Chapter Four
Connell was gone.
Merewyn shoved herself up on her elbow and viewed the empty space in the bed with dismay. She turned, careful to clutch the blanket over her naked breasts and sat up to scan the room.
Vikings were everywhere. She could not count them, but there were more than the four she had seen earlier. And no sign of the baby. Panic mounted as she peered about her. She spied Connells’s cot at the other side of the cottage, but could see that it was empty.
Why have they moved Connell’s bed? And what have these fiends done with my brother?
“P-please…” she whispered. No one heard her. She tried again, louder. “Where is Connell?”
The two Norsemen closest to her turned. One spoke to the other, who shrugged.
“My brother? He was here, and…”
The youth who had been laughing with the blond chief ambled over to offer her a drink of water. Merewyn shook her head and repeated her question but fared no better. It would seem that only the chief understood her language, and he was not present.
The door opened, and he entered. Merewyn was relieved, despite her abject fear of this man. At least he could speak to her and answer her questions. She started to ask again, but the words died in her throat when the Nordic leader was followed through the door by the large Viking she had almost murdered in the forest. Connell sat on the man’s shoulder, his tiny fingers tangled in the Norseman’s dark blond locks. The baby was snugly wrapped in a rough cloak made of furs, rabbit perhaps, and clearly looked to be enjoying himself immensely. He grinned and squealed with delight when the Viking reached up to tickle him.
“Connell!” Merewyn cried out his name, and would have run across the room to pluck her brother from the peril of these wild raiders if her legs would have supported her in such an ambitious endeavour. “Give him back to me. Please.”
The chief paused, then reached to lift the baby down. He murmured something to the other Viking, then carried the boy over to her pallet and passed him to Merewyn. He crouched beside her and held out his hand to the baby. Connell grasped his finger and pulled himself to his feet, then proceeded to bounce up and down.
“You need have no fear. He is safe. We went to feed the chickens and he came with us, is all. He enjoys the task—”
“He does not!” Merewyn protested. “He is too small to be made to work. He is just a baby.” She wrapped her arms around the little boy to still his jaunty dance.
“Aye, but he likes to play, almost as much as he likes to eat. Feeding the chickens is a game to him. His name is Connell, then? We had wondered…”
“Yes,” she whispered, hugging her brother to her. “Connell.”
“And your name?” His voice was gentle. “What are you called, little Celt?”
It would do no harm, surely, to tell him her name. “Merewyn,” she murmured.
“A pretty name. I am Mathios. And this is Arne.” He pointed to the man who had carried Connell on his shoulder. “Arne has taken care of Connell, mostly, whilst you were ill. I have tended you.”
“H-how long was I ill for?”
“It has been five days since we found you. Your baby was crying, fortunately, or we might not have known he was there and could have left him behind in the forest.”
“Five days? It cannot be…” Merewyn was incredulous. And confused. There was no way that Connell would have survived alone for five days. Neither would she, in all probability. These Vikings had cared for her brother, that much was obvious, and probably saved his life. Hers too. But why? Why would they do such a thing when it would have been easier to just let the pair of them die?
“My clothing? Why… why did you remove it?”
His lip quirked in a manner she found singularly disconcerting. “It was wet. I had to make you warm and dry.”
“But—”
“I will not insult your intelligence by seeking to suggest I did not enjoy stripping you, but be assured I did so out of necessity.”
“You did not…? I mean, I am…”
“I did not touch you other than what was required in order to see to your comfort. I am no abuser of helpless women.”
A lie. They were all the same, these Vikings, and her mother had paid the price.
Mathios leaned closer, the blue of his eyes darkening. “You are very tempting, little Merewyn, but you will not be harmed. I will not rape you, and neither will any of my men. That is not to say I do not desire you, but there will be no need for force. You will give me what I want, freely, when the time comes.”
“Never! I will not.” She backed away, broke his compelling gaze.
He smiled, an expression that caused her stomach to clench and a peculiar warmth to spread between her thighs. Merewyn did not much care for the sensation.
“We shall see,” he murmured. “For now, though, I prefer to discuss what happened on the day we found you. What do you recall of it?”
