by Madison Faye
“Tor… I… what are you…”
“Making you come for me, little bird,” I groan into her. “Showing you how bad you can be, and just how good being bad can feel.”
I swirl my tongue around her ass again and again, rolling her clit with my thumb as her cries of pleasure fill the tent.
“You’re… I’m going to—”
“Come for me, little one,” I growl, my cock so fucking hard I swear it might tear through my breeches.
I drag my tongue back to her cunt, sucking her clit between my lips and swirling my tongue around it. Rhona goes wild, bucking against my face, panting, her whole body shaking before suddenly, with a jerk of her hips, she cries out as I push her over that edge. She moans wildly, thrashing and grinding against my mouth as she comes again and again for me. I can feel her slick honeyed juices running down my chin, coating my tongue and my lips until I want to drown in her slickness. And I just keep tasting her, over and over, until I can feel her body start to go limp above me.
This is exactly how I want her—putty in my hands, aching from me making her come.
…Aching for more.
And more is exactly what I’m about to give her.
I know the lordlings of the highlands have these notions of being wed before they give in to what nature intends us to do. They prefer to have a priest tell them it’s okay to fuck.
…I am not of that mindset.
I growl as I slide out from under her, moving behind her again and kissing her neck. Rhona whimpers, turning to sear her lips to mine, tasting herself on my tongue as I claim her mouth. My cock strains at my breeches, and my hands move to yank them open, so that I may free my cock and sink it deep in her eager, untouched little cunt.
But it’s at that very moment when I hear the commotion outside in the camp. Not the drunken revelry of the men I’ve been hearing in the background—something more. Something more urgent. I hiss, swearing under my breath as I pull my hand from the laces of my breeches and pull away from her.
“Where are you going?” She moans, turning. Our eyes lock, and I growl as I press back against her, cupping her jaw as I kiss her fiercely.
“Something needs my attention, outside.” I growl. “But I’ll be back for you, and soon.”
I slide from the bed, grabbing my sword.
“Wait, I’m still…”
Rhona blushes, biting her lip.
“I’m still tied,” she murmurs shyly.
“Aye,” I growl, grinning at her. “That you are.”
Her brows shoot up, the playful smile on her face dropping.
“Tor—”
“I want you just like this when I return, little bird,” I growl hungrily, eyeing her fiercely before I grab my sword and duck under the flaps of the tent door, out into the camp.
Chapter 7
Tor
I exit the tent in full battle readiness, sword in hand, muscles tensed and ready. The sound I heard was horses storming through the camp, and as my men don’t have horses, I’m ready for the attack.
And yet, it doesn’t come. I storm out of my tent and charge into the clearing of the main bonfire, and it’s then that I see what’s made the commotion.
“Tor!”
Ivar grins wolfishly as he jumps down from the large grey stallion he’s been riding.
“We have horses!”
I growl, muttering as I lower my sword and shake my head.
“You fucker,” I mutter, glaring at him.
“See?” Erik chuckles, shoving his blond hair away from his face as he jumps down from the black horse he sits upon. He nods his chin at Ivar.
“I told you he’d think we were the enemy.”
My two friends snort in laughter, ignoring my glares.
“Amused, are you?”
“Quite, thanks,” Ivar grins.
“I think you’d have found it hard to laugh if I’d come out swinging and taken your head off.”
Ivar snorts. “I’m too quick for you anyways.”
I roll my eyes, a small smile spreading over my lips as I glare at him. My eyes move from his horse to Erik’s, and then to the dozen or so other’s they’ve brought into the camp with them.
“Where exactly did these come from?”
There’s a whinnying sound as a white mare comes trotting up, it’s rider blonde, beautiful, fierce, and for all intents and purposes, my sister. Technically, Freya is Erik’s sister. But seeing as Erik, Ivar, and Bjorn are basically brothers, that makes her little sister to all of us. At least, that’s how I look at it.
Freya grins, pulling her horned helm off as she jumps nimbly from the horse.
“Some lord.”
