Nena

by Ann Boelter

  The tip of his tongue probed between her lips. Her lips parted, accepting him. Though she tried to focus on her safe haven, details of the moment—details of him, began to intrude. His masculine scent mingled with, then supplanted the sweet tangy smell of the spring grass. The feel of the soft earth between her toes was driven out and replaced by the full length of his rock hard body pressed against her. The walls of her mental refuge began to fracture. She fought to hold onto it, but bit by bit, piece by piece, her sanctuary began to crumble. The strength of his need, of his desire, were impossible to block out.

  Keeping his one hand entwined in her hair, he held her still while his lips continued their exploration of hers. His other hand found one of her breasts. He cupped it, then stroked and pinched her nipple gently, rolling it into a firm point between his fingertips. The exquisite sensation that rocketed from her breast was so intense, it was almost painful—almost. She moaned.

  The sound affected him profoundly, and his grip tightened in her hair. “Nena,” he murmured through clenched teeth as he moved his lips to the base of her ear. The feel of his breath alone on the tiny hairs of her skin sent quivers throughout her body. He suckled her earlobe. The quivers intensified and her legs threatened to fold. The last shred of her refuge fell away, leaving her defenseless against his assault.

  She felt the pulse in her neck bounding against his lips as he moved his kisses down to the hollow at the base of her throat. She was shocked at the sensitivity of the areas he lingered over. Normal places that had never been especially sensitive before—her ears, her neck, now responded so strongly to his touch that she felt it difficult to draw in a full breath.

  Jarl pressed her down onto the furs, then stood and stripped out of his remaining clothes. Nena tried to recover her bearings, but the reprieve was too brief. He slid next to her and his hands continued their onslaught—touching, stroking, caressing, pinching. His lips and tongue followed where his fingers had been only seconds before, nuzzling her neck, teasing her tight nipples. He sought out areas she had no idea would respond as they did—the insides of her wrists, the soft skin on the inside of her elbows. Nena felt herself spiraling out of control, wanting him to continue, needing him to continue, begging him to continue.

  She didn’t think she could take another moment of the intense pleasure. Her body writhed beneath him and the sounds it made were not her own. The places he discovered—that he seemed to already know. How much more would he make her endure? Was there no end to this yearning? It was even worse than she had feared, but nothing about it was shameful—and no part of her wanted him to stop. Yet surely it had to be over soon. How much more could she bear?

  But Jarl wasn’t even close to being finished with her. His lips moved down over her flat stomach to her belly button, then lower. He found the pulsing moistness between her thighs and tasted her. Softly at first, with the just the tip of his tongue, he explored every fold and crease until he came across her swollen node. As his tongue flicked over its surface, her back arched. A guttural moan escaped her lips. His own manhood throbbed in response, straining for release, but he held back, teasing her, licking her, then sucking gently. When she could take no more, when her body began to convulse and shudder and she made a sound like none other, only then did he leave her. Parting her legs wider with his knees, he guided his shaft between her soft folds. He intended to be gentle, but seeing and hearing her intense pleasure, hurled him beyond the limits of his restraint. Unable to hold back any longer, Jarl drove deep within her in one powerful stroke.

  Nena’s cries of pleasure changed pitch briefly to a cry of pain, but still she clung to him, pulling him closer, holding him to her as he drove inside over and over. His release came quickly, carrying him on a raging tide of pure blind deaf sensation. It was many seconds before his senses returned and he was aware of her beneath him. Her breath still came in gasps, but was slowing. Their sweat mingled between their chests. “Did I hurt you?” he whispered.

  Hurt? Had he really asked that? He had just taken her to a place that she had no idea existed, and the first union was always painful for the woman. She’d been expecting that. Though now she could remember nothing of pain, only of…. Her pulse, even now, still pounded in her ears. She looked at his worried face and reached up to touch his cheek, having no words, but wanting to comfort him. He smiled at her.

  Jarl pulled out slowly and rolled over on his side to lie next to her. He reached out with one hand to stroke her hair. “Nena, my princess,” he murmured.

  Nena turned to look at him. His eyes were slowly returning to the mixed shades of all colors of when he was content. She had made the right choice. This had to have been the gods’ choice. They wanted this union even if only to allow her escape. Why else would it have been so magical?

  A trickle of blood running down his neck caught her attention. She followed the blood trail and noted a shallow wound on one of his shoulders. He seemed unaware of it.

  “You are wounded. Let me see it,” she said.

  “It can wait. It is small—but a scratch.”

  “Even small things have a way of becoming troublesome. Come, I will tend to it for you.”

  Jarl groaned and sat up on the edge of the bed. He knew she was right but would have given anything not to move at that moment. He watched as she slipped naked from the furs and went to retrieve a water bag and rag. She moved about the tent totally at ease, showing no sign of modesty in her nakedness or what had just transpired. His eyes followed her every graceful move, admiring her long lean legs and the way her thick dark hair cascaded down her back.

