by Cathy MacRae
“Have ye lost yer mind? Has auld age caught up with ye at last? My brother, the gallant knight to whom lasses tossed their virginity—”
“I never deflowered an innocent!” Alex protested. “One. I was unaware. She was verra convincing. And ’twas before I married.”
Arbela poked his chest with her forefinger. “Ye spent nearly thirty married years being faithful to yer wife. And now that ye are free to marry again, ye have spent the past year plying the Mediterranean coastline, though I imagine ye have at least learned discretion.”
“I dinnae swive my way through the port towns,” he growled. “I had my daughter with me.”
Arbela’s eyebrows arched in an ironic gesture he knew too well. “Be that as it may, ye now have a woman in mind—she’s very lovely, by the way, and Gillian seems smitten by her—and ye do naught but stare after her like a lovesick lad! Serves ye right she willnae do more than exchange puppy’s eyes with ye. Offering to make her yer mistress! Pah!”
Alex shook his head like an ox stunned by a butcher’s blow. “Are ye saying I should marry a Norsewoman?”
“Not a Norsewoman, that Norsewoman,” Arbela corrected. “Or at least give her the courtesy of speaking yer heart to her. I can imagine the drivel ye’ve spilled to keep her at arm’s length. Ye are quite out of the habit of wooing, Brother.”
CHAPTER 17
The laird caught Hanna’s eye with a quick gesture as Arbela engaged Gillian in a conversation regarding her puppy’s virtues. Hanna stepped away, answering a peculiar urge to be near him. His interest piqued her curiosity and, against her better judgement—as her heart tripped a strange, eager cadence—she joined him as he skirted a pile of badly worn wooden shields laying at the edge of the practice field.
She folded her hands within the wide cuffs of her sleeves and fell into step next to him with a glance over her shoulder to where the older woman frolicked with Gillian and her puppy.
“Och, my sister is a fine lass,” Laird MacLean rumbled, “and we were always thick as thieves growing up. We’re twins—can ye tell?”
Again, Hanna slanted Arbela a look from the corner of her eyes. “Ye do favor. Your eyes are different, though.”
“’Tis her way,” he said. “We were born and raised in the Holy Land, and our mother was Armenian. Arbela endured two cold winters here before she gave up her satins and brocades for sturdy wool, though she still has a fondness for silks and jewels, and is often seen in trews and a tunic.” He grinned. “She smudges her eyes with kohl, though not as much as before.”
“She is very beautiful,” Hanna murmured, surprised to learn their mother had not been Scottish.
She followed him, admiring the warrior grace of his muscles, until he at last came to a halt some distance away, behind the stable where broodmares grazed, their bellies swelling with the next year’s foals. Alex leaned against the stable wall, facing the peaceful scene. He caught Hanna’s hand and led her to stand before him, her back against his chest.
Hanna tensed as his arms encircled her, equally startled at the thrill of his touch and fear of a trap.
“I believe I’ve mentioned before, should I wish to toss ye in the dungeon, I have no need of resorting to trickery. I brought ye here because I’ve been wanting to hold ye, and there are too many damn people around anywhere else.”
Releasing her panic, Hanna settled to the warmth of his encircling arms, his breath against her cheek—and the firm evidence of his desire against her buttocks. New heat blossomed, sliding up her neck from an indescribable place deep inside.
Alex’s voice rumbled. “I watch ye with Gillian and wonder what it would have been like to see ye grow round with child, to be at yer side to welcome a bairn into this world. I wonder if a child of ours would have had yer coloring or mine.”
“My laird—”
“Alex,” he reminded her, his lips brushing the top of her ear. Hanna swallowed.
“Alex,” she breathed, “what ye ask is . . . .”
“Is what?” he asked when she did not continue. “Is sordid? Dishonorable? Distasteful to ye? Or could it be passionate? Beautiful? Fulfilling?”
Hanna leaned forward, breaking from his embrace, then faced him. “I do not believe it would be distasteful to lie with ye. Though my experience of passion is lacking, I believe ye would be a generous lover.” She stepped close again as he settled his hands at her waist, placing herself between his feet. Catching a whiff of his scent, she drew an indulgent breath, heady with the scent of warm wool and man.