I frown, folding my arms over my bare chest as I raise a brow at her. “Some lord?”
She grins. “I don’t know his name, if you’re somehow concerned about that.”
“What I’m concerned about is this some lord deciding to come look for his missing horses.”
Ivar rolls his eyes.
“What,” I growl.
“Nothing, nothing,” he sighs. “I was merely curious when exactly the witch cursed you from our brave leader into an old woman.”
Freya snorts, and even Erik grins.
“What’s this about a witch?”
The deep, thundering voice of Bjorn rumbles from behind me as he steps into the fire circle.
“The one that turned Tor into a scared old woman,” Erik answers.
Bjorn frowns, his huge arms crossing over his barrel chest. I’m a big man, even for my people. But Bjorn’s even bigger than I am—easily half a foot taller with massive shoulders and arms.
“What’s this then?”
“Tor’s worried about a reprisal from us stealing horses from some lord a day’s ride from here,” Ivar chuckles.
Bjorn’s brow stays furrowed.
“You stole all of these horses?”
Ivar grins.
“Well that was fucking stupid,” Bjorn mutters.
This time, I’m the one who chuckles.
“See? Bjorn understands.”
Freya frowns. “I thought your whole plan was to settle here? Be a little lord just like the rest of them?”
I ignore the sarcastic bite in her voice, because I know she’s young enough not to quite understand. I’m not entirely sure any of my friends understand, but they will.
Perhaps.
The plan is not to become “a little lord like the rest of them.” Not even close. But my plans do involve staying here, in the highlands of Scotland. My infamy in this part has grown, and I’m aware of that. I know they fear me and think of me as this “king” of the Norsemen.
…I am not.
Haraldsson Arvid is the actual king of the Danes, up in the north. It’s him who has us waging this perpetual campaign of fear, aggression, and pillaging of the coast of this land. I won’t deny that I’ve sated my bloodlust in doing so. I won’t deny being good at what I do, and even reveling in the fear and chaos I’ve sown in these lands.
But I am tired of it. I’m tired of the orders. I’m tired of the endless warring. I’m tired of calling a tent or a small cabin on my ship a home, for years on end. Haraldsson’s way isn’t sustainable, and the longer I and my men keep taking orders from him, the more we stray from the true Viking code of personal freedom. And that is what I crave—more than any riches, or plunder, or power that I’ve wielded over the shores of this land. And deep down, I know my friends understand that, even if they jest with me about it.
So, yes. The plan, eventually, and hopefully soon, is to settle here, on the shores of Scotland. I already fully grasp how difficult it may prove, given who we are, and the violence we’ve inflicted on these lands. It may even be impossible, but I know what I need—what we all need—as true, free people of the North.
…Stealing fucking horses that we neither need nor can even take care of, is not going to aid in that struggle.
Erik sighs, putting an arm over Freya’s shoulders and nodding
at me.
“Tor’s plan is a good one, sister.”
She makes a face, but she shrugs. I know they all know I’m right. I know they know that staying this current course for Haraldsson’s senseless campaign will end with us dead, for no good reason. Dying while raiding a village or plundering some lord’s castle is not dying in “glorious combat.” There’s no glory in that. No Valhalla.
Freya sighs again as she looks at me, and this time, she smiles wryly. “Aye, I know.”
“Do you?”
She rolls her eyes at me. “Yes, Tor.”
“So, we agree that you’ll take these horses back in the morning?”
She and Ivar both start to protest, but one sharp raise of my brow silences them.
“Aye,” Ivar mutters. “Fine. We’ll return them.”
Erik is quiet a moment as he studies me.
“Why are you half-naked?”
I scowl.
“It’s warm out.”
“So warm that you decided to air out your balls, eh?” Ivar snorts, nodding at my half-unlaced breeches.
My jaw grinds as the four of them chuckle.
“Tor’s found himself some company,” Bjorn says slyly.
“Oh?” Erik crosses his arms over his chest. “You? You have actually taken a woman?” He whistles. “We were actually beginning to wonder, Tor—”
I cut him off with a snarl, and he grins.