Her head ached. Both stunned and relieved at the shift in conversation, she furrowed her brow as she struggled to remember. “I was outside, on the cliffs. I saw your ship, I was scared, and…”
“Yes, I know. You found Arne in the forest. He was hurt. You picked up a rock.”
Yes, she recalled it now. Vividly. She had not wanted to kill the unconscious man, but knew she had no choice. But then, when the moment arrived…
“Arne says you did not intend him harm. Is that true?”
“I… I do not know.”
The Viking frowned. “You do not know?”
“I am not sure. I thought…”
“It is only because Arne spoke up for you that you are unharmed.” His tone had hardened. “If we are attacked, I will exact retribution.”
She watched him, silent, waiting. Had he brought her here, cared for her, only to enjoy the sport of killing her now?
The Viking, Mathios, regarded her and appeared to be considering his next move. Merewyn’s mouth was dry.
“I trust Arne, and I am prepared to accept his version of what took place. But still we find ourselves in an awkward situation. If you saw our ship you will know that it was wrecked in the storm that day. Of fourteen men aboard just eight survived.” He paused, drew in a deep breath then let it out slowly. “We can repair our ship, but it will take time, and the ship will not be seaworthy before the onset of winter. So, we are stranded here, which means you will have our company for the next few months whether you like it or not.”
Merewyn shook her head, fought to quell the rising panic. “You cannot stay here. This is my home, our home…”
“Sadly, we have no choice. Neither do you.”
“But—”
“You have my word that we mean you no harm. We seek shelter, that is all, and a place to spend the winter since it will be impossible to sail before spring. And we have found what we seek. Here. If you give us no trouble, we will treat you and your baby well. You have already seen that we are capable of it. But I will have your promise, now, that you will not seek to obstruct our plans or to do us harm. You may not choose to make us welcome, I understand that, but you will at least be cooperative and obedient. Do I have your word?”
The very notion was absurd. “There is not the space here for so many. And, I have barely enough food…”
“We will make do. And we can provide for ourselves, and for you too. We do not intend to rob you, we will work while we are here in payment for your hospitality. We have already repaired your roof and made the door fit properly. So, do I have your word?”
“I… I am not sure. I cannot—” A thought occurred to her, an awful fate and one that had befallen those close to her. “Will you make slaves of us? Will you force Connell and me to come to your land with you when you leave?”
Mathios shook his head. “No, we will not. As soon as the weather permits us to sail we will do so and leave you here, your food stores replenished and your home in better repair than we found it. You will not have cause to regret aiding us.”
“It is not aid if not given freely.”
“Perhaps not, but if you do not give me your promise, you will enjoy little in the way of freedom whilst we are here. I cannot permit you to make a nuisance of yourself or to put my men in danger. If I cannot trust you, you will spend much of your time confined to this cottage, often bound, always guarded. And you will be punished for any disobedience or disrespect. I think you will find it a miserable existence, but it does not have to be like that. I am offering you something better. All I require from you is your word.”
“I am not sure. I do not understand any of this. Why should I believe you?”
“Why would you not?”
There were many reasons. She had but to look at her ruined home, the graves outside, and the senseless cruelty of these Norsemen was clear enough. Vikings could not be trusted. Vikings would murder and steal and destroy as it suited them. This one, this Mathios, might seem gentle, reasonable even, but he was no different, not really. They were all thieves and worse. He might be lying to her now. Indeed, he probably was. Why, then, should she not lie to him?
“Very well, you have my promise.” Merewyn blurted the words out before she had time to reconsider.
Mathios nodded. “Good. I am pleased that we understand each other. Please remember though, I will have your obedience and compliance or you will suffer the consequences. I will not tolerate defiance or disrespect. Is that clear?”
“Yes, it is clear.” Merewyn held Connell close. She would do what she had to, say what she must in order to keep the pair of them safe. And if—when—a chance to escape presented itself, she would take it.