“Hanna, I willnae force ye. But could we experiment? And if ye dinnae like it, we willnae pursue it.” He tilted his head. “At least let us say we tried.”
“What do ye suggest?” she asked, of two minds where her loyalties lay. How much of herself was she willing to give up to sample the enigma she found in this man?
Alex’s fingertips stroked the line of her jaw. “A simple kiss, Hanna,” he murmured. “We dinnae wish to scandalize the horses.”
His quip brought a smile to her lips, and he was quick to capture it, slanting his mouth across hers. He nibbled her lower lip, traced it with his tongue. Sparks ignited every inch of her, challenging her senses in a way she’d never experienced. Aware of every texture and contour of his lips, she boldly answered his unspoken question, opening her mouth to receive his plundering caress, meeting his escalating ardor with a passion that took her unaware.
Alex’s body, disarmingly relaxed only a moment before, tensed as he pulled her against his length. Hanna twined her arms about his neck, pressing against him as the surge of his mouth demanded her surrender. She denied his command, forcing him back as she sought more. A whimper escaped her as she met the solid wall of his chest.
She slid one knee up his thigh, opening herself to the hard caress of his cock as Alex’s hand gripped her buttocks through the layers of her skirts. His groan filled her ears. He shoved the layers of fabric back and scooped her up, pivoting as he pressed Hanna’s back against the wall. She wrapped her legs about his waist and surrendered to his mouth with a sigh.
Alex ground his cock against her core. Panting, he pressed his forehead against hers.
“By St. Andrew’s balls,” he said, his voice harsh, “what is there about passion ye dinnae understand?”
Hanna’s grin spread across her swollen lips. “Ye name that a simple kiss?” she countered.
“I believe we have scandalized the horses and dashed all previous notions of mere kissing beyond recall.” Alex groaned and pressed closer. “Ye cannae be unaffected.”
Hanna’s breath caught between a laugh and a groan, emerging as a gasp as fire lit every nerve. Overhead, thunder rumbled. Hanna blinked, suddenly aware of dark clouds where an overcast sky had been moments before. Lightning cracked and a low drone filled her ears.
Alex yelped and slid to one side, taking refuge from the rain’s onslaught beside her beneath the stable roof’s overhang. He found her hand and gripped it as though he feared she would flee. He kissed the top of her head.
“I have an idea. Follow me.”
* * *
The fragrant scent of fresh hay filled his nose. Cut ends of the dry grass poked at him through the plaide crumpled beneath him in places that hadn’t been poked in many years. What had possessed him to seduce Hanna in the stable loft?
Finish seducing Hanna was perhaps a better phrase. Or, had she seduced him? He was certain he’d never experienced anything quite like his Valkyrie. Hanna curled against him, sound asleep, likely exhausted from a bout of lovemaking that left him wondering when he’d be able to move again.
The hay crackled softly as he rolled his head from side to side and stretched his legs. Hanna sighed and slid a hand across his chest, anchoring him in place.
The driving sound of rain eased and Alex heard the rattle of buckets and murmur of voices below, marking the evening feeding. His stomach ventured a growl, but it lacked conviction.
Hanna of Hällstein, what have ye done to me?
With an effort, he rolled to his side and pressed a kiss to Hanna’s forehead. A slightly salty flavor tingled on his lips.
“We could stay the night, but I believe we’d be more comfortable in my bed,” he whispered.
Hanna’s eyes flew open, the line of her body tensed. Before calming words left his mouth, she eased. Hay rustled as she tilted her head slightly. “Ye wish to continue this?” she asked.
“I hoped this was not a single event,” Alex drawled as his cock stirred to life at the sound of her voice. “I admit the experience met my most hearty approval. What say ye, Hanna? Will ye have me?”
Hanna’s hand returned to stroke his chest, her fingers twisting gently in the mat of hair. “’Twas more than I expected,” she admitted. “I did not know men and women could enjoy this together.”
Jealousy roiled in Alex’s gut. “Yer husband dinnae care for yer affections?”
