Viking Ecstasy (3 page)

"Drink too much of this, and when you bathe, you'll drown," Tabor explained with apparent disgust in his tone.

T
he place where Tabor chose to bathe was a short walk from his hut, off a small finger of rocks that trailed out into the sea. The area was moderately secluded. Nevertheless, Tanaka was mystified that the Vikings apparently bathed with extraordinary frequency—usually every other day —and they usually bathed in the sea, which to Tanaka's Egyptian blood was positively freezing.

"Go on now," Tabor said, squatting on his haunches. On the rocks beside him was a large square of cloth used to dry a person after bathing as well as the spare shirt he had selected for Tanaka. Tabor had a twinkle in his eye as he took a long swallow from the large drinking horn he carried, downing the beer with obvious relish.

Tanaka looked at Tabor, then to the sea. She could drown herself, and that would put an end to her troubles. But if she did, she would be giving up, and that was something she was not yet prepared to do. She had been beaten physically, emotionally, even spiritually, but not broken. Though she had been knocked down by Ingmar, she continued to get back up, and as long as she could continue to see within herself and find something worthy of saving, she would continue to struggle and fight however she could.

With an angry, defiant thrust to her chin, Tanaka asked in her most haughty tone, "I suppose you will be here to protect me?"

Tabor smiled. "Of course. I wouldn't want you to get hurt."

All that was left of the clothes that Tanaka had worn when she was kidnapped by Ingmar the Savage was the torn gown that now hung limply on her curvaceous body. Standing, looking down at Tabor, she thought,
At least he's handsome
, then immediately cursed herself: a handsome barbarian was still a barbarian.

"Where are your guards? Are they watching, too?"

Tabor grinned again. He looked over his shoulder into the trees. "They are out there somewhere, and I suppose they are watching. But they are discreet men, my lady. Their word is their honor, and they are honorable men."

"Where are they?" Tanaka asked, peering into the shadows of the trees.

"You may find the others, but you will not find Sven. If he doesn't want to be seen, then he isn't seen."

Tanaka hesitated a moment longer. Was Tabor's control over his men so great that they could see her naked and not rush forward to force themselves upon her? One savage barbarian was hideous; four would be hell on earth.

"He isn't smoke," Tanaka whispered. "He can't make himself appear and disappear at will."

"You, clearly, do not know Sven. Hurry, now, I have agreed to meet again with Ingmar, and I want him to see how you look when you have been treated properly." Tabor shook his head, sending his long blond hair swirling around his shoulders. "Such a brilliant warrior, but such a stupid man."

There seemed to be much more behind Tabor's conflict with Ingmar than just predatorial adversaries both hunting the same victims; but, at present, Tanaka forced those questions from her mind in favor of more pressing ones—like whether or not she was going to take her gown off, as Tabor had instructed.

"Hurry now!" Tabor said, then drank again from the horn. He leaned back, his massive upper body propped up with an elbow beneath him, his long, powerful legs lazily stretched out toward the sea. "You are making me impatient."

Tanaka turned her back on Tabor, then pulled her gown off and tossed it aside. After stooping to pick up the ham-sized soap made from, among other things, whale blubber, Tanaka dashed into the water.

She had hardly reached knee-deep when the icy water nearly paralyzed her. She inhaled in a great rush and tried to stop her forward movement in a single step. But the slippery rocks beneath the water provided poor traction; and, with arms and legs outstretched and the sound of Tabor's laughter echoing in her brain, Tanaka flipped through the air and crashed into the water. She came to the surface, sputtering and frozen, angry with herself for being foolish enough to run in waters she knew nothing about, mad as hell at Tabor for finding so much humor in her predicament. She stood in waist-deep water, her eyes shooting daggers at Tabor, arms crossed over her bosom to hide her nakedness.

Tabor's laughter subsided presently, and he called out, "Apparently this land you come from has warmer waters."

Tanaka bent her knees, sinking into the water until it was up to her shoulders. To her surprise, after a minute or two, the water didn't seem quite so frigid and in a strange way was rather invigorating.

"Much, much warmer," Tanaka replied. She was farther north than any of her peoples had ever been — farther north than she had thought existed. The winds were coming almost steadily from the north now, with autumn on its way and winter soon behind it. She could only imagine what winter was like in Viking country.

Tanaka was surprised when she rubbed the soap over her skin and it foamed nicely, having both a pleasant cleansing action as well as an appealing fragrance. She rubbed her arms and legs vigorously, getting the blood circulating in the frigid waters, then worked the lather into her long, thick, wavy hair. She rinsed the soap from her hair, then worked up the lather once more; and when she dipped beneath the water a second time, her hair felt as clean as it ever had in her life. The Vikings were barbarians, but at least they made good soap, she concluded.