* * *
The next two days were tense but uneventful. Merewyn was still weak, and fearful of the rowdy Vikings who filled her tiny home with their din and their overwhelming presence. She spent most of the time in her bed and her strength slowly returned though she found even the slightest activity exhausting. Despite her fears she appreciated the Vikings’ apparent willingness to see to Connell’s needs. They included him in their meals, and often took him with them when they went about their business beyond the cottage. Merewyn learnt that Arne had made the rabbit skin cloak for him to ensure he was protected from the chilly weather and Hakon was fashioning a tiny pair of boots.
“He is well able to walk,” Mathios explained. “But he will require footwear if he is to go outside.”
Merewyn pondered their generosity. She would have struggled to supply shoes for the little boy herself, but this was no reason to soften her attitude.
Mathios returned her clothes to her, now dried and ready to wear again. It galled her that she was still too weak to dress herself but she submitted to his offer of aid. He had already seen her nude body, after all. He was quick and efficient in the task, and she felt more confident now that she was no longer obliged to hide beneath the blanket whenever the Vikings were close.
They came and went. Often just one or two of her unwelcome guests remained in the cottage, the rest leaving the dwelling to be about their various tasks. She assumed the repairs to their ship would take precedence, but she could not help noticing a growing pile of firewood beside the door and the regular supply of meat. Rabbits were plentiful, fish also. She and Connell ate better than they had during his entire life and it was clear that the boy thrived on the attention lavished upon him by the Vikings. One of them, the man who appeared to be in command whenever Mathios was absent, even carved a boat from a piece of firewood and gave it to the child. It was Connell’s first plaything.
By the third day after she properly regained consciousness Merewyn was feeling restless and frustrated. She now knew the names of most of the Vikings, but found it impossible to converse with any but Mathios, even had she wished to as their tongue was incomprehensible to her. Connell appeared to experience no such difficulties and had giggled happily when Olav spoke to him then produced his rabbit fur cloak. The child had yet to utter his first proper word but it would not surprise Merewyn if it were in Norse.
She sat on her pallet and tried to drag her comb though her lank hair but her locks were hopelessly matted. Her attempts to fashion a rough plait proved equally futile. Mathios watched her fruitless efforts from where he sat on an upturned barrel beside the fire pit. Only he and Vikarr were in the cottage, the rest having accompanied Olav on a fishing expedition. Merewyn gathered it was their intention to catch enough fish to be able to offer the surplus for trade.
“Would you like a bath?”
Merewyn started at the question from the Viking chief, then shook her head. “I would love one, but it is not possible. I have no tub.”
“There is a bathtub in the barn. We found it there.”
“Aye, but it is broken.” Yet another example of the destruction wrought by the Vikings who had raided her home.
“It was broken. Hakon has repaired it. We have all made use of it and I can assure you it does not leak.”
“You have fixed it? How?”
“I did not enquire as to the precise method but be assured Hakon did a fine job. Shall I have the tub brought in here for your use?”
“What about the water? We do not have enough…”
“There is as much water as we need in the stream. Certainly, there is sufficient for you to have a bath.”
“But would it not take too long to heat the water?”
“Not really, if we bank the fire up. In any case, you are not in a hurry, are you?”
He demolished all her objections, and despite her determination to hate these Vikings who trespassed in her home, the prospect of a warm bath and clean hair was an alluring one. Why should she not take advantage of such comforts as might be offered? She well knew that her situation might change at any moment.
“Thank you. I would like a bath, if that can be arranged.”
Mathios hauled the iron tub into the cottage himself, the muscles in his arms and back bulging as he set it down close to the fire pit. Next, he set Vikarr to fetching buckets of water from the stream and had him pour them into the large pot over the fire. As the water warmed, the Viking youth transferred it to the bathtub then set more on to heat. It took over an hour, but eventually the tub was over half full.
“That is enough. Thank you.” Merewyn stood beside the tub and peered into the steaming water. She then looked at the two Vikings. “Am I to have no privacy in which to bathe?”
Mathios shook his head. “You are still weak. It would be unsafe for you to bathe alone. One of us should remain, though you may choose which one of us that is.”
“That is not necessary.” On this point, Merewyn was absolutely determined. She folded her arms across her chest and glared at the Viking chief.
Mathios narrowed his eyes. “I could insist.”
