A Deal with Her Rebel Viking

by Michelle Styles

  He ran a clever hand along one leg, making the flames inside her lick higher until she knew they would consume her. Her body bucked and writhed against the cloak as his hand skimmed the apex of her thighs.

  Her hands went to his trousers, worked on the tie, but managed to tangle it. He caught her wrists with one hand.

  ‘You will knot the string. I am more adept at this,’ his voice rumbled in her ear, sending fresh shivers down her spine.

  He undid his trousers with the other hand and his erection sprang free. It was far larger than she had considered. She looked down at the grass instead of touching him.

  ‘We go at your pace,’ he said against her temple. ‘It is far more pleasant. I want to erase all bad memories for you.’

  ‘Please,’ she whispered, hardly knowing what she was asking for, but for the first time in her existence her body was on fire and seeking relief. She knew now why women wanted this, instead of merely enduring it, why they might want to see the magnificence of their partner instead of hiding in a ball in the darkness.

  His questing fingers went further up her thighs and found her nest of curls. She moved against his hand and his fingers went deeper, inside her.

  Her body arched upwards.

  ‘You’re wet for me,’ he rasped in her ear. ‘See.’

  He moved his damp fingers against her belly in a soft sensuous curve. The fire grew within her.

  ‘May I?’ he asked. ‘Please?’

  Incapable of speech, she nodded.

  He opened her thighs and positioned his body carefully before entering her.

  As he pushed, her body opened and invited him in. Instead of the intense pain she’d expected, a great warmth flooded through her. She tilted her hips upwards and he became fully sheathed. Giving into instinct, she began to rock back and forth. Faster and faster until the world swirled about her in total ecstasy.

  A great cry rose up from Moir and then he collapsed back down on to her. She brought her arms around his back, welcoming the satisfied, boneless weight of him with a blissful smile on her face.

  * * *

  Moir smoothed the hair from Ansithe’s temple. It had curled into small ringlets in the heat. He hadn’t expected that intensity or the passion from her. He doubted he had ever seen anyone look as lovely as she did in that heartbeat—her dark auburn hair spread out on the cloak, her mouth slightly swollen from his kisses, her eyes heavy-lidded from the passion they had shared. For this one breath, she was his and only his. He drew a finger down her face and knew she’d ruined him for all other women. She was the one he’d always remember, always judge other women by, and he knew he’d never want anyone as much as he wanted her.

  No thinking beyond the next sunset—wasn’t that his proudly proclaimed motto? How silly it seemed now. He wanted to think beyond the sunset to many sunsets with her, but also not to think at all as he knew their sunsets would be limited. All he had was this moment.

  He pressed a kiss against her cheekbone. ‘Thank you.’

  Her slow, knowing smile made his groin ache again. ‘I should be the one thanking you for making my dreams become a reality. You made me feel beautiful. As though I was worth something more than just being a nurse or a housekeeper.’

  He’d made her dream a reality. Something tightened in his gut. He had never done that for anyone. A great surge of longing to protect her from harm washed through him.

  ‘My pleasure,’ he choked out, rattled by the feeling. He had never felt this possessive about anyone before.

  ‘Now I understand what this is all about,’ she continued, her lips curving up into a satisfied smile. ‘Why minstrels sing of it. Why people do it so often. I never truly understood before.’

  He rolled off her and stared up the darkening sky. Her husband had been an uncouth bastard and if he had been alive, Moir would have taken great pleasure in severing his head from his body for treating Ansithe in that fashion, for making her fear her femininity rather than embracing it.

  He clenched his fist and wished he could take her with him. Slowly he forced his fingers to uncurl. Guthmann’s last warning about what he would do to any of Moir’s family, particularly his women, resounded in his ears. Until he ensured her safety, he would have to trust his instincts—she was safer at Baelle Heale than anywhere.

  He wanted to see what she would be like if she was brought to her full flowering of passion. And he knew he wanted to be the one to do it. He wanted to wake up every morning with her in his arms. He wanted to spin dreams and think about the future.

  ‘Was your late husband blind?’ He smoothed a tendril from her forehead. ‘Don’t answer that. He had to have been. Is that why you refuse to see what you look like?’