Tanaka worked the soap over her legs again, displeased with the hair stubble she felt. In her culture, only the lowliest and most slovenly of women would allow hair to grow on their legs, under their arms, or on their pubes. Tanaka had not been allowed to have a razor since her capture; and, even if she had, she doubted she would have used it. What difference did it make if she felt filthy when she was forced to be with barbarians? She had noticed that the custom of shaving was not something the Scandinavian women followed.

However invigorating the icy water was, it wasn't pleasant enough to make Tanaka linger in its cold clutch. Less than six minutes had passed before she was finished and wanted little more than to feel the relative warmth of clean, dry clothes upon her.

She looked over her shoulder at Tabor, who was on the rocky bank, leaning back on one elbow, surveying her with an unreadable look in his blue eyes. Was it lust? Yes, she suspected so. Lust. . . . and something more. But what? He was such a mystery to her. She did not understand his strange and unbending code of honor, nor the bizarre gods he prayed to. Her ability to learn languages quickly made it possible to understand his words; but, beyond that, she understood almost nothing about him at all except that he wanted her as a man wants a woman and yet he would not take her as a barbarian takes a woman.

Who was this Tabor, Son of Thor?

"Skinny creature, come and get warm," Tabor said. He raised the edge of the drying cloth invitingly. "You shiver like a frightened hare. Don't be afraid. I'm not the seawolf you think I am."

It was Tabor's good humor more than anything else that infuriated Tanaka. She squared her shoulders, forced herself to stop shivering, and walked toward land with the bearing and pride of what she was: a High Priestess.

As Tanaka emerged from the sea, Tabor caught his breath. When Ingmar the Savage had foisted the Egyptian captive upon him, Tabor had no intention of keeping her. His first thought was that he would feed and clothe her, then bundle her off to Rollo's, where she could work for her food and lodging and perhaps find herself a husband who would care for her. But now, as he watched her rise out of the fjord, with the grace of a copper-skinned sea-goddess, he thought only of what extraordinary ecstasy he would know by inviting her to his bed and warming her body with the heat of his own.

Tabor had been stunned by Tanaka's beauty even when she was dirty from the arduous trek to Hedeby. Her hair and body were clean now, revealing her comeliness and a regal bearing heightened her physical charms.

She was more slender than Tabor had thought; and, as he watched the clear, cold water streaming down her body and between her breasts as she walked toward shore, he saw she was also more buxom. Unlike those of the tall, blonde, ivory-skinned women Tabor was accustomed to, Tanaka's areolas were a deep brown. Glistening now with sea water, the nipples stood tight and erect from the cold. When the water level reached Tanaka's waist, her stride broke for only a fraction of a second, her gaze challenging Tabor. Another two steps, and the brine splashed the tops of her thighs, exposing her femininity to Tabor.

The visual charge from the sparse triangular thatch of hair and the soft pink flesh gripped Tabor savagely with greater magnitude than it should have for a Viking of his experience.

Inhaling deeply, Tanaka searched inside herself for strength. As she drew breath, her breasts swelled out, rising, drawing Tabor's hungry stare.

Let him look
, Tanaka thought defiantly, her cheeks turning pink with a mixture of anger, helplessness, and embarrassment. He looks at me without clothes and can't speak.
My beauty makes him stupid. ... and I can defeat a stupid man.

She walked up to Tabor and looked down at him, still fighting against the shivers that tried to grip her body. She dropped the bar of strange soap that she had found so pleasant and extended a hand toward the drying cloth. "If you please?"

Tabor's too-confident grin quickly returned. He picked up the towel; but, instead of handing it to her, he set his empty drinking horn down and got to his feet.

"Your hair is so thick," Tabor said, his dry mouth at last able to form words as he stepped behind his newly acquired "slave." "I'll have to dry it last, or the cloth will be too wet to dry the rest of . . ." His words trailed off, but in his mind he concluded with
your magnificent body.

Delicately, as though she were very fragile, Tabor eased Tanaka's thick, heavy, wet hair away from her shoulders, then he began patting her shoulders, arms, and back dry with the cloth. Even as he did this, touching Tanaka's flesh only with the cloth, Tabor was shockingly aware that he was using his power over her to touch her, and this was a direct violation of the code of conduct he had set and rigorously maintained for himself and his men. Could he expect his Viking warriors to follow rules that he could not adhere to himself? This violation made him feel weak, as though his will power —the single, driving force that controlled his life and his beliefs —were no longer strong, true, or unbending.

