Ravished by a Viking (4 page)

They climbed the snow-packed trail to the iron gate, which creaked slowly upward. More
Ulf hednar
warriors rushed forward, forming a phalanx around their leader as he traipsed through the compound toward the keep.

Ignored, Birget trudged behind them, her misgivings turning into irritation. Were they all this rude? She was a princess, which held certain rights. Never had she been so demeaned.

The keep’s great metal doors slowly opened, and they stepped inside. Birget stared at the rough-hewn stone that served as the flooring, at the equally unpolished rock walls. No carpets warmed the floor, but rich tapestries hung on the walls to tell the glorious, bloody past of the clan.

At the far side of the hall, the largest of the tapestries told the ancient tale of the ancestors’ journey to this cold world. The Bifrost, which she’d only just discovered was real, was featured at the center, a blinding rainbow leading from the grass- and lichen-covered fjords of Midgard to the perpetually snow-covered plains of New Iceland. The small figures of the original settlers were shown as they stepped off the bridge, and the many animals they’d brought along to populate their new world spilled from their wooden cages.

Those first settlers had believed they’d been dropped into Niflheim, the cold realm of Hel, goddess of the Underworld. But it hadn’t taken long for them to realize they’d been tricked into serving as slaves to an alien culture in an inhospitable world they were uniquely suited to survive.

“Are you coming?” Dagr asked, his voice tinged with impatience.

Birget shook back her hair and lifted her chin, aiming her glance upward to meet his cold gaze. “Are you talking to me? Because I thought you’d forgotten my existence.”

His lips twitched, but he extended his arm, urging her to precede him into the great hall to the right of the entryway.

She blinked as she entered. In the foyer, all comfort had been scrubbed clean, but here warmth and pale, sunny colors filled the room, and she instantly understood the reason. This was the women’s realm.

Female servants bustled, rubbing beeswax into oak tables, and scouring the smooth stone floor with woolen mops while children played with wool-hair dolls in a far corner. Food was carried in on large platters, and bread trenchers set on long planked tables. The smell of roasted meat and onions permeated the air and her stomach growled. Heat spilled from grates set in the floor, chasing away the chill and allowing the women to wear single-layer, long-sleeved gowns cut from thin twill, much as the servant women in her own home wore.

Dagr led her to a dais at the end of the hall where the lord’s table rested. Two women waited at the top of the stairs with their hands folded in front of them, smiles wreathing their faces at his approach.

When he leapt up the steps, Dagr held out his arms and they rushed forward, pausing to curtsy, before lifting their faces to receive a kiss on their smiling mouths.

“We feared you’d be delayed,” the taller one said. A long golden braid was wound into a coronet atop her head. Her sleeveless overgown was made of fine red wool; the pale, long-sleeved shift underneath was thin enough to show all her feminine parts, had it not been for the gold belt that kept the overgown in place. A thick gold band, almost like a thrall’s cuff, encircled one wrist and was engraved with the shape of a running wolf.

Birget stiffened. So she was one of Dagr’s concubines. Birget gave the woman’s features a more thorough inspection but was unimpressed by her round cheeks and bright blue eyes. She wasn’t a beauty, only a healthy, sturdy woman like so many of their breed.

The other woman was shorter, her figure more rounded. Her hair was a nondescript brown, which she wore down with a gold circlet to keep it off her face. Her clothing was brown and gold, the undergown made of a more conservative fabric than the first concubine’s. This one was older than Dagr, and Birget wondered what he saw in her. She was past childbearing age, or should have been. But her soft smile as she greeted Dagr held a hint of what must attract him. Happiness glowed in her pink cheeks.

Uncomfortable, and again ignored, Birget shifted restlessly beside him.

His gaze dropped to his side. “These are Astrid and Tora. You will reside with them in my quarters until I return.”

The blonde’s eyes widened. “But she’s
Valkyrja
, Dagr. Are you certain she shouldn’t be housed in the barracks?”

Birget snorted. At least the woman realized the threat she posed.

Dagr rested a hand on the fair-haired woman’s shoulder. “Astrid, she’s my brother’s betrothed. She belongs in my care.”

Astrid lifted a brow and gave Birget another sweeping glance. “I’ll find clothing more suitable for a woman in our king’s household.”

Birget bristled, recognizing the subtle challenge the other woman had thrown down. “I prefer what I’m wearing.”

One fine blond brow arched. “But it will soon reek if you don’t change.”

Dagr’s snort drew both their glances, and the corners of his lips curved. The smile did not reach his eyes. “You will give these ladies no trouble while I’m gone, Princess.”

“And who will be here to ensure my cooperation?”