  ‘He was older, older than my father if the truth be told, but his eyesight was still keen. I suspect my father thought he’d have an ally for rather longer than he did. In the event, the exertion of our wedding night made him take to his bed for weeks. He tried again with me, but I was inept.’

  ‘Inept?’

  ‘I never bore him a child. He said that it was all my fault, that my insides were shrivelled up. He ensured everyone in the household heard his accusation.’

  His heart clenched at the matter-of-fact way she confessed that. The fault was more likely her husband’s than hers. And he hated the man even more for humiliating her in that fashion. ‘The last thing you are is shrivelled up. I know how wet you were for me. I know how alive your body is. Do I have to demonstrate it to you again?’

  Her cheeks coloured delightfully. ‘You are right. He lied.’

  ‘I certainly have no complaints about your performance. How could I?’ He ran his hand down her flank. ‘It surpassed my wildest imaginings. The day remains young.’

  She smiled and gathered her knees to her chest. Her curtain of hair fell over her face, hiding her glorious eyes. ‘It is something I will remember for the rest of my life, but we need to return. Cynehild will worry.’

  He reached and wound her silken hair about his hand. ‘I would like to do it again if you are willing.’

  She chewed her bottom lip. ‘Is it possible?’

  ‘Your sister hasn’t returned from court yet.’

  ‘She will be back soon.’

  ‘Soon isn’t today.’ A few days more, a sunset or three, he silently pleaded. A few days with Ansithe and he would accept whatever destiny lay in store for him, even if that meant playing nursemaid to Bjartr until the end of his days or ending up as Guthmann’s prisoner. None of it would matter—he would have held paradise in his arms.

  She stood and smoothed her skirts down. He reached out and took some wisps of grass from her hair.

  ‘I must seem as though I’ve been through a hedge backwards.’

  He rubbed the back of his thumb across her well-kissed lips before he started to dress. ‘You look like a goddess come to earth to torment the mortals.’

  Her lips curved upwards. ‘Thank you for that, but I’m not. I’m very ordinary. My late husband was frank about it—he’d purposely chosen the plain daughter. My grandmother’s favourite saying was that I should be grateful that I was clever as I wasn’t pretty.’

  ‘My truth matters to me, not your late husband’s or your grandmother’s.’

  She turned away from him. ‘We had best return or otherwise people will be wondering what has happened to us.’

  He caught her hand and raised it to his mouth. He made a vow—he would protect her and then he would return for her. But he would not tell her until that day happened. ‘Some day, you will believe my truth. Some day I will show you what passion can be like in a bed piled high with furs rather than on the hard ground.’

  ‘I am content with this ground.’ She started to walk away with her backside gently swaying temptingly in front of him. ‘What happened was for the moment, Moir. It doesn’t change things. When the time comes, you
will be ransomed. I have a duty to my family. I can’t ruin their lives again.’

  He wanted to throw her over his shoulder and carry her off somewhere where they could be alone without the entire world coming between them.

  ‘But that time hasn’t come yet. We still have this time,’ he called. ‘For as long as it lasts.’

  She glanced back. Her eyes crinkled at the corners and nearly took his breath. ‘For as long as it lasts.’

  Chapter Ten

  Ansithe stifled a gasp when they arrived back at the hall. In the lengthening shadows, she could make out a man, stripped to the waist and tied to a post. At her noise, he lifted his head and stared at them with a tear-streaked face. Bjartr.

  Ansithe struggled to control her temper. She’d left Cynehild in charge and this had happened. She handed Moir her eating knife. ‘You cut him down. I will see what is going on.’

  ‘He stays.’ Cedric’s nasal whine rang out over the yard.

  At Ansithe’s gesture, Moir continued over to Bjartr, but two of Cedric’s men stood in front of him, blocking him.

  ‘I am warning, you, Northman, do not interfere with Mercian justice or you will suffer a similar fate.’ Cedric said. ‘This man tried to steal a child from this house and then denied it. I was about to take him away.’

  Ansithe marched up to where Cedric stood and jabbed him in his chest. ‘Under whose orders, Cedric? These are my prisoners, not yours. Cut him down, Moir.’