  He prayed the entry boards would not rattle and send her scurrying for cover. In his mind he threatened death to anyone who interrupted them now—anyone who caused them to lose this moment. Although as much as he enjoyed watching her, he also couldn’t wait for her to return to him. He wanted her near him, touching him. Even the short distance that separated them now seemed too much.

  He could not believe what an affect she had on him. He could not believe she was finally truly his. She was such an amazing woman—a beautiful blend of contradictions. As tough as any man he’d ever known, but at the same time gentle and tender. Innocent, yet her passion had matched his own. Intelligent and learned in so many things—tending his wound being just a small example, yet naive in so many others.

  Nena’s lips curved into a smile as she returned with the water bag and a cloth, reading the general path of his thoughts by the intentness of his expression. She crawled onto the furs behind him and knelt to better reach the wound on the back of his shoulder.

  “It was close to your neck,” she commented with disapproval. “You left your back unprotected.”

  He knew she was right; the careless mistake had almost cost him dearly. “He paid for it,” was his only response. Jarl ignored the sting as she wiped away the dried blood and dirt. “Will I live?” he asked, teasing.

  “Yes, I’m afraid so,” she replied with a smile and continued to clean. When she was finished, she looked at the wound, unsatisfied. “That’s better, but I would prefer to have willow bark to pack in it, to be safe.”

  “There is some in that vial.” He pointed across the tent to a spot near the jewel chest. “I got it from the healer for your fever when you were sick.”

  When she was sick. When he had saved her. Nena’s stomach constricted at her planned betrayal.

  She retrieved the powder and poured a thin line into the length of the wound, tamped it with her finger, then blew the excess away. Her soft breath tickled the back of his neck, and Jarl felt his groin twitch in response. He fought it. He had to control himself now. She would be sore. They had forever to work up to all-night lovemaking. He smiled at the thought.

  He made love to her again in the morning. This time slower and with less intensity, but with the same leg-tangled results. When she was finally steady enough to rise, Nena checked her new boundaries. “I would go to the latrine and to bathe,” she announced tentatively, more
than half expecting him to refuse or call for Altene. He did neither.

  “Fine.” He rolled onto his back and smiled at her with the most contented smile she’d ever seen on his handsome face. “I should, too, but I think I’m just going to lie here instead and die a sweet death.”

  Nena still couldn’t believe it as she tied her dress behind her neck and exited the tent unescorted, but he made no move to stop her.

  She groaned as she slipped into the hot water of the bath. Every muscle ached and complained, and the water stung her tender womanhood, but the pain was brief, and soon she felt it melting away. She was free. Perhaps not all the way free, but well on her way—the hardest hurdle overcome. And the price had been—she smiled and flushed at the memory—had been more than easy to pay.

  As much as she would have liked to stay and enjoy the water, Nena finished quickly. She did not wish him to worry about the length of her absence and have second thoughts about her new freedoms. Everything she did from now on needed to be toward building and maintaining his trust.

  “I will need ink,” she said when she returned to the tent.

  “I will have Altene find some and bring it to you.” Jarl moved behind her and nuzzled her neck. “You know Altene wished to share you with me, and while I must admit at first the idea intrigued me, I know now, I could never share you with another. Not even a woman could I tolerate seeing bring you to the long moan.”

  “You are jealous,” she said and smiled.

  “Beyond jealous. You are mine and only mine.”

  Until I am gone.

  The difference in Jarl was astonishing. He was tender and affectionate, bordering on playful. Throughout the day, his eyes followed her everywhere, as if he feared the previous night had been a dream, and he had to keep verifying it was real. It revealed an almost vulnerable side to him that she had never seen before. Gone was any trace of tension in his face or body. Even when they were interrupted by camp business, his mood remained exceptionally high and his dealings very lenient.

  Nena responded in kind. She told herself, as she allowed him to pull her onto his lap and shared wine from his oxhorn cup, that it was to lull him into a false sense of security, and to not arouse his suspicions. But being this close to him was easy. Far too easy.

  She expected the camp would pull out after a few days of rest, but when the first scout reported that a potential fourth target had been discovered—one that might be reached from their present location, Jarl was quick to delay their departure. He sent full reconnaissance teams to bring him reports before he made a decision as to the next move.

  Altene brought the ink and graciously offered to fill in the circle for her. Nena accepted and bit her lip at the repeated penetration of the inked needle.

  At first Jarl hovered nearby, watching the process closely. “Make sure you fill it in plenty dark,” he instructed Altene. “I don’t want there to be any doubt when other men see it. And where will you record my name? Above or below?” he teased. He was full of himself.

  Altene laughed at the ridiculousness of the idea before she replied, “Nowhere.”

  Undaunted, he persisted, “Perhaps just my initials then. There’s plenty of room for that.”

  Altene only shook her head.

  “But I thought you said all of a woman’s important life events were recorded,” Jarl persevered.

  “And they are; her circle is being filled in,” Altene agreed.

  “But no credit given to who was responsible for the feat?” Jarl asked.

  “Only when a woman makes the statement of union in front of the village and becomes married is the man’s family line listed there. No one asks a woman who her first union was with. If a circle is filled in and not followed by a husband’s lineage, then it is known that it is something not to be talked about.”

