The Seducer (Viking Warriors) (5 page)

“All of it.”

When she tried to move her hand, he clasped it and pressed her palm to his chest. “Nay, sweetling. I will not let you off so easy. Which part find you strange?”

She snorted. “Methinks you should not be called seducer, but nagger.”

“Mayhap. Still, I would have an answer.”

Her brows met, she focused on his shoulder, her fingers flexing within his grasp. “’Tis strange to hold another inside you. ’Tis strange to have both pain and pleasure all at once. ’Tis strange that you know of my half-sisters.”

“Ah, we come to the crux of it.” He brought her palm to his mouth and suckled the sweet center. “You would have answers to your questions. So be it. I honor my vows.”

A slice of moonlight lit the round chamber. The two open shutters thudded against the castle walls. Summer aromas, sweet pea blossoms, sprouting tree buds, and fresh sprung grass perfumed the room. He’d lit a fire to take the chill from the air, but the roaring flames had long subsided to the odd blue licks and bursts skipping o’er the logs.

“I need not your answers. Deidra betrayed us. ’Tis the only explanation.” Her ruby lips canted down, and that arrogant nose flared.

Jarvik gathered her close. He settled her unyielding body on his lap and draped a bed blanket over her back. “In the pond, you asked if you knew me.”

Her head jerked up. Eyes wider than chestnuts searched his features. She shook her head. “I feel as if I know you. As if I have seen you afore. ’Tis there but not. A memory. Like trying to catch a snowflake on your tongue. You feel the chill, but there is naught there.”

Jarvik repressed a grin. How had the legendary seducer fallen to such depths? That the one woman whose siren smile beguiled his dreams, the lone female whose green eyes had bedeviled him for so many seasons, that one woman had only a fleeting memory of him.

“I fostered at your father’s castle some winters ago. I was one of many pages training to earn my warrior spurs.” He toyed with a silky lock. “You followed me around like a lost pup.”

The fine arch of her brows rose. She shook her head and touched the corner of his eyes. “I have seen eyes this blue only once.”

His lips quirked. “Aye. You wanted me to lie on the sky so you could compare the blues.”

She pummeled his shoulder. “Nay! You cannot be he. The brother of The Bear of the North?”

“Aye. The one whose kisses you sought.” Jarvik knew the instant full memory returned to her, for rosy hues dusted her face and throat. A moonbeam caressed the hollows and ridges of her cheeks.

She groaned and covered her face. “I was but a foolish young girl.”

“You were a girl blossoming into womanhood. Unfurling like a flower that summer. I watched you, but honor prevented me from responding to your pleas.” Had he revealed too much? For ’twould not do to let her know the hold she had on him, not until he had secured her affections and loyalty.

“I was shameless. Wanton. Begging you for kisses. I cannot believe that I am now wed to you. What strange trick has fate played on me?”

Jarvik pried her fingers away and edged his fist under her chin. “That winter after my fostering ended, when I went returned to my brother’s keep, I bid him arrange our betrothal.”

“Betrothal? I know not of this.”

Jarvik tested the pulse at the base of her throat, pleased when he found her life’s force beating strong. “Your mother took sick that winter, and neither you nor your father ever left her side.”

Her long lashes lowered. “What do you tell me, my lord?”

“That the contracts were never completed. Your father was…” He searched for the right words.

“My father was insane with worry. He scoured the lands for healers.” She plucked at the woolen blanket. “To no avail.”

“I saw what was between them. Your father, King Crínán, and your mother.”

He savored her nape, licking the sensitive skin, enjoying her slight shiver when his mouth skated to her ear.

“My mother, the caliph’s concubine.” Her lips twisted. “I am the concubine’s daughter.”

“I had ne’er seen such between a man and a woman. He treated your mother as his equal. Sought her counsel on all matters.” Jarvik hugged her closer, sharing his heat, hoping to warm her limbs. “I came to know your mother. I respected her.”

Her nails dug into his shoulders. She blinked rapidly. “You respected a concubine? A female slave from a harem? A woman trained to do naught but pleasure a man?”

“Aye. She taught me chess. I bested her on more than one occasion.”

A cloud shadowed the moon. She bent her head and whispered, “I had not the patience for the game. Mama despaired of me ever winning.”

The sadness in her voice clutched at his heart. “Tell me of her.”

“My father, King Crínán, stole my mother from the Caliph of Constantinople’s harem. He married her in the Christian way. The Highland women never accepted her as Queen, or me as one of them.”

He knew of the slights of the Highland noblewomen. “You are my wife now. All will grant you the respect due you.”

A sad smile lifted her lips. “Naught will change. ’Tis not something that can be ordered and delivered. Friendship. Welcome.”

“Deidra is your friend.”

“Nay.” She shook her head. “She betrayed us.”

For a mere breath, their eyes met. “She is your friend. ’Twas only when we heard that your uncle had sent men hunting for you and the babes that Deidra told me where to find you. But I had been searching for you since your father’s death.”

“My father’s murder,” she fair spat the words. “My mother’s murder.”

“I have long suspected both.”

Her lips quivered, and she breathed as if recovering from a long, hard gallop. Her attention flitted to the window, his shoulder, the staircase. She worried the plump flesh of her lower lip, reddening the color to a bright scarlet. “Deidra told you?”

“Aye. “ She tried to shove away from him, but Jarvik rolled her over, and settled between her legs. “I needs know from you, wife, if I am to protect you and your sisters.”