Dagr lifted a hand, waving a tall, older warrior closer. “This is Odvarr, a member of
my
personal guard. I am not a soft old man who humors his womenfolk. Should you prove difficult, Odvarr has my permission to administer a woman’s proper punishment.”

Both Astrid and Tora pressed their lips together to hold back their smiles.

Birget gave Dagr a fierce scowl, knowing full well what a Viking considered “proper.” However, her bottom hadn’t been spanked since she was a child. She turned to aim a daggerlike glare at the guardsman.

Odvarr’s dark, shaggy brows rose. His beefy hands rested on his well-muscled hips.

“He’s not a lazy bear,” Dagr whispered, bending toward her ear. “He won’t let you win.”

“Do you really think I cannot take him?” she replied angrily. To ignore her was one thing; to impugn her fighting skills was quite another.

Dagr grunted and straightened. “It would almost be worthwhile to watch a contest between you two. Sadly, my ears wouldn’t take the shrieking when you lose.”

Her mouth fell open. He had no respect for her skills or her heritage. If she allowed him to leave her among these people, she’d never prove her worth.

Birget stiffened her back and wiped all emotion from her face. Let him think she’d resigned herself to her fate. The bastard would learn soon enough she wasn’t to be dismissed.

Aye, she’d show him the deadly sharpness of a bear’s claws.

Three

After dinner, Dagr stood watching as Tora led the
Valkyrja
from his chambers to find a bath and suitable clothing. The woman hadn’t said a word throughout their meal, which should have been a relief. She’d been equally silent when he’d brought her here to share a drink. He’d wanted to welcome her, but she’d remained stubborn. Dagr didn’t trust the surly pout of her mouth.

“That one’s going to be a handful,” Astrid murmured as the door closed. Her arms encircled his waist from behind, and her palms drifted downward to cup his swelling sex.

“She’s a woman,” he said, gripping her hands and slipping them inside his trousers to enjoy the greedy grasp of her long fingers. “She will learn her place.”

“I don’t think Birget understands how fortunate she is to be marrying with men such as you or your brother.” Her fingers stroked the length of him, squeezing and tugging until his cock thickened.

Dagr let his eyelids drift half-closed, finally beginning to relax after a long day filled with worries over his brother and the preparations for the next day’s journey. This was what he needed from a woman. All he needed. “I’m afraid Birget would disagree. She is fierce. She could be dangerous. Don’t underestimate her.”

“Odvarr will never be far.”

Blood beating in a sensual thrum, he pulled her hands free and drew her slowly around his body.

As she stepped in front of him, Astrid’s pink mouth stretched into a sly smile. Her eyes sparkled with humor. “She interests you.”

Dagr arched an eyebrow. “She’s my brother’s woman. And while clan law grants me the right to have her first, I will not take her. She’s not the sort of woman I want.” His hands reached down and clasped her buttocks, bringing her belly against his wakening cock.

Astrid grinned. “Am I more to your liking, milord?” she asked, growing breathless.

Keeping his expression shuttered, he waited for her gaze to meet his. “You serve my needs,” he said, his words measured.

Astrid’s smile faltered, but only for a moment. She drew in a deep breath and pressed her body closer. “I’m glad I have you to myself.”

Dagr knew he had hurt her, but he’d never lied to her or Tora about his wants and expectations. He lifted his hands and dug his fingers into her scalp to tilt back her head and kiss her full mouth.

Astrid responded eagerly.

She was the widow of his best friend, killed in a “friendly” skirmish with Birget’s clan. When Bren died five years previous, Dagr had done his duty by offering Astrid a place in his household and hadn’t regretted it. She’d proven loyal and a good helpmate. Her skills with herbs and healing complemented Tora’s green thumb. Together, they ministered to the ill and injured.

He rubbed his lips in circles over hers, thrust his tongue into her mouth, and widened his stance. Actions meant to evoke the desired response and kill any further conversation.

Her body ground closer. Her ripe, womanly scent surrounded him, pulled him deeper into arousal. Dagr walked Astrid backward toward his bed and the
Berserkir
girl faded from his mind.

They fell amid the covers and pillows, both struggling with their own clothing until they lay together panting and nude.

Astrid’s body never failed to please him. Long limbs, round breasts, full hips. He enjoyed her sturdy frame and lush curves. With this one, he needn’t be gentle.

Dagr pushed a knee between her legs to ease them apart, then settled over her, his cock nudging her moist folds.

Astrid groaned and slipped a hand between them. She wrapped her fingers around his shaft and pumped once before feeding his cock into her body.

Braced on one elbow, Dagr skimmed a hand over a rounded breast, pausing to scrape a rough thumb over a sharpening nipple, before gliding down her taut middle to her hip.