  Jarl frowned as he considered her words. There was clearly no way such a statement of union would ever be made. Even if he could convince Nena to say the words, which he realized was a stretch—and at best, a very long way off, she would never stand in front of her village again. Did that mean every Dor who saw her from now on, with the dark circle and no husband marked upon her arm, would assume her first union had been something unpleasant? The thought disturbed him. Even knowing that soon he would take her far away and there would be no other Dor to see it—or that his people would never recognize the significance of a circle with no marks below it, did little to ease his troubled mind.

  Nena watched the frown crease his forehead. She knew it meant he was contemplating something very deeply and wondered what he was thinking about. Before he could offer any clues, he left, saying evasively he had business to take care of. Nena wouldn’t have thought twice about it, had his behavior before he left not been so peculiar. She wondered what business he could not attend to in his tent, or what was so important that it needed to be handled now.

  Altene shook her head and smiled as he left. Nena was surprised she was not more upset. She wondered briefly if it was Jarl’s unusual boyish behavior affecting her, too, but then quickly discounted it. Altene was happy because her plan was in motion. She was probably already counting down the days before she would return to Jarl’s furs.

  “He seems very proud of himself,” Altene commented once he was gone.

  “Yes.” Nena nodded.

  “And he already allows you to move about unescorted? As we had hoped?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Don’t push it by asking for too much too soon.”

  “I know. I won’t.” Nena sat in silence while Altene continued to work on her arm. “Perhaps you could escape with us. I could find a way,” Nena offered.

  “Escape?” Altene laughed derisively. “And go where? Back with you to the Teclan? And have them look down on me as you do? My village is long gone. I have nowhere to go.”

  “There are other tribes of Klarta.”

  Altene shook her head, neither option seeming to please her. “I think not. Do not pity me. Many moons from now when you are gone and lying beneath your grunting Dor husband with his club hands, I will be enjoying Jarl’s touch in his new lands of the North.”

  And any other man he chooses to give you to. “But how do you know he will take you with him to the North? How do you know you will not be sold with the others to Piltor?”

  Altene frowned at the mention of the Worick’s name. “Jarl will take me with him. He has more than once said he has never met my equal in the furs. Once you are gone, I will remind him of that regularly. And if for some reason he does not, I have enough jewels now to buy my own freedom.”

  Nena changed the subject. “I need the herb.”

  “Be patient. I have it here.”

  “How much do I take?”

  “Pick one leaf from the stem and hold it under your tongue every day for an hour. Then spit it out. Do not swallow it.” Altene held out a small branch with stiff tiny olive green leaves protruding from either side. Nena glanced at it only briefly before plucking a leaf and placing it under her tongue. The plant was unfamiliar to her and the leaf had a bitter flavor.

  “Do you have more?” Nena asked.

  Altene looked at her suspiciously. “You will not need more. You are escaping, remember?”

  “Yes. I only wondered if it took longer than expected...”

  “See that it doesn’t,” Altene threatened as she stabbed the needle again into Nena’s upper arm. “So was it as good as I said?” she asked.

  Nena flushed again at the memory, though she knew better than to admit the experience to Altene. “It doesn’t matter. The sooner I can forget it and leave this place, the better.”

  Altene took her redness and response for denial. “I warned you. I was worried he would be rough from the battle.”

  Nena could tell she had not been worried at all, but had hoped—and was pleased.

  “That is all the help you will get from me, so do not think to ask for ways to please him. I worked hard for those secrets and will not share
them.”

  “I would never...” Nena began, then stopped. “Gratitude,” she said, instead.

  “For what? For not sharing?”

  “For everything. For pushing me to see the means to escape. For the herb. Perhaps you were right that under different circumstances we could have been friends. How is it you came to be here? How are you not married to a Dor with club hands raising his children?” Nena flinched as Altene again drove the inked needle beneath the surface of her skin.

  “After the Teclan raided our village, slavers caught up with the survivors a few days later. I was very young, only eight summers. I was sold to a pleasure house in Anbai, where, until I was old enough to work in the house, I was taught other things—foreign languages and customs, so as to better understand the demands and wishes of my future customers. And I was also taught the many ways to pleasure women and men—ways that do not require penetration.

  “When I was old enough, my first union was sold to the highest bidder. He was no Jarl. He was a panting, slobbering old man, and I took no pleasure from it. I worked in the house for several more years until I was purchased by a regular customer. He was taking me to his home when we were attacked by these Northmen, and I was taken prisoner again. Jarl has an eye for Dor women, and I was soon to catch it—much as you were. Which is why you must go.”

  “I HAVE A present for you,” Jarl announced.

  Nena smiled at his excitement. “I do not need a present. And besides, your last gift to me were the cuffs.”

  “I know, but I want to give you one. I want to see you as happy as I am. And the cuffs were a gift of necessity, for your safety—and mine,” he added. “This is a gift purely for your enjoyment.”

  Nena hesitated. Would he give her a giant ruby as he had given Altene when she pleased him? The thought hardened her heart.