Maidensong (39 page)

She slipped through Farouk’s apartment, skirting his
private room, grateful for the rhythmic huffing and
moaning of the newest and youngest concubine to be
added to the harem. ‘The Wailer,’ she’d overheard
Tariq name the girl. He wasn’t far wrong. Such loud,
overblown passion had the ring of theatrics to Rika’s ears, too overly dramatic not to be feigned.

As she glided silently down the curved staircase to
the courtyard, she knew the risk she was about to take. The master of the house could lie with as many differ
ent women as he wished, but if she and Bjorn were
caught alone together, nothing would stay the hand of
Farouk-Azziz.

It was worth her life to
feel the blood dancing in her veins again.

“My lady.” Al-Amin’s whisper startled her. “It is late for you to be about.”

She put a hand to her chest and willed her breathing to sound normal. “The ride today has given me some pain in muscles I have not used of late. A
long soak in a hot bath will do me good.”

“As you wish, my lady.” The eunuch fell into step be
side her, his bare feet making no sound on the stone
walkway.

When they reached the bathhouse, she stopped
him. “I wish to be alone. Please see that I am not dis
turbed.” She raised a brow at him. “Not even by you.”

He blinked at her, but refrained from arguing. Al-
Amin nodded and turned his back to her, setting him
self to guard the only entrance to the bathhouse.

Rika tiptoed into the cool marble building, her heart
pounding, both hopeful that Bjorn was waiting for her
and terrified that he might be.

A small oil lamp flickered at the edge of the bath.
The deep pool was filled with scented water, rose
petals floating like tiny coracles on the smooth surface.
Ferns draped toward the shimmering liquid. Wisps of
steam curled in the wavering light. The bath was a whole world, a fjord in miniature.

Her gaze darted around the room. She didn’t see Bjorn anywhere. Was he crouched in the garden, stopped by Al-Amin’s formidable presence? Was this his idea of a joke, a punishment for enslaving him, to
lure her here and sneer at her privately?

She sighed.
He’d prepared this beautiful bath for her. That was
something, at least. She would enjoy what she was of
fered.

She shrugged off her
palla
and stepped into the pool, letting the silky water caress her calves, her
thighs, her belly. The water closed over her head
completely and she delighted in the warmth. When she
breached the surface, the breath she drew was heady with the scent of roses. She floated toward the edge where she could sit on the submerged ledge.

Rika leaned against the side of the bath, arms spread
wide, her head resting back on the cool marble floor.
She closed her eyes, trying to
still
her body’s rebellious
complaint. The bath was a sybaritic delight, but oh,
how she wished Bjorn had been there waiting for her.
Every bit of her skin screamed for his touch. She
longed for his kiss. And in her secret place, she ached
for him with a hollow throb that would not be stilled.

The rustle of fabric made her open her eyes. Bjorn
stepped out from behind one of the columns ringing
the bath. He’d been there all along.

He opened his mouth to speak, but she put a finger
to her lips and motioned toward the door. Bjorn nodded in understanding. Then he unwound the sash at his waist and let the baggy trousers fall to the floor.

The lamplight kissed his body, licking over it in wa
vering pulses. Though he had re
gained flesh, she was able to count his ribs. The place
in his thigh where the tree branch had stabbed him was still indented slightly. The old scar writhed on his
right side was joined by a new one that slashed across his chest
in an angry red line just above his nipples. She yearned
to press her lips to
it,
to take away the hurt. Her gaze
traveled the length of his glorious, battered body.

H
e was ready. She drew a ragged breath.
A bead of moisture glistened at the tip of his erection.

Bjorn lowered himself into the bath and pushed
across to her. When he drew near, she reached for him,
but he caught up her hands and held them fast. He
leaned toward her and her wet breasts strained against his chest, skin pressing skin. She yearned to join with him as one drop of water is engulfed by another in a merg
ing so complete there could be no separation without
total annihilation.

His mouth was by her ear, his breath sending a warm shiver of delight down her neck.

“One of two things will happen now,” he whispered. “Either you will scream and whoever is outside the
door will come in to kill me and I will let him.”

She inhaled sharply.

“Or you will let me love you.” He nuzzled her ear-lobe. “And we will somehow leave this house together when Ornolf returns. For by the gods, Rika, I will not take you by halves. I won’t stand by and watch you
wed another man. You will be mine or I will be dead.”
He pulled back to look into her eyes. “Choose.”

“I won’t scream.” Her voice was just a breath.

He covered her mouth with his, all the hurt, all the
longing of the months apart distilled into one purifying
kiss. Rika slid off the ledge and pressed herself against
him. They slipped beneath the water, rolling together, like a pair of sea otters coupling in the surf, only surfacing for lack of air. Bjorn shook his head like a hound coming up out of the water and Rika bit her lip to keep from laughing aloud.

Then suddenly, all amusement faded from his eyes, replaced by smoldering desire. He cupped her face and
covered her with kisses, her eyes, her lips, her neck.
His hands slid down her back and his mouth found her
breasts, suckling the stiff peaks until they ached.

Rika ground herself against him, feeling his swollen shaft slide over her belly and between her
legs. She gasped when part of him entered her, but he
pulled back.

“Please,” she whispered. “I’m burning up.”

