Chapter Sixteen
Her blood pulsed with victory and fear. She scrambled around the table to Rurik’s side only to have him grab her arm hard enough she had to rise on tip toe against him.
“What was that about?” His scowl burned as hotly as when Sothram had stabbed him in the back.
She would not shrink from him. “Unhand me.”
Rurik shook his head. “We’re leaving.”
Families with sleepy children said their goodbyes. A cluster of warriors gathered before the jarl’s table. Ademar and Longsword were deep in conversation with those men. At the end, Vlad stepped off the raised platform, a chilling smile creasing his face. He strode through the hall with red-haired Sigurd two steps behind.
Rurik shoved aside the leather-weave curtain, dragging her with him. She trotted to keep up with his long strides eating up the long hallway. Once inside their room, he shut and barred the door and stood there, an imposing figure in the dark.
She inched backward and bumped into the bed. “I can hardly see you. Can we light a candle?”
“You don’t need to see me to explain yourself.”
Her eyes began to adjust to the darkness. Rurik didn’t pounce on her...far from it. His back was to the door, both arms folded. Skimming the bed frame, she found the wall and threw open the shutters. A ribbon of light spilled around her from the moon and distant torches. Music started again in the feast hall. Drums and goat bone flutes. Voices and laughter. Nearby, a man and woman tumbled against the longhouse wall outside. Laughter wove between ardent kisses.
Rurik crossed the room and set a hand on the opening. They stood side by side, looking at grain fields stirring in a summer breeze. A housekarl keeping watch on a nearby roof was the only sign of danger.
Safira breathed in the stillness, let it calm the chaos inside her. “This is the thanks I get for ensuring you do not have to fight your father to the death.”
“You’ve made things worse.”
Her chin tipped. “How?”
“A fight to the death is a clean end. Vlad will not be satisfied to walk away with his tail between his legs.”
“You say that as if you are certain you would win. I know you’re good, Viking, but even you can’t be that sure of yourself. Anything can happen in a fight.”
“I know Vlad’s weaknesses, but he doesn’t know mine.”
A gust of disbelief escaped her. She spun sideways to face him. “Do you hear yourself? You speak of...of killing your father.”
Rurik untied his arm brace. His fingers tugged hard on the leather thongs, angry jerks that threatened to snap the ties until the brace was loose enough to drop to the floor. Moonlight shined on the vicious scar that stretched from his hand to his elbow.
“The man who gave me this wouldn’t hesitate to kill me.”
She grasped the truth of Vlad’s violent nature. The piece of Rurik’s ear gone. The stories the Sons told of the older man’s cruelty. Though she’d lived in a household filled with love and every possible comfort, she knew many did not. There were hideous men. Men like Vlad.
But, a man wanting to kill his son?
Rurik smiled coldly as if he read her thoughts. “He did this to me when I was eleven because I swore I would see him dead for his cruelty to my mother.” Fist clenched, his voice grated. “My right hand. Vlad tried to make sure I’d never raise a weapon against him.”
She clapped a hand over her mouth. Shock was an acrid taste. How could a father do that to his son? Yet another piece of the mosaic that was Rurik of Birka fell into place, black pieces that broke her heart. But the Viking would have none of it. His face was a harsh mask. The line of his mouth hard. The planes of his cheeks, so like his father’s, were tight with barely restrained ire.
Darkness revealed Rurik better than light.
What did it say about her? Her worst complaint was an ambitious, strong-willed mother. Her indulgent father knew her skill with spices, but he also knew the value of an excellent marriage alliance. The House of Alzaud would pass on to her younger brother. Never to her.
She folded both hands over his fist. “The enemy you spoke of in the Arelaune Forest...the one who did this to you.”
“My father. Vlad of Birka.”
Rurik’s shoulders were broad and solid, but there was the slightest droop. The wolf of Birka needed...comfort. She set his balled-up hand over her heart because hers was breaking. For him. The fierce, blue-eyed boy she’d glimpsed in the Arelaune Forest, the one who protected all, was bared to her just now.
Carved leather was warm against her palm. Summer’s night air poured around them. What she thought was a good turn for Rurik had made things worse. Enmity burned deep between father and son. So did pride. The loser in tomorrow’s fight would not slink away in peace. Not with this kind of history between them.
There was a score to settle.
“Vlad and I have crossed paths. Once we served the same emir in Cordoba. The emir was wise to send us to opposite ends of his kingdom.” His chilling gaze locked on her. “I should have killed him then.”
Rurik lived daily with life and death decisions. To kill or not kill Vlad was one of them. All this time, she assumed Rurik always lived by the force of his hand.
What was she to do with this rough Viking and his heavy heart?