She met his stare full on and did not speak for long moments. Jarvik knew she was assessing her situation and judging how much to tell him. He had wed a woman of great intelligence. When he had fostered at her father’s castle, he’d been amazed at the number of tutors dedicated to a daughter. Learned scholars from far lands had been brought to the Highlands to teach Elaina.

“In the space of one winter, Mama went from being hale to sickly. I was but a girl of thirteen summers and preoccupied with…you. I never noticed until her hair began to fall out. We had the same hair.”

“Aye.” He combed her tresses. “’Tis a crowning glory. I know why you wore the wimple. No man could forget the sight of you with unbound hair. But, I digress. Pray continue.”

“My father summoned all the healers in the kingdom.” Her voice wavered, and she averted her eyes, and fixed her gaze on the far wall. “If only I had not been such a frivolous, spoiled, selfish girl. Mayhap I could have prevented her death.”

“Nay. Seek not to blame yourself. What is done is done. Was it poison?” He rubbed the tear rolling down her cheek sweeping away the moisture.

“The last healer believed so, but ’twas never proved. My father nigh wasted away. He went through each day as if in a fog. Refused to convene season gatherings. Feuds broke out in the kingdom, yet he made no attempt to resolve the quarrels. His advisors and I urged him to marry again.” Her jaw clenched.

“Queen Maude.”

She snorted. “She bore him my two half-sisters. Maude and I had no liking for each other, and I came to hate living in the keep. I asked my father to let me apprentice with our healer. He agreed, and I went to live in her croft in the castle’s forest.”

“’Twas how you became a healer.” His cock twitched, but he ignored the pesky fellow. “Were you there during the Norse raid when your father and Maude were killed?”

“Norse raid—Satan be damned!” She rolled her eyes. “’Twas my uncle and his sons. I had taken the girls to the croft unbeknownst to all. Maude misliked me spending time with them, so I oft snuck them out of the keep. Our steward sent his son to warn me. I knew that my uncle would kill us, so I took the girls and left.”

He reached for his tunic. “Lift your arms, sweetling. You have goose flesh on your shoulders.”

“I can find my cyrtel.”

“Nay. ’Tis my duty and pleasure to provide and protect you and our progeny.”

He pulled the soft linen over her head and helped her with the sleeves. “You are fetching indeed, bride, dressed in naught but my tunic.”

She shook her hair free of the open neck, and her fingers went to the tie the loose laces. He stayed her hands. “Nay. I would have my fill of you. I will warm some water to cleanse your virgin’s blood from your puss, thighs, and my cock.”

“’Tis my duty to see to you, my lord.” She straightened the tunic and tried to stand.

“I am your lord, am I not?” He kissed the tip of her nose and cuddled her close, keeping her secured to his side.

“Aye.” She frowned.

He cupped her breast and tickled the tip. “Then ’tis for me to give you your duties. And I say your duty at this moment is to let me care for you.”

She watched his every movement when he left the bed, and Jarvik couldn’t suppress a grin when her stare locked onto his buttocks, then flickered to his turgid cock, and dropped to fix upon his stones. Ambling to the window, knowing her quick mind plotted escape, he let a wide smile form. For she was his, and he would never let her far from his presence.

’Twas full on night, and the moon had surrendered its dominance to a heavy cloud cover. He arched, kneaded the small of his back, and leaned out the window. The air had that dense thick quality that portended a mighty storm. A hint of sulfur that spoke of Thor shedding violent thunder. His lightning bolts would chase away the summer sweetness of earlier.

Jarvik crouched and reached for the bowl adjacent to the dancing flames.

“Nay.” She rose on her forearms. “Use a cloth, please. Have a care for your hands.”

“My hands are as tough as leather, but I thank you for your concern.”

He snatched a few drying cloths, grabbed the bowl, and set it down beside the pallet. He yearned to light a dozen candles, set every wall lamp to blazing, and wile away the hours imprinting her image on his brain, tasting her honey, and suckling her cinnamon-tipped breasts.

Instead, he readied a square cleaning cloth, dampened the fabric, lifted the blanket from her torso, and cupped her mound.

She gasped, and he looked up to find color rioting over every inch of her flesh. One nipple poked through the tunic’s loose lacings, and his mouth watered. Her lips quivered. She clamped the succulent ruby flesh together and averted her eyes.

“What lass? Ask of me what you will. ’Tis this? That I cleanse the sweetest honey a man can hope to savor. That I stare upon your woman’s folds as if I have the most precious treasure that exists?”

“My mother spoke of this oft.” One white tooth snagged her lip. “But she never converted to the Christian faith as I did. My father insisted I learn not only from my foreign tutors, but also from the priest. ’Tis the most foul, wicked act, the priest said. But ’tis not the truth, for it is most delicious.”

Jarvik repressed a smile and wrung out the linen. She found puss eating wicked and delicious. Mayhap she would think of cock sucking in the same manner. His rod twitched in hopeful anticipation.

“I have heard that your Pope keeps a mistress in every port. That he has dozens of scattered bastards in every city. Are you a zealot, Elaina? Do you care of naught but what the church thinks?”

“The church calls me a harlot, a slave of unclean lineage. Nay, I care not what the priests preach. Though I am not a heretic, no matter what others say.”

“’Tis a serious crime, heresy. Has any accused you?”

“Nay. But there are whispers.”

She didn’t object when he hauled her onto his lap, settled her on his thighs, and arranged her legs on either side of his waist. “No more. Any who whispers ill of you will bear the bite of my sword. I will not have any man, woman, or child malign my wife or her sisters.”

Ducking her chin, she fumbled with the tunic’s lace. “I thank you, my lord.”