Hanna shook her head. “He came to me often—and finished quickly.”
“I would show ye generosity in love, Hanna. If ye but give me a chance.”
“Ye already have,” she replied. “I regret not one moment in your arms.”
Alex narrowed his eyes, a frown playing about his lips. “Ye dinnae sound certain ye wish to add to those moments,” he said. “If ye have no regrets, then what is it ye fear?”
Hanna was silent for a moment, then rose from their make-shift bed, settling on the blanket with her legs tucked beneath her. She trapped her hands between her knees, giving him a frank look, though Alex thought he saw a flash of sorrow lurking in the dark green depths. His gaze dropped lower, admiring the play of shadowy afternoon light on her pale breasts, and the smooth curve of her hips. He clenched his hands into fists and forced himself to listen.
“I fear stepping aside when ye take a Scottish lass for a wife.”
Alex risked cupping her chin in his palm. His pulse raced as skin touched skin and he wanted her again with the fervor of a youth. “I dinnae plan to take a wife,” he said. “I can name Gillian my heir, or, if the council is against it, my sister’s son who fostered here as a youth would make an admirable laird. Ye and I are free to enjoy each other for as long as we wish.”
Hanna shook her head, her skin soft beneath his touch. “I was raised to be a shield maiden, not a temptress.”
“Ye are a strong woman,” Alex agreed. He ran his thumb over the ridge of her cheek bone. “But ye were meant to stand with a man, not oppose him.”
“Alex, there will come a time when ye will wed—for an heir, an alliance, mayhap even for love. But it willnae be me, and it would break my heart to walk away.”
“Then marry me,” Alex demanded. “I have no use for vows to bind me to the woman I love. But if it makes a difference to ye, I will proclaim before God and the MacLeans that ye are my wife until death parts us.”
Hanna sighed. “I will not be accepted. Our people are at war. Your king readies to overthrow the King of Norway.” She reached for her chemise. “When we enter the hall, we will be laird and servant once more.”
“Dinnae pull away, Hanna.” Alex seized the soft gown before she could slip it over her head. “A woman who fears loss, loves much. Do ye love me?”
“I cannot account for it,” Hanna replied. “Ye are a Scot, and I had no knowledge of ye little more than a month ago. But I find much to admire in ye.”
“That isnae what I asked,” Alex growled. “Do ye love me?”
Hanna glanced downward, as though she could see through the hay and rafters to the stable below. “In half an hour, the stable hands will be at their supper and we can slip away unseen.” She slid a hand up his arm and across his shoulder, trailing her fingertips down his chest and belly to where his cock awaited her.
“Let me show ye the answer.”
CHAPTER 18
Arbela glanced up from tightening her horse’s girth and sent her brother a sharp look. “I thought ye would be in a better mood to see me off.”
“She doesnae want me.”
Arbela snorted. “She wanted ye very badly, if ye ask me. Did ye offer to marry her?”
“Aye.”
“And the offer fell flat after ye sought her as yer mistress.” Arbela’s statement hit too close and Alex glared at her. She shrugged. “Even as desirable as ye must be—and dinnae look to me for praise. Ye are my brother, after all, and I know yer secrets. Even so, a woman who loves with her heart doesnae wish to be counted as secondary in yer life.”
“And being a wife doesnae place her first?”
Arbela lifted an eyebrow. “Ye arenae so daft as to believe a bride is instantly elevated to such a status once the ink is dry on the contract. ’Tis a rare relationship that gives husband and wife equal footing.” She gave the girth a sharp tug then tightened the knot and dropped the stirrup leather.
“Ye’ve dug yerself quite a hole, Brother. I wish ye all the best, and I would be happy to claim Hanna as my sister by marriage. But if ye wish to keep her, ye must give her more than a memorable tupping. Ye must give her yer heart.”
Arbela swung into the saddle and gathered her reins. The mounted guard came to attention. “Gnas barov, Alex. I hope to see ye in a better mood next I visit.”
Arbela and her armed escort clattered from the yard, the horses’ hooves flinging up bits of damp earth. Alex peered at the sky, calculating the possibility of an hour’s time to check on the Porpoise before they set sail two days hence. Sailing was something he knew, and knew well—a comforting thought among a host of disquieting ones.