“If I could take away your pain and anger, I would. But I do not think you would let me,” she whispered. “You hoard your pain. You and your men. And you only have room for the Forgotten Sons. No one else.”
His eyes flared wide. “You think that of me?”
Her nod was jerky. “With you I have as many answers as questions, yet I have come to know certain things about you...things that are solid and true.”
Rurik’s tightly fisted hand opened on her chest. He stared at the connection, looking lost yet full of wonder. His thumb grazed her cleavage. The simple caress stole her breath and sent goosebumps wherever his thumb touched.
Moonbeams glinted on the gold tips of his lashes. “What are these certain things you speak of?”
She gripped handfuls of her skirts. His touch, this quiet...it was akin to slipping under the water’s surface and losing all control. “You are generous beyond measure, but I do not understand what you value.”
“I value you.”
She couldn’t move. His words struck the marrow of her bones. It was her...her he valued, not a hoard of gold and silver. That truth was in his gentleness and the gentler tone of his voice. Rurik, a beast of war, enslaved her.
“What else do you know about me?” he asked.
Words moved sluggishly across her tongue. “You badly want land and wealth, yet you were willing to part with your silver when you thought I’d lose. But...”
“But what?”
“You are frugal with your heart.”
Rurik skimmed four fingers over her collarbone. She shuddered visibly, a captive to his touch. None of this made sense. Her knees were weak but she was strong. Alive.
“You are not frugal with your responses to me.” Rurik hooked a finger in the cloth covering her shoulder. “Do you know what I wonder?”
She bit her lower lip. Waiting for what he would do next was painful. Sensual. The moment stretched, her heart pounding.
Rurik took his time dragging cloth down her arm. “Would you have welcomed my companionship if we’d passed each other in your king’s court?”
One breast was bared to him. Her saffron silk underdress skimmed the lower weight of her breast. Rurik’s hand dropped to his side, and the loss left her...lonely. A tear threatened to spill. She swallowed hard, despising the tempest of emotions inside her. Crying was weakness, and she despised weakness. The single, traitorous tear stung before trailing down her cheek. A well of emotions swirled inside her. Few of them worthy.
“What’s this?” He set a finger under her chin. “Do you cry because you and I know the answer? That you, like many other highborn women, would not look twice at me...unless you wanted my protection or the feel of my cock.”
She winced and jerked her chin away. Rurik wasn’t angry or vengeful. He was resigned. Outside footfalls pattered in the grass. Feminine giggles faded, a sure sign the strangers who had been coupling nearby were slipping away. Summer lent warmth and promise to the world, a time of giving after winter’s take. The jarl’s fields burst with lush grains reaching for the moon—the same light that covered her people and the Vikings.
Rurik drew a lazy circle around her nipple. “I will take what you offered me.”
Her breath caught. Erotic heat flared. “My wanton request before the feast.”
“Your maidenhood. It is mine.”
She gripped the frame of the window opening. Between the moonlight and the smell of Rurik’s skin, languid pleasure dripped inside her. He was masterful, tracing leisured rings around her areola. Her body wasn’t her own. If she wasn’t careful, he would devastate her. She wouldn’t want to leave.
What if I keep you forever? Rurik’s words to her before the feast.
Her lids fluttered low. Tonight was for feeling. For freedom with Rurik. His rough warrior’s hand worked magic on her, touching only that aching nib of flesh and nothing else.
“I could do this all night.” His voice was ragged.
“I think you will, Viking.” She covered his hand with hers, splaying all five fingers on her breast. “You leave your mark when you touch me. It singes me deep inside.”
His grin was her reward. Rurik kneaded her breast and stepping closer, he tunneled his other hand into her unbound hair. Bliss teased her skin...from scalp to neck to shoulders and shoulder blades down her spine. Skin slicked between her legs. Heat bloomed across her inner thighs and shot across her calves to the soles of her feet.
Rurik’s lips brushed hers. Soft. Lingering.
He was sweet with her. A rough, big man yet careful. He deepened the kiss, and she opened her mouth to him, tasting spiced mead on his tongue.
This was what she wanted. Freedom. Life. Him.
Lust crackled like a forest fire burning fast. Emotions careened inside her. For this man. A Viking. A pagan. Her gruff, quiet leader of men. She pushed up on her toes, rubbing against him, lulled by passion’s intoxicating sounds...
Her skirt chafing his wool-clad thigh.
One leather-covered foot stroking the side of his boot.
The carved wolf on his chest scraping her nipple.
She broke the kiss. “Undress for me.”
A thick brow arched. There was a heady second or two when neither moved.