“Who is she?”
“A highland girl,” Bjorn throws in. I turn and glare at him, but he just keeps going.
“A lord’s daughter.”
The other three go silent.
“You…” Ivar frowns. “You stole a lord’s daughter, and you’re mad at us for taking fucking horses?”
I keep my mouth shut; my face grim.
“That was a shit idea, Tor,” Freya mutters, shaking her head. “Men and not thinking with the right head, gods.”
I relent with a small grin, shaking my head.
“It isn’t like that. And I didn’t steal—”
Bjorn cuts me off with a stern look and I clear my throat.
“I may have stolen her, but it’s not what you think.”
“Oh?” Erik glares at me. “And then what is it, Tor? You’ve found true love? Going to marry this girl and make her your—”
“Yes.”
My voice is steel and ice as it cuts through the air, and the four of them instantly go quiet.
Erik’s brows go up.
“Well this is interesting.”
“That’s one way of saying it,” Bjorn growls.
“A highlander lord’s daughter…” Ivar whistles lowly. “There’ll be trouble, you know. Big trouble.”
“Aye, there may be,” I growl. “But it is my trouble to deal with.”
Erik grins. “And take all the fun yourself? No, Tor. Should trouble come, it will be ours to deal with.”
I shake my head. “No. I won’t ask that of you.”
“Then don’t,” Freya shrugs. “But you must know by now how bad we are at listening to you.”
I grin. “Aye. A downright mutinous crew you are.”
Ivar eyes me, his face still hardened.
“And are you prepared to fight her kinsmen when they come for her? Kill her father, brothers, whoever?”
My jaw tightens. I know the answer is no, and that knowledge alone is enough to make my head twist around. I’ve never shied away from a fight, nor from bloodshed. I know in my heart that I’d kill for Rhona. But I won’t kill her kin.
My friends and their newly acquired horses go off to find some ale and food, but I stay by the fire a minute more, looking into the flames.
Rhona and the way I feel for her is a conflict with who I am as a warrior and as a fighter. But there’s no hard choice there. For her? I’d give it all up. All the riches, all the glory, all the rush that comes from battle.
Because she’s the greatest rush. My greatest treasure. My only glory.
The flames lick at the starry sky as I while, hunger in my eyes as I storm back for the tent, and to my woman.
Chapter 8
Rhona
When I hear the tent flaps open, I’m seething.
I know it’s Tor—somehow, I just know. So I’m not worried about it being someone else coming in here to find like this. But I’ve been growing angrier and angrier for the last however long I’ve been in here, naked and tied up… still.
He’s wordless, and when I hear him move onto the big bed behind me, his weight shifting it beneath my knees, I tighten my scowl.
“My little—”
“Don’t you sweet talk me,” I snap, fuming as I kneel on the bed, hands still bound behind my back, and the air teasing over my bare nipples and between my thighs. I can feel Tor tensing behind me.
“What is this?” he growls.
My jaw tightens as I snap my head around, glaring at him out of the corner of my eye.
“What is this? This is you leaving me tied up and naked in your tent!”
Tor chuckles, and my blood boils.
“And this is amusing to you?”
His laugh is deep and rumbling, and I want it to make me even madder, but when his big warm hand slides over my bare hip, I bite back the moan of pleasure.
“Yes, little bird,” he chuckles deeply. “It is.”
“Well I’m so very glad that I’m able to amuse—”
“I am sorry, Rhona.” His words are deep and low, rumbling through the air as I feel him move in close to me from behind.
Damnit.
Instantly, the attitude and the indignant spitefulness I’ve been building up inside of me begins to melt away. Quickly, I gather it back up, determined to be mad at this man for leaving me like he did.
“Anyone could have walked in!” I snap.
“No, they couldn’t have. And they wouldn’t have. They know this is my tent.”
My scowl deepens. “And if they had?”
“They would not have.”
I grind my teeth. He’s avoiding the question.