  ‘Ansithe, Cedric is right. That Northman was caught leading Wulfgar to the lake. He was going to drown him. Then he struck one of Cedric’s men.’ Cynehild came out, wringing her hands and clutching a very damp Wulfgar who wriggled and squirmed.

  ‘I saw it with my own eyes. And he attempted to hit me when I intervened.’ Cedric gave an irritating laugh. ‘He remains silent for now, but he will talk once I am finished with him. He is probably one of the ones who stole the sheep. He wanted to free his companions and crept in.’

  ‘Impossible,’ Moir roared. ‘Now move out of my way.’

  Cedric’s men stood, hands on their swords, still blocking his way.

  ‘You heard the man. What you are claiming is impossible,’ Ansithe said.

  ‘What do you mean impossible? The Northman made an unprovoked attack on one of my men. It is my right—’

  ‘This man is my prisoner, one whom I captured as Cynehild knows full well. Now, move aside or I will consider it an act of war. We know who captured these prisoners.’

  The men backed away, muttering.

  ‘After you, my lady,’ Moir said, giving her a significant look.

  She took the knife from Moir, went up to Bjartr and cut him down. He fell to his knees and put his hand to his throat.

  ‘What was he doing carrying Wulfgar?’ Cynehild asked. ‘Wulfgar was not supposed to be anywhere near the threshing barn.’

  ‘Did you ask him? Or did you merely allow Cedric’s so-called warriors to beat him until he was incapable of speech?’

  ‘It was obvious what he was doing, my lady,’ Cedric said. ‘In any language. He was beaten for being insolent. You have no idea of how to look after prisoners properly.’

  ‘Back. Bringing back,’ Bjartr croaked. Now that he was down, the fresh bruising on his face was clearly visible. ‘Danger. Lake.’

  ‘Which way was Bjartr going, Cynehild, when you discovered him?’ Ansithe asked.

  ‘It happened so quickly. Wulfgar was missing, but only for a few heartbeats, I swear. We had started to search and then he appeared, carrying him.’ Cynehild put a hand to her face. ‘Oh, my goodness, do you think he was returning Wulfgar? Had he been gone longer than the nurse said?’

  ‘He was insolent to me and my men whatever he was doing,’ Cedric said. ‘Refused to hand the boy to my man. He raised his hand as if to strike him. My men had to subdue him.’

  ‘Maybe he knew the man wasn’t Wulfgar’s mother or part of this family,’ Ansithe retorted. ‘Did your men strike first and ask questions later?’

  ‘When you confront that sort of filth, you act and then ask questions. He didn’t answer them.’

  ‘What, so an unarmed man who saved a little boy from drowning in the lake was dangerous to your group of warriors? You had to beat him senseless because he did the decent thing?’ Ansithe deliberately turned her back on Cedric before he made more than a spluttering noise. ‘Honestly, Cynehild, what were you thinking?’

  Cynehild appeared suitably shamefaced. ‘It seemed so clear-cut when Cedric explained it. I waited until you returned home before letting him leave with that man. I owed you that much.’

  ‘If he had left with Bjartr, you would never have had Leofwine returned to you,’ Ansithe pointed out.

  Cynehild made no answer.

  ‘You choose to believe this piece of filth over me?’ Cedric bellowed.

  ‘Yes. If he was stealing a child, why would he be coming back to the hall with him? Your men are armed, he is not. Why would he attack them?’

  ‘Since when do heathens need reasons?’

  Ansithe pointed towards the gate. ‘I would suggest you leave, Lord Cedric. Your services to justice are not required here.’

  ‘What did he do?’ Cedric sneered, looking Moir up and down. ‘Kiss you? You have to know that he would only have one reason for doing that.’

  ‘Excuse me?’ Ansithe said, outraged.

  ‘Well, you would not be the first to lose your head over a man, but it will end in tears, my lady,’ Cedric continued.

  Ansithe and Cynehild exchanged looks at his possessive tone.