Without a word, Rurik removed his remaining arm brace. It dropped to the floor with a light plop. Storm-blue eyes locked with hers as he untied the lacing at the side of his vest. The warrior let the maid have a measure of control. The headiness of it. Of standing one breast bared to him, telling him what to do, and him doing it.
Rurik tugged his vest over his head. Thunk. Thick leather landed on the floor.
Moonlight showered muscles rippling under golden skin. His arms were darker than his chest, the tan line arcing high on his shoulder. She drank him in. Blond hair on his chest. Brown nipples...pointy, as if asking to be sucked... Oddly few scars save the wide, ugly slash on his right arm.
Or did the dark room hide marks of his past?
Rurik’s hands dropped to the leather tie below his navel. “Now you undress for me.”
Wool sagged at his waist. His trousers parted over his abdomen, and she leaned forward as much for what she saw as didn’t. His flat belly, small hillocks of muscles twitching when he moved. Wide V shaped lines of sinew and paler flesh narrowed into his loosening trousers.
Rurik stopped to ungarter his boots. He toed off one boot. “You’re not listening.”
No, she was slack-jawed.
He balanced on one bare foot while pulling off the other boot. She licked her lips. His feet. She wanted to drop to her knees before him and kiss his feet. Her sister had never said anything about kissing feet.
Was this total surrender to a man? Wanting to lavish attention anywhere on his body?
Black trousers dropped to his ankles, and he stepped free of them. “You’re staring at my feet.”
Rurik’s grin was a crooked slash of white. A hot, sweet pang filled her chest, spreading like spilled wine.
“Every inch of you entrances me.”
He laughed, a low carnal sound. Rurik opened his loin cloth and the plum-red crown of his cock sprang free. She licked her lips. Was tasting a man as wondrous as smelling him?
“Safira.” His voice was firm. “Take off your clothes.”
That was the moment she knew. A man could own a woman body and soul. Rurik of Birka, the low-born Viking, owned her. But this wasn’t about birth, wealth, or land. Or kingdoms and rulers of men. The ancient weave of man and woman was here, a deep thread that sewed two hearts together. She would give her body to Rurik because he already had her heart.
This was her with him and what she was about to give him.
No price was too great to pay. She severed the past for an unknown future.
She pulled free of the tunic, an awkward, graceless lifting of it over her head. The underdress was cool on hot skin. Rurik devoured the sight of her. His nostrils flared. His jaw was tight. Strange tautness twisted inside her. Made her heart gallop in her chest. She grabbed the hem of her underdress with clumsy hands. In her fumbling, a seam ripped but she tossed it aside, a saffron wraith floating to the floor. Shabby boots slipped off until she too was naked. She reached for the glass beads on her ear lobes.
“No. Keep them on,” he said, low-voiced. “Lay on the fur.”
She climbed onto the bed, and mink feathered her hands and knees. She lay on her back, a pillow under her head. Luxuriant fur teased her backside as she spread her legs for him. Air skimmed her cleft. So did Rurik’s hot stare.
Wasn’t this how a woman waited for a man?
Standing at the end of the bed, he removed his loin cloth and tossed it aside.
“I hardly recognize the woman I’m becoming.” She willed the jumble of lust and emotions to calm.
The bed dipped and Rurik stretched out beside her. He stroked her breasts, a slow back and forth from one to the other, the backs of his fingers and the palm of his hand. Tender and thoughtful. Each stroke bound her to him, a pagan spell of lust and like. She reveled in it.
“Why me?” he asked, nuzzling her shoulder.
Her maidenhood.
His whiskers tickled her. She sighed and turned to him. “It must be you.”
This soothed her. Lying beside him, their noses nearly touching and the bed creaking intimately. Rurik’s lashes were crescents on his cheeks as if he dared not let her see his eyes while he contemplated her answer.
Was it enough?
Rurik stroked her breasts and her ribs, his brows knitting as if he worked a problem. “I will plant my seed in you.”
Engorged flesh pulsed between her legs. She was hungry for him. Both nipples turned to pinkish nubs the more he caressed her. Her mouth opened for more air. She stared at Rurik’s mouth, pleased to see his lips parting. Her Viking protector was hungry too. The line between his brows smoothed and he looked at her. The center of his eyes, big and black, took what she offered.
He rolled onto her and nuzzled the top curve of her breast. “You are perfect.”
She combed her fingers through his hair, finding the leather thong at his nape and untying it. A blond curtain fell around them, blocking out the rest of the world.
“I’m not doing anything for you,” she whispered. “You are attending me. Shouldn’t I—”
“You don’t have to attend me.” Rurik nestled in the cradle of her hips.
“But shouldn’t I?”