He dried her body slowly, allowing himself the hypocritical rationalization that if he touched her only with the towel and never with his bare hand, then he really wasn't using power over her for his own sexual pleasure.

He patted dry the small of her back, then knelt behind Tanaka to dry the taut, smooth curves of her buttocks. As he did this, his mouth felt dry; and in the core of his soul, Tabor realized with embarrassing certainty that he had never before been so powerfully affected by a woman's beauty, not even when he was a very young man and the pleasures of sexuality were new and mysterious to him.

He dried her thighs and calves, and Tanaka raised her feet one at a time to allow him to dry them as well.

"Turn around," Tabor said, still kneeling behind the standing woman. "I'll dry your front."

Tanaka half-turned. This, she sensed, was a moment where she might have the ability to recover some of the power over her own life and actions that she had lost in the months since her capture.

"No," she said quietly, with some authority in her tone without being commanding. "I'm quite capable of doing that myself." She extended her hand for the cloth, her brown gaze locked with Tabor's icy blue one as she looked over her shoulder.

For several heavy seconds, they just looked at each other in a silent duel of wills. Then, Tabor's gaze swept slowly down the length of Tanaka's naked body. He met Tanaka's gaze; his grin broadened, and he handed her the cloth.

"Aye, my lady," Tabor said, the mischievous expression on his ruggedly handsome face much too enticing for Tanaka's peace of mind. "Your wish is my pleasure to grant."

I wish you weren't the strongest, tallest, most blatantly virile man I've ever seen
, Tanaka thought, holding the cloth in front of herself modestly.

She dried herself quickly; and, though her skin still tingled from the icy waters of the sea, Tanaka knew in her heart that she tingled from something else —Tabor's touch. It didn't matter to her that he actually hadn't touched her, only the towel he had held had. And, infuriatingly, it didn't matter to her body that she had been given as a gift to Tabor as though she were a commodity to be bought and sold without regard for her own wishes and desires. When he graced her with his rare smiles, Tanaka could understand, at least vaguely, why a woman would want to be with a man. Her entire experience in such matters began and ended with Ingmar the Savage, which had colored how she saw men in every aspect of life.

Lastly, as suggested, Tanaka rubbed her wavy, ebony black hair vigorously with the cloth to dry it. When she was at last satisfied, she held an open hand behind her. "Please?"

She felt the coarse linen shirt against her palm and clenched her fingers around it. But when she started pulling it toward herself, she heard the deep chuckle. Tabor held the opposite sleeve and was refusing to release it.

"Please?" Tanaka asked again, irritated that she should have to ask repeatedly for something that she should be given without hesitation. She tugged again on the shirt, and managed to pull it from Tabor's grasp. One look at his forearms, bulging with muscles, crisscrossed with veins pumping his life's blood, and she knew that he had allowed her to take the shirt from him.

The shirt was heavy, made from the fine wool produced near Hedeby and Kaupang. The tight neckline was made to prevent drafts, and the bottom hem cut a horizontal line across the middle of Tanaka's shapely thighs.

Only when her nakedness was at last covered did she turn to face Tabor. "Thank you," she said quietly, averting her gaze. She was afraid of what she might see in his icy blue eyes. She was also a little surprised that Tabor had allowed her to put the shirt on and that he hadn't yet forced himself upon her. In fact, though he had teased her some, he had behaved astonishingly well.

Or was that deceptively well?

"Come," Tabor said with sudden and surprising brusqueness. "I have a brush at the shelter. You can use that on your hair."

He rose quickly; and, though he made no threatening move toward Tanaka, she took a step away from him. His size alone was threatening, and whenever he moved quickly, her heart seemed to skip a beat.

Tabor took a lock of wet, wavy hair and twisted it around one long finger. "Your hair is so thick, I doubt you will even be able to pull the brush through it."

Tanaka could not tell if that was meant to be a compliment or not. The only thing that she was absolutely certain of was that occasionally Tabor's tone became low, resonating with a confidence and warmth that touched Tanaka deep within her own being in a private and tender place. The tone seemed to imply that whomever Tabor chose to protect would be protected for life. No harm could ever come to anyone under Tabor's protection. It whispered this —and something more: that enemies of Tabor died harsh, violent deaths.

As they headed back to the shelter Tabor shared with his men, Tanaka wondered whether she could continue to receive protection from this great Viking leader without having to share her body with him in return.