Astrid strained upward to kiss him, then smiled against his mouth and let her head fall to the pillow. She lifted her hips. When he cupped her bottom, she began to undulate, dragging her slick channel up and down his shaft.

Blood pumping, muscles straining, Dagr sank his face against her shoulder and gripped her ass in his palms, grinding his cock deep inside her.

“I would please you,” she whispered.

“You do,
elskling
.” He drew back and thrust harder, watching her face for the familiar signs that she neared her peak.

Her cheeks flushed a creamy rose; her eyelids dipped; her gaze blurred. Moist and lush, her mouth parted, softening around shallow gasps.

Sex play was a particular skill he possessed. He’d competed as a younger man in bedsport, often with company, learning his way around a woman’s body. Astrid, an experienced woman even before she took Bren as husband, had added to his expertise, bestowing acts guaranteed to satisfy the lustiest appetite.

These days, she didn’t pout so much over the fact she’d lost stature as the only woman in his household or that he enjoyed the occasional dalliance with an unencumbered woman. Still, she defied him in subtle ways, ensuring his continued interest.

Her eyelids lifted, her blue gaze issued a feminine challenge, and then she squeezed her inner muscles, caressing his cock.

Caught by her sensual play, he slowed his thrusts and closed his eyes, his jaw clenching. His balls hardened and drew closer to his groin. “Witch!”

She laughed, a throaty sound that tightened his groin further.

Dagr pulled free, crawled from between her legs, and turned her roughly with his hands while she giggled like a younger girl and came up on her hands and knees in front of him.

Astrid tossed back her long hair and turned her head to give him a wicked grin, her blue eyes flashing.

With a quick move, he slapped her bottom, then fisted her hair and tugged. A soft gasp escaped her lips, and she arched her back, lifting her ass in invitation.

He gripped his shaft and placed the blunt crown at her entrance and again slammed forward, her soft, plush mounds cushioning him and jiggling with the forceful strokes.

All playfulness drained from him, and he hammered her pussy, ignoring her groans and pleas for him to end it. Then the tension in his balls cramped. Muscles burning, he shouted and pounded faster. At the first hot, slick wash of her pleasure, he unleashed his own, his seed pumping deep.

When he slowed, she dropped her chest to the bed, her face turning to the side. A smile stretched her mouth. “I’m a lucky woman.”

“As I am a very lucky man,” he growled, collapsing atop her to nuzzle into the corner of her neck, her rose and sage scent tickling his nose.

They lay like that, still connected, until the door closed quietly. He opened his eyes to find Tora striding into the room, her soft, full curves swaying as she neared the bed.

Dagr rolled off Astrid and lifted an arm, inviting Tora to settle on the mattress beside him. “Is our little hostage resting now?”

She wrinkled her blunt nose and grinned. “I doubt it. She allowed me to bathe her, but she’s planning something.”

Dagr cupped her ample breast through her shift. “Odvarr stands at her door?”

Her soft smile widened. “Odvarr hopes she will try to escape. She insulted his manhood all the while he hovered over me.”

Dagr kissed her soft cheek. “You should accept Odvarr’s suit. He would be a good husband to you.”

Tora blushed. “Perhaps I will. But only when I know you’re happy, milord.”

Dagr grunted. Tora worried over everyone’s
happiness
. Didn’t she know a man needed only a full belly and a warm woman beside him to make him content? “You think I’m not happy?”

Tora traced the edge of his jaw with a finger, while her clear blue gaze sought his. “You have yet to accept a woman as your wife. When you succumb, I will be satisfied.”

Dagr snorted. “What need have I of a wife? Eirik is my heir,” he said stubbornly. His chest tightened. His brother would be found.

“A wife would see to your heart’s needs, milord,” she whispered.

Dagr plucked the circlet from the top of her head, then pushed a lock of her brown hair behind her ear. “You will never understand the mind of a warrior.”

Always so pliable, this time Tora arched a brow and drew back her head. “I was married to one. And he did come to love me. So I know you only posture.” She sighed, and then rose from the bed, drawing off her clothes and hanging them on the hooks beside the door.

Always methodical, always so feminine in the way she saw to his comforts and the tidiness of his rooms, she glided around the chamber, covering the pots of ore to douse the light, leaving only one so that he could enjoy the sight of the two women as they all made love.

Tora had come to him as Astrid had. As a widow.

At first, her grief had kept her from his bed. Then Astrid’s possessiveness had left Tora reticent about admitting her desire for him. When at last she’d gathered her courage and approached him, he’d cautioned Astrid to accept her or find another’s bed to warm. Over time, the women had come to an understanding and forged a strong friendship. All without bothering him again over the details.