“Well, if they had,” I mutter, “they would have walked in on me without a stitch of clothing on, tied up on your damn bed like a… like a….” I shake my head, anger fuming through me.
“Like a whore!”
There’s a second of silence after my outburst, and I shiver as I feel Tor’s warm, bare chest rise and fall against my back with his measured breaths.
“Have you tied many whores up in your bedroom, little bird?”
My scowl deepens.
“Have you?” I snap, immediately acutely aware that I don’t think I want to know the answer.
“No,” Tor growls.
“So just girls you didn’t pay at all?”
I can feel him scowl behind me.
“No, little bird. I have not.”
“No stolen highland ladies? All those farm girls you’ve kidnapped to ravage and have your filthy way with?”
Tor’s hand slides around my neck, making me gasp before he gently cups my jaw and turns me as he cranes his head around me, until we’re looking into each other’s eyes.
“No, Rhona,” he growls. “And I don’t steal ladies and farmer’s daughters away, not for… ravaging,” he grins wickedly. “Nor for anything else.”
“Lies.”
His hard smile flashes at me.
“Stories, everything you’ve heard.”
“You’re a Viking,” I spit. “Stealing women away to ravage is what you do.”
Slowly, his eyes never leaving mine, Tor shakes his head.
“It’s not what I do,” he growls lowly, his face hardening. “You want to know my sins, little bird? Fine. I’ve killed. Pillaged, stolen, plundered. I’ve burned down homes and castles, I’ve pirated merchant ships and wagon trains. I’ve made myself wealthy taking what isn’t mine. I’ve cut men in two—good men, some of them.”
His eyes narrow at me as he slowly shakes his head.
“But I do not, and never have, taken a w
oman for… that. You’ll find that despite the stories and legends about us, that none of my men do either. Other tribes perhaps do, but not mine. Not my people. If I were to learn of even my closest friend laying hands on an innocent woman in that way, I’d cut them down where they stand.”
I swallow, trying to be mad at him, but losing the battle. Damnit why does this particular Viking savage have to be so damn noble? It makes wanting to hate him very, very hard.
“And yet here I am,” I spit back. “Stripped naked by you, with your hands having been very much laid on me.”
There’s a spark of fire that blazes in his eyes for a moment as he studies me.
“So, what am I?” I hiss. “Your little plaything? Your little prize from your conquest?”
He smiles thinly, his eyes blazing.
“Is that what you wish to be?”
I glare at him, and slowly, Tor beings to grin—those white teeth and steely grey eyes flashing.
“Go on, lie to me, little bird,” he groans. “Tell me you haven’t thought about exactly that—of being my little toy to tease.”
His hand slides up my side, fingers brushing every rib until my skin prickles and my pulse skips. His hands slide over my breasts, cupping them firmly as his fingers roll over my nipples. I gasp, arching my back and whimpering in spite of myself as his hands burn over me.
“My little plaything, to taste.”
His mouth grazes the back of my neck, sliding around to find the sensitive spot between my collarbone and my ear. And when his teeth graze my skin, I gasp. His lips fasten tight, sucking at the tender spot as his tongue teases my skin, and I moan, wantonly pushing my body back against his. His rock-hard muscles burn hot against my skin, and when I feel something hard pressing against my ass, I whimper, knowing what it is.
“My little captive,” Tor growls heavily into my ear, making me shiver. “To fuck.”
His hand slides deep between my legs, and when his fingers slide over my slick heat, I cry out in pleasure. Tor chuckles, the sound rumbling through me.
“Just as I thought,” he purrs into my ear.
“Nice and wet for me.” He laughs deeply. “Tell me again that you’re mad at me for leaving you such as this,” he groans against my skin. “Tell me how angry you are. But your naughty little cunt tells me a different story, Rhona. Your eager little pussy tells me you’ve very much enjoyed being my tied little captive. Have you been aching for me to come back and touch your little cunt? Have you been desperate and aching for me? So wet that it drips down your pretty thighs?”
