He didn’t believe her words. “I spoke to your mother, Auder. But there are other ways to protect her. Other ways to change what your father did.”
A tear streamed down her face, and he saw that she was listening to him, at last. Gunnar drew as close as he dared. “I won’t let you go. Not after last night.”
She lowered her eyes, as if she couldn’t bear to look at him. And it was as if she’d driven a blade through his ribs.
To the Norman, he said, “I have a different alliance to suggest. Clár Ó Reilly has agreed to let her son be fostered here, if she can remain with him. In return, we will care for your son as though he were our own blood.”
At his vow, the widow stepped forward. Lord Maraloch’s gaze met Clár’s, and she sent him a tentative smile. There was courage beneath it, and a note of interest in the widow’s face.
“If this is an acceptable alternative to the marriage,” Trahern began, “then we can proceed with fostering arrangements.”
The Norman released Auder’s hand, not hiding his annoyance. “Either is acceptable to me. Though I suspect this lady would prefer that I release her from this betrothal agreement.”
Auder stared at Gunnar, her blue-green eyes hesitant. Almost as if she weren’t certain he would want her anymore.
He started to meet her halfway, but then Auder started to run. He caught her in his arms, and she clung tightly, her face wet with tears. Although the baron looked irritated, he turned his attention back to Clár and her son.
“I’m sorry,” Auder whispered, as Gunnar lifted her onto his horse and swung up behind. “I never wanted to leave you. But I couldn’t have lived with myself if they attacked our cashel and you were killed.”
“You should have trusted me instead of running away.” He framed her face with his hands. “I want to take care of you. And I’ll make certain that no one ever speaks a word against your mother. What happened wasn’t her fault or yours.”
“I wanted to do something to make up for what he did.”
“It’s not your blame to shoulder. Nor your mother’s.” He bent closer, resting his cheek against hers. “Make the choice of what you want. Not of what you think others want from you.”
She leaned back against him, lifting her face to his. “I won’t run from you again, Gunnar.” With a faint smile, she offered, “I’ll run to you. If you’ll have me.”
Two nights later
Auder kept her eyes closed, upon Gunnar’s command. Her new husband had brought her to the house he’d built, and as she lay upon his bed, the cool night air blew over her naked skin.
“Don’t open your eyes,” he ordered.
Though she obeyed, she felt his weight sinking down beside her on the mattress. A light floral scent made her wrinkle her nose. Had he brought her flowers?
The fragrance grew stronger, and she felt the softness of petals against her cheeks, across her breasts, and more flowers upon her stomach.
“Can I open them now?” she said, laughing at the ticklish sensation. A soft silken texture brushed against her nipple, and she shuddered, her breasts straining toward her husband’s touch. His mouth replaced the flower, and she caught her breath at the heated texture of his tongue. He tasted and teased her, applying the slightest suction until she grew moist within her womanhood.
“Open your eyes,” he murmured. Auder obeyed and saw that he’d selected woad, madder and saffron, among other herbs. Rather than selecting flowers, he’d brought her the plants she used for dyeing cloth. “Morren helped me choose them,” he admitted. “I thought they might be useful to you in your work.”
She reached up and pulled him down on top of her, the herbs scattering everywhere. “They’re wonderful, Gunnar.” Her mouth met his in a deep kiss, and she tried to show him all the feelings she couldn’t put into words.
His hands moved over her skin, and the rough skin provoked a desperate need to take him inside her, to claim him as her own.
She pulled at his clothing, and as the layers fell away, she lifted her leg over his hip, granting him access to her body.
“Do you still believe this is something only men enjoy?” he teased, as his hand moved down to caress her.
When his thumb brushed against her hooded center, she smiled against his mouth. “Not anymore.”
He stroked her, and she reached between them to take his manhood into her palm. With her hand wrapped around his length, she fisted him until his face tightened. The moisture of his arousal coated her fingers, and she tried to guide him inside.
“No other man will ever touch you this way,” he swore, sheathing his shaft within her. He brought her hips to the edge of the bed, still keeping them joined together while he stood.
“You’re mine, Auder.”
He angled her body to meet him as he withdrew and thrust inside. Slowly, he joined with her, as though trying to reach the deepest place within her heart. She shivered as his gentle penetrations conjured up a swollen desire. When his length grew even harder within her, she pushed against him with a counter pressure. Eager to please him, she arched her back, moaning when he quickened his rhythm.
Gunnar showed no mercy as he filled her, like a conqueror bent upon ravaging her. Auder’s fingers dug into the flowers, and she was unable to stop her cry of ecstasy when the tremors took her apart, shattering her body. Her husband pushed her back again, wrapping her legs around his waist as he stole her breath away.
And when at last he’d finished, he rested his head against hers, holding her close. Lifting one of the flowers to her cheek, he brushed it down her skin, making her smile.
As he held her tightly, their bodies fused together, she murmured against his skin, “I love you, Gunnar.”
He kissed her softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “As I love you, my wife.” His hands moved over her skin in a gentle caress. “And my friend.”
Look for Trahern MacEgan and Morren O Reilly’s story in Surrender to an Irish Warrior, available wherever books and ebooks are sold September 2010.
An Irish warrior with a thirst for revenge…
Trahern MacEgan—his body is honed for fighting, his soul is black and tortured. Women want to tame him, but he has loved once, and now is lost.
A woman who has suffered in silence…
Morren Ó Reilly—she has known pain and shame, but holds her head high, even though she shrinks from a man’s touch.
Their passionate redemption
Can Morren be the light to Trahern’s darkness, and can she be made whole again by her surrender?
If you liked this story by Michelle Willingham, try more of her sensual historical romances always available in eBook format:
The MacEgan Brothers Series
Her Irish Warrior
The Warrior’s Touch
Her Warrior King
The Viking’s Forbidden Love-Slave
Her Warrior Slave
The Warrior’s Forbidden Virgin
Taming Her Irish Warrior
Surrender to an Irish Warrior
The Accidental Series
An Accidental Seduction
The Accidental Countess
The Accidental Princess
Also Available
Innocent in the Harem
Enjoy more passion through the ages with the sensual Harlequin Historical UNDONE titles on sale now:
A Scandalous Liaison by Elizabeth Rolls
Arabian Nights with a Rake by Bronwyn Scott
Bitten by Desire by Marguerite Kaye
The Virgin’s Pursuit by Joanne Rock
Innocent in the Harem by Michelle Willingham
Taming Her Gypsy Lover by Christine Merrill
The Laird and the Wanton Widow by Ann Lethbridge
The Highlander and the Sea Siren by Marguerite Kaye
Convenient Wife, Pleasured Lady by Carole Mortimer
Craving something a little longer? Find more historical romantic adventure from Harlequin Historical at www.eHarlequin.com or your l
ocal bookstore.
Interested in writing for Harlequin Historical UNDONE? Send your submission to [email protected].
Michelle Willingham grew up living in places all over the world, including Germany, England and Thailand. When her parents hauled her to antiques shows in manor houses and castles, Michelle entertained herself by making up stories and pondering whether she could afford a broadsword with her allowance.
She graduated summa cum laude from the University of Notre Dame, with a degree in English, and received her master’s degree in Education from George Mason University. Currently she teaches American History and English. She lives in south-eastern Virginia with her husband and children. She still doesn’t have her broadsword.
ISBN: 978-1-4268-5290-9
Pleasured by the Viking
Copyright © 2010 by Michelle Willingham
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.
www.eHarlequin.com
Pleasured by the Viking Page 5