felt his face fill with heat, and not from the hot springs. "Nay. But I am looking out for her."
"Isn't that a bit mean-spirited?" Finn inquired with a sly glint in his eye. Mayhap he was not so dumb after all. "You don't want her, but you don't want anyone else to have her, either."
"My reasons matter not. Just stay away from Helga."
"Or?"
"I'll lop off your head."
Finn laughed, showing off way too many perfect teeth. "What makes you think she'd want me anyway? Her father tried to arrange a match betwixt us five years past, and Helga rejected me."
"Really?" Now, that was interesting news. Helga must be playing her seduction game again… trying to pretend interest in Finn to make Vagn jealous. Not that he was jealous.
"On the other hand, she may have changed her mind about me. Five years can make an old maid less picky." Finn waggled his eyebrows at Vagn, enjoying his discomfort far too much.
"Helga is not an old maid," Vagn surprised himself by saying. "She is a woman who is alone by choice." Oh, gods, stop my blathering tongue afore it runs away on me.
"Hmmmm." Finn resumed his combing and snipping.
Vagn decided it was a useless cause trying to converse with Finn. He turned and was about to don his dry clothes and leave the bathhouse when Finn called out to him. "Have no worry, Vagn. Helga is not to my taste anyhow. I ne'er did relish cold women in my bed furs."
Hah! If Finn and the other men in this keep only knew! Helga was hot as sin. The question was: How can I avoid the flame? I ever was a man attracted by a good sinner.
A hard nut to crack… but beware of flying shell…
"Ooooh, Vagn, could you please help me?"
Uh-oh! Vagn had been walking by the storage room, heading toward the great hall and the midday repast, when Helga called out to him. Once again, she'd caught him unawares. "Help you with what?" His voice sounded more churlish than he'd intended, but, by thunder, the woman had him walking on hot coals these days, so leery was he of being in her presence. But he prided himself on being a hard nut to crack in the games women played with men. He'd never lost yet.
"I can't reach the candles on the top shelf." She was standing at the bottom of a ladder which was braced against a set of built-in wooden shelves that went all the way to the ceiling. Well, that appeared a reasonable request. No harm in lending a hand. So he climbed the ladder for her all the way to the top, not even becoming alarmed at the way she gaped at his buttocks in his tautened braies. He did have a good arse. "Which ones do you want? There are many different sizes." They were all the same length but of different widths. He held three out to her.
She pointed to the narrowest and said, "I suspect that one is too small." Then she pointed to the second largest and said, "That one might be all right… but, nay, I think I will try the big one. What do you think?"
Big one? "Uh, Helga, exactly what do you want this candle for?"
"Practice."
Don't ask, Vagn. Do…not… ask. "Practice?"
"Yea. Rona says I should practice tupping with a candle." She looked pointedly at his groin, which was indeed blooming into a big candle, and said, "Which one do you think is the right size?"
So shocked was Vagn that he lost his hold on the ladder. His foot slipped. And he toppled to the floor, flat on his back, staring up at a smirking Helga.
"Are you all right?" she asked sweetly.
"Nay, I am not all right," he grumbled, getting to his feet.
She took the big candle which he still clutched in his hand and sashayed away, saucy as you please, having accomplished another of her goals in this seduction game of hers.
Vagn planned to wring this Rona person's neck, but first he was going to wring Helga's neck.
What to do during the winter doldrums?…
The betting was fast and furious at Briarstead in the early weeks of December. Would there be a yule wedding or not?
It was the most outlandish situation Vagn had ever found himself in. And there had been more than a few.
On first hearing of the wagers, Vagn vowed, "It will be a hot day in Niflheim afore I wed… and certainly not when forced to the bridal tent."
Helga, equally indignant over the wagering, vowed, "I will melt all my embroidery needles and take up cooking, a job I abhor, afore I will wed, and certainly not to a loathsome lout like Vagn. Though I wouldn't mind… well, never mind."
Gorm couldn't stop grinning.
If it didn't stop snowing soon, Vagn was going to attach ice skates to Clod's hooves and find a way to escape Briarstead.