When Tora returned to the bed, she glanced at Astrid, who lay on her side, a thigh draped over Dagr. “’Tis our lord’s last night here. Shall we show him how much we shall miss him?”

Dagr lifted his brows, any fatigue he’d felt fading at the sparkle of mischief in his concubines’ eyes. What need had he of a wife when he had two lovely, intelligent women so intent on giving him pleasure?

Astrid laughed, a sultry sound that rasped along his spine.

Tora sank onto the bed beside him, smiling, her sweet floral scent and plump curves snuggling close.

Astrid came to her knees and bent over him, trailing her long hair down his belly as she lapped at the edges of the large tattoo that wrapped around one side of his torso.

Tora pressed light, wet kisses against his cheeks and mouth, then set her head on her hand and traced a finger around the curve of his shoulder, gliding down to the gold ring banding his upper arm. Her finger skimmed the wolf’s head etched into the metal.

Calm left her expression as her cheeks filled with hectic color. Her eyes danced with pleasure. “Have I told you how handsome you are?”

As always, one woman challenged his mind for attention while the other began to tease his body. Astrid’s mouth was gobbling up his softened shaft, making lusty noises as she consumed him. “I’d rather have you extol my prowess in the lists or this bed,” he growled.

“Such a man, you are,” Tora said, shaking her head.

Astrid backed off his cock and licked around the crown.

He dragged in a deep breath and forced his attention back to the woman beside him whose keen eyes gleamed with humor. “You say that as though it were a flaw,” he muttered.

“If you have a flaw, milord, it’s your stubborn belief that a woman serves only two purposes.”

“I’m not ignorant of everything you and Astrid do for this clan,” he said, grasping her hand and bringing it to his mouth to kiss.

Her gaze softened. “We serve you with glad hearts.”

Astrid’s tongue stroked his shaft in long glides, and his body tightened; his balls cramped. He cleared his throat. “A heart beats to push blood throughout a body. How can it be glad?”

This time Tora’s sigh was filled with exasperation. “One day, you will find another purpose for that cold, withered thing inside your chest.”

Dagr kissed her hand again. “Don’t be angry, Tora. I would have our last night be a pleasant memory. I don’t know how long I will be gone.”

Contrition lowered the corners of her lips. “And I’m not serving your needs.”

“But I know that you will,” he said. “You are ever diligent.”

Glancing from beneath her lashes, she laughed. “‘Diligent’ is a pale word for the pleasure we will give you.”

“Prove your words, woman.”

Laughing still, she leaned over him, her mouth following Astrid’s trail down his taut belly.

Dagr placed his hands on their heads and closed his eyes, not caring whose lips and tongue stroked him. A full belly, two warm and willing women ... Morning would bring a new set of problems. For now, he’d enjoy all the pleasures a warrior of the Wolf clan deserved.

Ulfhednar
warriors filled the ice cavern. Dagr nodded his approval at their appearance. Fur leggings and cloaks, ancient metal helmets and breastplates, round shields, short swords, and modified axes for close combat. More frightening were the masks of paint they’d used to demonize their faces and bodies. He hoped they wouldn’t have to battle long, that their appearance served its purpose—to intimidate the Outlanders into a quick surrender.

“I’ve located the ship,” Cyrus said, striding toward him, excitement reddening his dusky cheeks. “It hovers outside our orbit. I’ve estimated a likely entry point, somewhere with enough space to safely transfer your men. I’ll do it in three relays. Since we only have one end of the portal, we won’t be able to return if something goes wrong.”

Dagr grunted. Despite Cyrus’s unfortunate origins, Dagr trusted him. From the moment he’d been tossed out drunk from a supply ship four years previous, he’d thrived among the Vikings, using his vast knowledge of technologies denied this world to help them. “Cyrus, you’ll be in the last wave. I’ll need your expertise to pilot the ship.”

Cyrus grinned. “Aye, aye, Captain.”

Dagr raised a brow, but couldn’t help returning the smile. Adrenaline spiked through his veins. At last, he had a battle worthy of his clan, and he could expend some of the restless energy that had consumed him since his brother had been taken.

They’d left the fortress before dawn, traveling by convoy, but not before they’d been offered a proper leave-taking by those remaining behind.

His people had filled the bailey of the keep to see off the warriors. Tora and Astrid stood silently on the stone steps, offering him their cheeks for a final kiss.

At the last moment, Tora had pulled something from her pocket—a black stone dangling at the end of a leather cord.

He halted her as she rose on tiptoe to slip it over his head. “I have no need of talismans.”