  ‘My sister asked you to leave, Lord Cedric,’ Cynehild said coldly, moving to stand beside Ansithe. ‘Earlier you and I agreed we should wait for Ansithe to decide her prisoner’s fate. She has. You and your men may depart now.’

  ‘When you lose everything after they escape, don’t blame me. These Northmen only want to use you, my lady.’ He touched his hand to his cap. ‘Your servant, Lady Cynehild. I pray your husband arrives back quite soon. You are becoming positively ungovernable just like your sister.’

  Cedric mounted his horse. He and his men rode away.

  ‘Thank you, my lady,’ Bjartr blurted out. ‘For believing me. I saved that child.’

  Ansithe glanced towards where Moir stood, still glowering. ‘Where did you find my nephew?’

  ‘By the lake. I saw him wandering around without a nurse. I knew it was wrong.’

  Ansithe did not ask what he was doing by the lake. ‘Cynehild is lucky you were there.’

  ‘I will take you back to the threshing barn,’ Moir said. ‘The rest of my men will be wondering what has happened.’

  Ansithe waited until he and Bjartr had gone. ‘Explain, Cynehild. Explain how you nearly gifted our most valuable prisoner to Cedric.’

  Cynehild gulped hard. ‘It happened so quickly. Cedric was talking to me. Then Wulfgar was missing. We searched and I saw him in that man’s arms. He refused to give him to Cedric’s men. And...’

  ‘And you did not stop to think. You panicked.’

  ‘Wulfgar is my hope for the future. You wouldn’t understand that, not being a mother.’

  ‘Ask questions first. Do not jump to conclusions.’

  ‘I was waiting for you to return,’ Cynehild said. ‘You were gone far longer than you should have been. Was everything well?’

  ‘The sheep were eventually discovered. You can’t put a time limit on these things.’

  ‘I see.’ Cynehild gave Ansithe a searching look which seemed to take in her mussed gown and creased couvre-chef. ‘Will the sheep detain you again? You may not like what Cedric had to say, but you must be careful, Ansithe. People might gossip about you.’

  Ansithe kept her gaze on the post where Bjartr had been tied. She suspected her mouth was redder than normal and that her clothes were badly rumpled. She stopped her
hands from smoothing her gown and straightened her spine. Sometimes Cynehild saw too much. ‘The problem with the sheep has been resolved. I know what is important and who is important.’

  ‘I trust your word. Cedric...’ Cynehild put Wulfgar down. Her cheeks flushed. ‘You are right. Cedric is a fool. I just don’t want my sister to get hurt.’

  Ansithe kissed Cynehild on her cheek, making up her mind. She and Moir couldn’t be together again. Some things needed to be remembered only in dreams, rather than being acted upon. ‘You have little to fear on that score.’

  * * *

  ‘What do you think you were playing at?’ Moir asked when he and Bjartr rounded the barn and were out of Ansithe’s and her sister’s sight.

  Bjartr pulled away from him. ‘I saved a child’s life and was beaten for it. Those men would not listen to me.’

  ‘You were supposed to be working on the barn roof, not walking by the lake.’

  ‘I didn’t fancy it. Far too warm. And I have been injured.’

  ‘And you think you can pick and choose what you do? You are fit enough to work.’

  ‘My father—’

  ‘Your father will hear of this. You were ordered to do a task by your leader, Bjartr Andvarrson. You failed. If Lady Ansithe and I had not returned when we did, I shudder to think what might have happened to you.’

  Bjartr doubled over, suddenly appearing very young. ‘I saved his life. I know I did. Do you want that little boy to be dead?’

  ‘We are very grateful, I am sure. Now what exactly were you doing down by the lakeshore? Throwing stones into the water?’

  ‘Nothing very much. I thought...’

  ‘Let me do the thinking. It is why I have become your leader. You’ve already made too many mistakes.’

  Bjartr hung his head and mumbled an apology.

  Moir curtly accepted it. If he managed to get the boy back alive, it would be a miracle. And he had to do it, particularly if he wanted to have any hope of making a proper offer for Ansithe.

  * * *

  Ansithe twisted the hunk of straw and tried to concentrate on repairing the skep. She’d gone to the apiary after Cedric departed to recover her calm.