He grasped her bottom and lifted her. She wrapped her legs around his torso as he teased her with his stiff phallus.

“I’d see you melt first, my love,” he mouthed into her ear.

Bjorn set her on the edge of the pool and eased her
to lie back on the cool marble. Rika arched her spine
as his hands, those blessed skillful hands, slid from her
shoulders, across the mounds of her breasts, past her
navel and down to spread her legs. She surrendered to
him completely.

When she felt his mouth on her mound, she thought she’d
die of bliss. Then the waves of pleasure focused and coiled in ever-tightening strands. The tension built
to unbearable heights
. When her release came, her
whole being shuddered and she bit the inside of her
cheek to keep from crying out.

She couldn’t imagine feeling more ecstasy. And then he entered her and she knew she was wrong.

There was more.

*
  
*
  
*

His mistress was overlong at her ablutions, Al-Amin thought, even if she
was soaking tired muscles. Despite
her orders not to disturb her, he’d be remiss in
his duties not to check on her well-being. He was
adept at slipping unobserved in and out of places, a
quality that made him doubly useful as an extra pair of
eyes for Farouk-Azziz. His mistress would never know he sneaked a peek to satisfy himself of her safety.

What he saw shocked him to the soles of his bare
feet. It was not the first time he’d witnessed the
act of love. The master often felt that an audience en
hanced his performance, so Al-Amin had stood a silent
watchful vigil, stomach queasy, while Farouk-Azziz
brutally deflowered a virgin purchased for his amuse
ment or savagely rode a randy concubine.

But Al-Amin had never seen two bodies joined in
tenderness, sinuous limbs moving as one in a slow dance of torment and promise. He’d never seen the look of trust and wonder between a man and a
woman. His mistress and the barbarian were lost, their eyes locked on each other as the moment of exquisite
joy wracked them both at once and they strained
against each other in one last spasm of rending and
binding.

Al-Amin slipped away, ashamed. He’d had no idea.
Something so intimate, so sacred was not meant for another to see. When he thought of his mistress submitting to the master’s rough appetites, he shuddered.

My
lady loves the barbarian, Allah help her
. As Al-Amin resumed his guard, he puzzled
over whether he should help her as well.

 
“So with the armband and the man’s sword, you think
you have enough evidence to sway a Lawspeaker?”
Rika asked, threading her way on horseback through
the throng of foot traffic. Bjorn had told her about
Fenris’s dying confession. It was yet another reason for
them to leave this cursed city and head north as soon as possible.

“Ja,
with Jorand’s testimony added to mine along with the sword and armband, it should
be enough to convict Gunnar of murdering our father,” Bjorn said, nudging his horse closer to hers. “
The nine-year sacrifice will be held at this summer’s
solstice. If we can reach Uppsala by then, a court will
be present.”

Neither of them had said it aloud, but Rika wondered whether Gunnar had slated Ketil as one of the sacrifices in the sacred grove despite their agreement. A man who would murder his father couldn’t be trusted to keep a secret promise to a woman. Still, going north was dangerous for Bjorn.

“And what of your oath to Gunnar?” she asked.

“We both know it’s already in tatters.” He met her
gaze with a quick tender smile before carefully guard
ing his expression. He tossed a glance back at Al-Amin, who trudged on a bay gelding behind them. “
The eunuch might not understand Norse, but he is al
ways watching. Last night was a foolish risk.”

“And yet I would not take it back for the world,” she said, her voice husky.

“Nor I,” he admitted. “But we must not be alone to
gether again until we have quit this place. It is too dangerous for you, my love.”

“As oath-breaking is dangerous for you.”

“It’s hard to feel bound to the man who murdered my father,” Bjorn said.

Rika looked at him sharply. Hadn’t she once blamed
Bjorn for Magnus’s death? And here she was, more
tightly cinched to this man than any oath could bind her. He was seared on her heart and she would never
be free of him. Nor did she wish to be. The old skald’s
death would forever pain her, but Bjorn bore no guilt
in it. She realized that now. Even when she’d told him
she forgave him at Birka, a part of her heart
still
held a
bit of smoldering resentment. Now even that tiny
flame was forever extinguished. Magnus had brought
her and Ketil to Hordaland. Bjorn had led the raid.
Another hand held the ax. Who was to say which choice caused the tragedy? It just happened. And now they must move on.

“I’ll risk the consequences of oath-breaking to see
justice done,” Bjorn said, his voice stony as flint. “Be
sides, Gunnar has plundered Sogna long enough. T
here’s no limit to his ambitions—and he’ll stop at nothing to realize them.”

“I don’t think it will be a problem for me to leave,”
Rika said. “I’ll simply tell Farouk-Azziz that I can’t convert to Islam.”

“It will not be so easy as that.” He shook his head. “The Arab will take it as a personal affront. And be
sides, you haven’t been marking him closely if you
think he will release you. Trust me, I know better than you what a man is thinking. His interest in you is not just for cementing trade ties anymore. That jackal
wants you.”

Rika shifted in the saddle uneasily. “
If
that’s true, it’s
only for novelty’s sake,
I’m
sure. He’s amused by my
tales, nothing more. He made his preferences very clear.”

“Unless I’m much mistaken, he’s changed his mind.” Bjorn’s mouth hardened into a
grim line. He dropped behind her as they neared the
big double doors of the house.