“Please do not.” Merewyn held his gaze for several seconds, then lowered her eyes, defeated. “Please…”
He appeared to consider her request for several moments, then, “Very well, though we will both be just outside. You will call out if you require assistance.”
“I am sure I—”
“You will call out.”
His tone brooked no further argument. Merewyn simply nodded.
With a sharp tilt of his head Mathios ordered the younger man from the cottage, then followed him out of the door. Merewyn was alone with her bathwater.
It took her several minutes to undress as her joints still ached from the fever and her arms were stiff. She struggled to reach the fastenings behind her back, but she was determined to manage alone. At last she was naked. Merewyn stepped gingerly into the water. It was cooling, but still warm enough to cause her to sigh in contentment as she sank into the welcoming depths.
For several minutes she lay still, absorbing the comforting heat and simply savouring the quiet peace of the moment. She could not recall when she had last enjoyed the luxury of a warm bath. Usually she and Connell made do with the stream, a bracing experience even in the summer and one she preferred to avoid entirely in the winter months.
The water cooled yet more and Merewyn became aware of the passing of time. How long had she simply lain here? Too long. She reached for the scrap of fabric Mathios had left draped over the foot of the bathtub and started to rub her legs.
She was soon exhausted. Merewyn had underestimated the extent to which her illness had sapped her strength. Every movement, each stretch of her arms, cost her dearly. She groaned in frustration as she realised that she would be quite unable to wash her hair.
Mathios had been right. She did need help. He had offered, and she had turned him away, insisting that he leave her alone. The choice now facing her was stark. She must either call him back and ask for his aid, or make do with dirty hair for at least a few more days until she was able to shift properly for herself.
Really, there was no choice at all. And maybe if she were to sit up and cover herself with her arms, then perhaps…
“Excuse me…” Merewyn wondered if Vikarr would be the one closest. Perhaps he would come. The prospect of the youth attending her bath filled her with a mixture of emotions. Vikarr was infinitely less formidable than the Viking leader, but for some perverse reason she would prefer Mathios.
She was granted her wish. Mathios was the one who stepped back through the door. He regarded her from across the tiny room, his arms folded and one blond eyebrow raised.
“I… I wonder if perhaps you could…” Merewyn fell silent, intimidated by the amusement in his expression, not to mention the lazy, appreciative manner with which the tall Viking perused her shivering body as she huddled in the tub.
“Problem, Merewyn?” He quirked his lip, obviously enjoying the fact that he had been proved right.
“My hair. I cannot…”
“Ah, I see. You would like me to assist you?”
“Yes,” she muttered. “Please.”
Mathios approached the cauldron suspended over the fire pit and scooped some warm water from it into a pail. He tested the temperature with his fingers, then carried it over to the tub and knelt behind her.
“Tilt your head back,” he commanded, his voice surprisingly gentle.
Merewyn obeyed, and could not prevent the soft sigh that escaped when he drenched her matted locks with the warm, clean water.
“We need soap.”
“I do not have any,” she confessed. “It is expensive, and…”
“We do have soap. It was among the supplies we salvaged from our ship.” He rose and strode across the cottage to rummage among the several sacks and boxes which the Vikings had hauled ashore from their stricken craft. “This is made from acorns. It works well enough and has a pleasant odour.”
“Thank you.” She offered him a timid, grateful smile. “There are plenty of acorns hereabout. Perhaps you could teach me how to make it, and… oh, that feels pleasant.”
The Viking chuckled and continued to massage the soap into her hair, working up a rich lather. “I do not know how to make soap, sadly. Olav may. He appears to be skilled in any amount of ways. I shall ask him for you.”
“No, really, I do not wish to… oh!”
Mathios’ deft fingers found their way to the nape of her neck and caressed her sensitive skin. As Merewyn groaned her appreciation he pressed more firmly, then extended his soothing touch across her shoulders.
“That is not my hair,” Merewyn observed, though she did not move to escape his knowing fingers.
“Do you wish me to stop?” He curled his hands around both her clavicles and squeezed.
Merewyn barely managed to contain the groan of pleasure, but with almost supreme effort she did so. She sat bolt upright in the cooling water, her body stiff.