After their time together the day before, Alex knew Hanna’s body, though not nearly as well as he’d like, and his body craved hers like nothing he’d ever known before. If he couldn’t win her heart and convince her to accept his proposal before he sailed, he wondered if he’d get another chance.
* * *
Gillian bounced up and down in Aadny’s lap, her squeal of indignation echoing in the small chamber. Restless at being cooped up in the castle as rain settled in again after the evening meal, Gillian had demanded a story. Hanna and Aadny’s room beneath the eaves proved the perfect place to avoid Peigi whose aching bones shortened her patience—and for Hanna to finally relax her vigil against meeting with Alex again. The effect he’d had on her senses had both thrilled and disquieted her, sharpening her reaction to the least sound or movement. She did not want to need him so badly. ’Twas foolishness to believe he had done little more than appease a need, a curiosity. Twice she’d wondered if she would be better off leaving the sanctuary of MacLean Castle. If not for Aadny and Gillian, she would have done more than consider the unsettling thought.
“Och! They killed Thjadi?” Gillian wrinkled her nose. “They burnt him up?”
Hanna tilted her head, trying to remember which story she’d recited. Ah, Loki and the giant.
“The giant had been chasing Loki,” she explained. “’Twas all the gods could do to protect him—and themselves. The gods were thankful Loki had brought Idun back, for they were aging, and only she could keep them young.”
Gillian considered this, then nodded. “And all was well once Idun returned?”
Hanna met Aadny’s gaze. “Not entirely,” she admitted. “For when Thjadi died, his daughter, Skadi, showed up in the middle of their celebration to avenge her father’s death.”
Irony poked at Hanna for telling Gillian a story involving revenge when it had been the master of her heart for so long. A peculiar sense of well-being crept over her as she gazed at the child and the young girl she’d taken under her wing. A smile teased one corner of her mouth.
“What happened?” Gillian asked, eager for the rest of the story.
“Well, ’twas not easy to convince Skadi to put aside her vengeance, but the gods were patient with her and she eventually agreed to terms of reparation.”
“What is re-par-shun?” Gillian puzzled.
“Reparation is terms to repay you for a wrong done to you.”
Gillian’s eyes grew wide. “What did they gi
ve her?”
“Three things,” Hanna replied. “First, the gods took Thjadi’s eyes and cast them into the sky, where they became two bright stars.”
Gillian frowned, then her face cleared. “I suppose that is pretty,” she admitted.
“It sounds gruesome, but somehow lovely, and mayhap an honor,” Hanna agreed. “A way to remember Thjadi every time you peer at the night sky.”
Gillian clapped her hands, her good humor returned. “My ma looks down from the sky at me, so that was a good gift. What else did they give her?”
“The second boon was to make her laugh. Skadi was much too solemn and sad, and the gods swore they’d make her laugh.” Hanna affected a woeful face. “But though the gods tried many things, none were successful in making Skadi laugh—or even smile.”
“Och, no!” Gillian exclaimed in dismay. “Did that make her angry?”
“It may have,” Hanna replied. “But Loki, whose name means trickster, tied one end of a rope about a goat’s neck and . . . .” Her gaze flew to Aadny’s who instantly closed her eyes, pinching her mouth closed against her laughter. “And he began a game of tug of war with the goat,” she finished lamely, certain the image of Loki tying one end of the rope around the goat’s neck and the other about his own testicles would only bring confusion to the story—and perhaps uncomfortable questions from the six-year-old.
Gillian’s brow drew downward. “And that made her laugh?”
“Aye,” Aadny choked. “It did.”
Gillian sighed as if the Norse logic escaped her, but she accepted the story. “What was her third boon?”
“Marriage to the god of her choice,” Hanna said. “However, she had to choose her husband by the sight of his legs only.”
“My da has bonny legs,” Gillian announced. “All the women say so.”
“Listening to talk ye shouldn’t?” Hanna asked, giving the child a mock-severe look, attempting to pull her mind from the memory of Alex’s muscular legs twined with hers.