“There are no rules, Safira.” He smiled, the uneven line of his mouth sweet. “At skemmta ser...to amuse oneself in sex. It is what we are doing.”
“Amused? No.” She cupped his face. “Swept away. Stunned. In a magical place...”
Her tongue and mind went lax. His cock was thick and hard on her abdomen. Low in her vision a nest of blond hair rubbed her thatch of ebon curls. The contrast of color was sensual. There was no rush. No frantic need. Rurik held himself above her, lightly stroking his length against her nether curls. Crisp, masculine leg hairs tickled her thighs. His grin was easy and kind. Gentle emotion shined from his eyes. Rurik soaked up every detail of her, his gaze touching her hair, her neck and collarbone before drifting to her mouth and her eyes.
“You are frid kon synum, beautiful to behold, a gift to be treasured.”
Soul-stealing words.
Rurik was erotic, rocking his hips over hers. The friction was...enticing. She rocked back. Giving softness to get his hardness. Was that the song of men and women?
He kissed her forehead, trailing a line of kisses down her nose until he came to her mouth. He was stealing from her. Little by little. Pillaging her with those light touches of his mouth to her lips.
His patient kisses were full of give and take until he whispered against her mouth, “Put me inside you.”
She licked her lips. This was the moment.
Her heart lodged in her throat. Smooth-skinned and rigid, his cock bumped her cleft. Wetness trickled through her seam. Once he was inside her, there would be no undoing what was done. With a careful hand, she touched his manhood. Her curious fingers curled around it, finding the flesh long, thick, and fine-skinned. She set the crown in her opening.
Ohhhhh. The carnal shock.
“Rurik...you are...” She rocked against him with the slightest nudge.
Hardness invaded her.
Dull, throbbing pain swelled between her legs. She tensed. A small push from him and her maidenhood was gone. Aside from the discomfort, she was no different. She blinked not really seeing. She was...stretched.
Rurik kissed her hairline. “The pain will pass. I promise.” He braced his forearms on either side of her. “Tell me when you want to move.”
She stroked his ribs glad they rested quietly, their bodies simply touching. This part—being together—was perfect.
“It already hurts less.”
Rurik’s skin beaded wherever she touched. Her fingers found small scars on his torso. There was a ridged scar on his waist that she couldn’t stop testing.
“The work of a crazed Frisian. He attacked me while I slept,” he said, kissing her temple. “Thought I was bedding his wife.”
“Were you?”
His soft laugh tickled her ear. “No.”
She found more marks on his body. When the time was right, she’d look at them in daylight and ask the tale of each one. Being with Rurik was natural. Intimate. She could see why women craved sex. Body and heart, she was bound with him and he with her. Twining her fingers in his long hair sated her. She explored him, kissing his collarbone to the dip at the base of his neck. Her toes rubbed his muscled calf. First one foot testing his corded leg and then the other. Rurik held still as if understanding she needed this. She nudged her hips against him, the bed creaked, and his length slid deeper in.
Air hissed through her mouth. Pleasure rippled through her body.
This was potent, moving with him.
“I like this,” she announced, getting his grunt in return.
Silky hardness rocked back and forth inside her. Rurik was in the air she breathed, the scent of leather and soap and forest. Lust was a fever the more they swayed together. Sloppy, wet noises came. Her lashes drooped heavily. Drums throbbed in the distance. She matched Rurik’s thrusts with hungry pushes of her own. The rhythm between them quickened.
Her breath was ragged. Wildness thrummed from the crux of her body.
His hands framed her face. “Look at me.”
She got lost in his eyes locked on her—eyes telling her We were meant to be.
Her lips opened wide, but Rurik eased their pace. He plied her body with unhurried strokes. In and out. In and out.
“Take this slow,” he chided. “Savor it.”
“I...can’t,” she moaned.
One hand gripped his hair at the back of his head, the other tunneled in rich fur. Breasts shoved high, mouth gaping, she pumped faster. Bed ropes squeaked frantic music. Chest hair crinkled against her nipples. Rurik’s breath was hot on her neck. Sucking. Kissing. Sucking. All while his cock slid with perfect, measured control until...
She wrapped both legs around his waist. He was in deep.
Rurik groaned against her neck, a sound that vibrated all the way to delicate flesh between her legs. His whiskered cheek brushed her breast bone. He spoke Viking words against her skin, words she didn’t know.
Dark, claiming, needful words by the feel.
She was hot. Everywhere. Base words were on her tongue. The Viking would plant his seed inside her, and she wanted it. Pulsing, wild need coiled tighter between her legs. Her thighs quaked. Tremors rattled her limbs.
Rurik’s hoarse cries shattered her. His pleasure was hers.
Brilliant and blissful, she cried out too.