This is not right. I cannot…
“What is the matter, little Celt? Am I hurting you?”
She shook her head. No, not yet. But you will. You are a Viking, so it is in your nature. It is as much a part of you as breathing.
“Please, I want to get out now. The water is cold.”
She leaned forward, away from his sensual touch. The Viking let her go but he was not yet finished.
“I must rinse your hair, Merewyn. Be still. It will not take long.”
She managed to remain in place, tipping her head back when instructed to do so. He was gentle, thorough, and efficient, but she was not fooled. Merewyn knew his sort. She had encountered the lethal violence of Vikings before and no matter how gently he treated her now, Merewyn could not help but be terrified of him. Of all Norsemen.
At the same time her body betrayed her. Would the Viking notice the way her nipples hardened when his touch fluttered close to her breasts? Could he possibly know of the furious clenching deep in her core as he unleashed feelings she had never before experienced? He awakened something within her, something warm and enticing but deadly too. Her mother was raped by a man just like this. Her father was murdered, her brothers enslaved. Vikings were cruel and merciless savages, every last one of them, and she must never forget that. To believe anything else, to be tempted by such a devil, was foolish.
She had been ill, weakened by her fever. That was the only explanation for the ridiculous fluttering in her belly, for the languorous desire to lay back in his arms and allow him to—
“Stop. I must get out. Now. Please…” She wriggled from his grip, though in truth he did not attempt to hold on to her.
“Of course. Let me—”
“I can manage. Please, leave me.”
Mathios rose to his feet and went to her bed. He returned with a blanket. “Stand up, and wrap this around you.”
“J-just leave it. I shall…”
“I prefer not to get soaked myself by scooping you out of there, but if I must…”
“No, I…” She had no choice but to stand up, though she pressed one arm tight across her chest and used the other in an ineffectual attempt to conceal the dark curls at the apex of her thighs.
The Viking ignored her bid for modesty and simply draped the blanket about her shoulders then lifted her from the tub as though she was weightless. He set her down on her bed, smiled at her, then summoned Vikarr to assist him in dragging the tub from the cottage.
* * *
Merewyn was in a quandary. Since her bath she could barely bring herself to look at Mathios, and on every occasion that she inadvertently did so she flushed as red as a berry. He, meanwhile, appeared quite unmoved by the intimate encounter, seemed not to have noticed her inexplicable response to his touch. If he was aware that she found it hard to catch her breath when he was near, he gave no sign of it. Which was just as well, Merewyn thought. He might mistake her natural wariness of him for… something else.
It was vital that she did not become similarly confused. He was a handsome man, she would acknowledge that much, and he was without fail pleasant to her. The same was true of the rest of the Norsemen, their leader’s influence no doubt. Even so, she must never forget that everything could alter in a heartbeat. These men were dangerous, unpredictable, the murderers of her family. It was impossible to feel anything other than hatred for them, yet with every day that passed Merewyn found it harder to reconcile the inhuman monsters she remembered with the generous, good-natured, and considerate men who now shared her home. And with one in particular…
A couple of days after the bathing incident that had so unnerved her, Mathios again dragged the tub into the cottage and instructed Vikarr to fill it with warm water.
“But, I do not need to bathe again so soon,” Merewyn protested.
Mathios grinned at her. “If you say so, little Celt. This is for me.”
“You? But I thought you preferred to bathe in the barn.” Surely, he could not intend to undress, in here, whilst she looked on.
“Why would I prefer a cold, draughty barn when I can take my bath here, beside the fire? You may avert your gaze, little one, if you find the matter disconcerting.”
“Disconcerting? Why should I find it so? I am not in the least interested, and… and…”
“Then there is no problem. Vikarr, how are you doing with the water?”
Merewyn could but perch on a stool and watch as the two men worked to fill the tub. When Mathios considered it ready he instructed the youth to make himself useful chopping firewood, and without so much as a glance in Merewyn’s direction he started to undress.