But first…
* * *
Chapter Nine
« ^ »
Lady with a mind of her own
"The stables? Why are you taking me to the stables?" Esme asked Toste as he dragged her the short distance from the keep, slamming the barn door behind him. It was bitterly cold outside but warm in the barn from the heat of fifty or so horses.
He did not answer her at first, just scowled and continued to pull her along beside him down the center aisle between two long rows of horse stalls. The Viking was driving her half barmy with his changes of mood.
But, really, she was changing moods by the minute as well. In one instant she was kneeling-down thankful for his help getting her out of St. Anne's Abbey and into a safe haven. Although I will never in this lifetime forgive him for his manner of rescue. The next time my teeth are that close to a man's most precious part, he is going to find half of it gone. Yeech! What a picture!
In the next instant she was brain-boiling mad at his teasing antics and overbearing male arrogance. Why do men always think they know what is best for women? And if this lout thinks he can wink and grin at me and I will do his every bidding, well, he needs to have his brain rearranged… with a mallet. Although he does have a nice wink and grin.
Then, in a third instant she felt overpowering sympathy for him that he had lost a brother he loved so much. I have never loved another person so much in all my life and certainly never had such affection thrown my way. I envy him this love. I really do.
In a fourth and most alarming instant, she found herself being attracted to the knave. His person was exquisite, from his endearing cleft chin to his well-muscled form. But it was more than that.
Will I ever forget that kiss in the convent hallway?
Will there ever be a repeat?
I should not care.
But I do care.
Esme was a strong person, much stronger than people gave her credit for. When she wanted something as much as she wanted her home at Evergreen, she would stop at nothing—nothing—to attain that goal. Hadn't she spent eleven years in a nunnery to prove that point? Hadn't she fought off her father's marriage and death threats? But it was time to go on the offensive, and if it meant stomping over a roguish Viking to get what she wanted, then so be it. Toste might think he could force her to his will, but he was sorely mistaken. Sad to say, she could be as ruthless as her father if pushed to the wall.
"The stables are the only place where a person can get any privacy here," Toste finally responded in a grumbling tone, still dragging her along. "There are people everywhere at Ravenshire, mostly busybodies who have naught better to do than interfere in other people's affairs."
"They do it out of affection," she argued.
"Hah! You have no idea how Alinor and Eadyth meddled in the life of our friend Rurik till he settled down with Maire in the Scottish highlands. He should have left her hanging in a c
age from her ramparts, if you ask me."
"A… a cage?" she sputtered. That was one of the few things her father hadn't tried with her, probably because he'd hadn't heard of such.
"Once, Alinor even pretended to grow a tail to scare Rurik into believing she was a witch."
Esme would have loved to see that.
"Eirik and Tykir are just as bad. Especially Tykir. A more jestsome man there never was! Ask Tykir sometime how he kidnapped Alinor because she put a curse on King Anlafs male staff, causing it to make a right turn."
Esme's eyes went wide. Then she fought back a smile. She would have liked to see that, too. She was beginning to realize how stale and boring her life had been thus far. By necessity, of course. Still… "I like them… all of your friends."
"I like them, too. In small doses."
"I especially like Alinor and Eadyth. They are exactly the type of independent woman I want to be when I regain Evergreen."
"There is independence and there is independence. Eadyth is an accomplished merchant, but she organizes everything. No doubt she even organizes the bedsport with her husband, though he does not seem to complain in that regard. And Alinor, hah! Alinor may very well be a noted weaver of fine cloth, and she breeds prize sheep with exceptional wool, but I would not want to live with the witch. By thunder, her blathering would drive a sane man mad."
Esme was amazed at Toste's longwindedness with regard to his friends. He usually didn't divulge so much personal information. "Her husband, Tykir, does not seem to mind."
Toste shrugged. "He is besotted, for a certainty, even after all these years of wedlock."
There was something endearing about both brothers teasing and openly showing love for their wives, and vice versa. She'd never witnessed such before—not that she would want it for herself. Such caring would weaken her, and that she could not allow, not if she hoped to win the fight before her. Even so, she asked, "What have you against wedlock?"
" 'Tis fine for some men. Not me. Though I admit there are a few examples of good marriages, my father and brothers more than prove it is a sad state, to be entered into for family profit. And I have seen marriage used more often as a political ploy than a source of happiness. More trouble than it is worth."