His back was to her, so he could not see that she was staring. In truth, Merewyn was mesmerised by the sight of the tall, powerful Viking disrobing before her very eyes. Horrified and fascinated in equal measure, she watched in stunned wonder as he pulled the loose woollen tunic over his head and dropped it on the floor. The muscles in his back were sharply defined, she noted, and they rippled under the skin as he moved. His shoulders, compelling enough when concealed by his garments, were nothing short of awesome when unclothed.
He bent forward to unfasten the ties of his trousers, and Merewyn seriously considered averting her eyes when he peeled them down over his slim hips to deposit them on the floor also. But she did not. Instead, she stared, open-mouthed. The Viking’s bare buttocks were strangely beautiful, as was the rest of his physique. He was large, his brute strength no illusion. He could snap her in two if he chose to. She was right to fear him.
And quite, quite wrong to desire him.
“If you can manage to stop gawping, perhaps you could pass me the soap. It is in the sack over there, by the door.” Mathios flung the words over his shoulder as he stepped into the tub.
“I am not gawping,” spluttered Merewyn. “I was just… just…”
“The soap, if you please.” He grinned at her as she shot across the room to do his bidding. “I do not suppose you might agree to wash my back for me?”
Merewyn shook her head so hard she was convinced her brains were rattling. Or would be if she had any left. She stared at the expanse of bronzed skin, taut across the planes and hollows of his muscled body, and knew she could not touch him.
Dared not touch him.
She flung the soap into the tub and retreated back to her pallet, determined to ignore the naked man who seemed to fill both her cottage and her consciousness.
Mathios bathed quickly. He was efficient, as ever, and soon called for her to pass him a dry blanket. Merewyn sprang into action, relieved that this ordeal was almost over.
“Since the tub is here, and the water is still hot, you might as well make use of it.” His smile was pleasant enough, deceptively so in Merewyn’s opinion.
“No, I do not think so. As I said, I bathed just the other day, and—”
“Merewyn, I would advise that you do not irritate me by wasting perfectly good hot water. It is still clean, as you can see.”
It was, surprisingly so. It occurred to Merewyn to wonder just how recent Mathios’ last bath had been as there was certainly not the grime of several days to be seen floating in the bathwater. She would not put it past him to take his bath out in the barn, then deliberately repeat the task indoors just to… to… disconcert her. Yes, that had been the word he used. And it had worked. She was most definitely disconcerted.
“Really, I am tired. If you do not mind I would prefer…”
“Merewyn, you will do as you are told. Did I not make that quite clear to you?”
“Yes, but—”
“Please do not waste time dithering and let your bathwater cool.”
Merewyn closed her eyes in frustration, but despite her protests the attraction of another warm bath was powerful. And the Viking chief had already seen her nude body on several occasions so perhaps one more might not be especially significant.
“Very well. I suppose you will insist upon remaining here whilst I bathe.”
The Viking’s response was to grin at her, that sensual, lopsided smile that never failed to turn her insides to a quivering mush. Merewyn was baffled by her reaction to him. She hated the man, she was quite certain of that, yet still he fascinated her.
“Do you require my aid to undress?”
Merewyn shook her head. “No, I can manage.”
Perhaps she could have managed, given time. Merewyn successfully removed her shoes and woollen stockings, and her woven belt, but her joints were still stiff and aching from her illness and she struggled with the rest. Clad now in just his trousers, Mathios stepped forward to assist her in unfastening her kirtle and pulling it over her head, to be followed by her undershirt. She stood before him, naked, and this time resisted the temptation to cover herself with her arms.
The Viking took his time in looking her up and down, his undisguised appreciation apparent in his azure eyes. Merewyn wished he would hurry up and look his fill. She knew her body to be too thin, too angular to be of real interest, but she had no idea how long he had been at sea and lacking female company. Despite his promise not to harm her, she had little faith in Viking powers of restraint.
He smiled and offered her his hand. “May I assist you? We would not wish to have you slip.”
Grateful that his perusal seemed to be at an end, she accepted his aid and stepped into the warm water. As soon as she sank down into it she started to relax as the comforting heat again enveloped and soothed her. She lay back, her feet propped on the bottom rim and her shoulders resting against the opposite end. Mathios busied himself in pouring more warm water from the cauldron into the bucket, and he placed that beside the tub.
“Is there enough soap? We have plenty more.”
Merewyn fished about in the water and finally retrieved a slender sliver of soap. “It seems to have almost all gone.”
He produced another cake of the stuff from a rough box that had been dragged up from the beach a day or two earlier. Merewyn wondered what other delights might be contained within it and resolved to take a look at the first opportunity. Meanwhile she took the offered soap and started to work a lather on her lower legs.
She was conscious that the Viking watched her as she washed her arms, her shoulders, her stomach and lower back. She hesitated over rubbing soap into her breasts, but finally settled for kneeling up and turning her back to him in order to complete her ablutions.
“I shall wash your back. And naturally I shall help you with your hair.”
“That is quite all right. I can manage.”
“No one can manage to wash their own back,” he argued, approaching the tub. “Lean forward.”
“But—”
He leaned down to murmur in her ear. “Obedience, Merewyn. Remember?”
She gulped, and did as she was told.
His fingers were gentle, his hands firm but efficient as he applied the soap then worked it into a lather. Next, he cupped his hands to dribble water down her spine. It was strangely erotic and Merewyn let out a contented sigh. It was so long since anyone had tended to her in such a manner, not since she was little and her mother used to care for her, though this felt very different.
“Put your head back, I shall wash your hair now.”
“My hair?”
“Yes. Lie back and let your head drop back over the edge of the tub.” He moved the bucket of warm water into place behind her and Merewyn realised what it was for. The clean water would be used to rinse away the dirt and grease in her waist-length locks. She remembered how pleasant it had felt when he had washed her hair before even though in doing as he instructed she would thrust her breasts up and out of the water.
“Do as I say, little Celt.”
His voice had hardened, the shift almost imperceptible but enough to impel Merewyn to obedience. She tilted her head back for his ministrations, acutely conscious of the cooling air that now caressed her naked breasts. Her nipples swelled and hardened in the draught. Merewyn prayed that he might not notice, though she knew he would.
This Viking missed nothing.
He poured the clean water over her hair, lifting the long tresses to dunk them in the water before applying the soap. He massaged the lather into her scalp, his fingers working large, firm circles on her sensitised flesh. Despite the embarrassing state of her nipples, not to mention the peculiar clenching at her core that she was quite unable to control, Merewyn was mortified when she let out an involuntary moan.
“I am sorry, I did not mean—”
“It is not a problem. Please, relax, make such sounds as you wish.”
“I would not wish you to think that I… I…”
“That you are enjoying this?”
“Yes.”
“I know that you are, but we need not dwell upon that fact if you prefer not to.”
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“And this? Do you like this also?” He shifted his fingers to the nape of her neck just as he had done before, and proceeded to caress the delicate skin there.
Merewyn opted not to respond, though her nipples tightened even more and heat furled at her core.
She should have protested when his fingers once again crept over her shoulders, kneading and squeezing until she believed she might expire with the sheer pleasure of it. Her muscles stretched and loosened, the stress of recent days falling away. There was something almost magical in his touch, a knowing, practised ease. He seemed to understand her body’s needs better than she did.
Merewyn lay still as he continued his exploration, his clever fingers moving lower, across her chest to find her puckered nipples.
She gasped, tried to find the words to beg him to stop but this time they would not come. He rolled the pebbled nubs between his fingers and thumbs, his touch gentle but firming as she writhed in the water. He squeezed, almost to the point of pain, then relaxed his grip and circled the sensitive peaks with his fingertips.
“Does this feel good, little Celt?”
Merewyn closed her eyes and nodded. Heat furled within her belly, spreading and blooming. She ached, deep down, between her thighs in that secret place that only she knew of. She fought the urge to reach down, as she did occasionally in the warm privacy of her bed, to seek out that exact spot where pleasure was to be found.
It was as though he was somehow privy to her most secret thoughts, her most intimate yearnings. His right hand ceased to tease and tantalise her nipple and instead he reached down into the water, between her legs to find that precise place. He was unerring, it was as though he knew exactly what would arouse her and drive her wild with desire. His fingers parted her folds and settled on the small nub that lay concealed there.
He rubbed. He flicked it with his fingertip. He slid his digits on either side and traced the outline, then he explored lower, found the entrance to her body and dipped the tip of one finger inside.
Never, when she had touched herself, had she felt like this. Not even remotely. Utterly wanton in her response, Merewyn bucked in his embrace. She lifted her arm from the water to drape it back and around his neck as though to anchor herself. He murmured something in her ear, incomprehensible words in his native tongue. She did not understand but her arousal built and bloomed anyway. It was as though her body were no longer her own but his to control. He stroked her again, caressed that sensitive bundle of nerves until she could bear it no more.
“Please…” Her voice was ragged, her breath shallow. “Please do not…”
“Do you wish me to stop, little Celt?”
Yes. No. She could find no words, so merely hung on as her inner muscles contracted and clenched.
Mathios placed his thumb over her pleasure bud at the same time as he plunged his fingers into her cunny. It was too much. Her senses were totally overwhelmed, her body weightless, floating as white light exploded behind her eyes. She shook with the power of her body’s response. Wave after wave of carnal pleasure washed though her, starting at her core where his fingers still worked their sorcery and flowing right out to the ends of her fingers and toes.
The assault on her senses seemed to continue for ages, though she supposed it was over almost as quickly as it began. As her shudders subsided she lay limp in his arms, the bathwater rolling up and down in the tub from her thrashing. Her legs were spread wide, her feet dangling over the sides of the bath. She had no recollection of moving but knew she must have done so, must have opened her thighs to allow him access. And now, now that he had pleasured her, he would expect his own gratification.
Any residual pleasure fled. Merewyn cringed. What had she done? How had she allowed this to happen? He would take what he wanted and she would be powerless to resist.
“Thank you. That was beautiful.” His deep timbre rumbled from somewhere behind her, close to her ear.
“I beg your pardon?” She twisted her neck to look into his eyes. They were warm, sensual. She should have found his proximity threatening, but she did not.
“Your response was beautiful. Quite exquisite. I thank you for allowing me to share it.”
“I do not understand…”
“Do you not? You will. Do you feel better now?”
“I am not sure how I feel. What happened? What did you do? I have never…”
Mathios chuckled. “We should finish washing your hair while the water remains warm.”
Stunned, Merewyn could only watch as he carried the bucket of now cloudy water to the door and flung the contents outside. He returned, refilled the pail with clean, hot water from the pot and proceeded to rinse the lather from her hair. Then he found the comb that she had discarded on her pallet and used it to bring her long tresses into order, his strokes firm yet gentle as he teased out the knots and gnarls before laying each smooth lock over her shoulder.
Merewyn remained still as he worked, not sure what would happen next. Worse, she was no longer entirely certain what she wanted to have happen. This Viking was not at all what she expected.
“Did your husband not bring you similar joy when you shared his bed?”
“I have no husband,” retorted Merewyn. Why on earth would he imagine she did?
“I realise that, else why would you and the little one be here alone? What happened to your family, Merewyn?”
Any softening in her attitude evaporated. He and his kind were responsible for the deaths of her family, for her brothers’ abduction and enslavement. Vikings were the reason she and Connell were obliged to eke out a joyless, harsh living, alone and friendless in this barren place.
“They died. Or left.” Her tone was clipped, her answers curt. She hoped he would not press her for more as he was certain to find her response disrespectful and he had already warned her of the consequences of such foolishness.
“I see.”
Merewyn sincerely doubted that. Vikings only saw what was in their interest, what suited them. But this one seemed willing to let the matter drop, and she was glad of it.
Mathios knelt behind her as he combed her hair. When he completed the task he got to his feet. Merewyn watched, wary, as he moved over to her bed. But the Viking merely picked up a blanket and returned to the tub.
“Wrap this around yourself and sit by the fire.” He offered her his hand to assist her from the rapidly cooling water, then wrapped the blanket around her shoulders. He smiled at her as he tossed more logs on the flickering flames.
Merewyn, confused and bewildered, huddled in the warmth as Mathios and Vikarr hauled the bathtub out of the cottage.