Tormod

by Hazel Hunter

  She took her mouth from his as she felt his muscles bunching under her, and sensed he was about to go for what he wanted. “You’re too impatient.”

  “You’re naked, and I’m a man.” He rolled over with her, pinning her under him and framing her face with his hands. “And look at you. You’re as tempting as a chest of jewels, you smell of firelight and you taste of…” He kissed her. “Wild cherries and cream, only more luscious.”

  “Now you’re making me impatient.” She reached behind him to untie his trouser laces, and stopped as she realized something. “I don’t know if I’ve ever been with a man. It’s not as if I can go and get a physical.” She met his gaze. “Would it matter?”

  His expression softened. “You’re with me now, lass. Naught else matters.”

  Jema tugged down his trousers, and spread her thighs so that his thick, heavy erection pressed against her slick folds.

  Tormod drew her knees up around his narrow hips, and reached between them to fist his shaft and guide his swollen glans to her. Once he notched himself just inside her opening, he stroked her trembling thigh.

  “You’ve naught to fear. Give over to me. Aye, that’s my Jema.” He pressed in until the satiny bulb of his cockhead had penetrated her. “Let me inside, kona. I’ll love your pretty quim as you need me, aye.”

  He kept murmuring to her as he worked his length into her, inch by aching inch. He felt much bigger and thicker and harder than she’d expected. If she hadn’t been so wet with arousal the merging would have been painful, their fit was so tight. At last he buried himself deep inside her.

  Jema felt deliciously stretched and impaled, and then she saw how tight his jaw was, and the set of his shoulders. “Tormod?”

  “Dinnae move,” he whispered harshly. Slowly he slid back out of her, and then penetrated her again. “Do I hurt you?” When she shook her head he exhaled heavily. “Hold onto me, lass. I cannae wait another breath.”

  Jema gasped as he began to stroke in and out of her, his hips pounding with such force her breasts bounced. At the same time he worked his hands under her buttocks, squeezing them as he pumped into her pussy. His head bowed, and his mouth fastened over one peak, sucking and licking in time with the hammering rhythm of his hips. He tormented one mound and then the other, until Jema thought her tight nipples would burst.

  He fucked her steadily and mercilessly, and her body responded with the same mindless passion, thrusting with him and gripping him from inside. She jutted her breasts against his hungry mouth, and knotted her hands in his hair, crying out as the need inside her grew impossibly huge.

  Tormod plowed deep into the core of her, and that one brutal thrust pushed her over the edge. Jema fell back into the darkness, only now it was hot and heavy and filled with him. The pleasure made her drag down his head for a kiss to stop her from crying out with the joy of it.

  Tormod pushed into her again, his big body jerking, and Jema couldn’t stop coming, not with him flooding her with his thick, warm seed. They held each other inside that storm of bliss, until it rolled away and they collapsed, unable to do more than gasp and shake.

  Her Viking recovered enough to disengage their bodies and shift over to her side. He placed his hand on her damp belly, and looked down at her with the same astonished appreciation she felt.

  “I dinnae think you are a maiden,” he said, very gravely.

  Laughter bubbled out of her, and she curled up against him, holding him close as he shared her mirth. Then his hands found her bottom again, which made her curl a leg over his hip and slide her soaked sex against his slick shaft.

  “You may want to check me again,” Jema told him, “Just in case you missed something the first time.”

  “Gods, you are a generous lass.” He cupped her bottom and massaged the tight curves before he rubbed his thumb over the pucker of her rosebud. “You may regret offering.”

  While her virginity was a non-issue, Jema felt sure she had never been with a man like him. He made love the way a warrior went into battle. His body was a weapon of pleasure, his focus complete. What he wanted he could have, too. The moment he’d slid into her she’d finally let go of all her fears. She wanted to have him again and again, because as long as he was inside her she felt as if she could conquer the world.

  “Anything you want,” she said against his jaw. “I’m yours, Viking.”

  Tormod dragged her over onto her belly, jerking up her hips and burying his mouth against her pulsing sex. As he penetrated her with his tongue, Jema pressed her face against the pillow to stifle the moans spilling from her lips. The sensations flashed through her, as bright and hot as a shower of white-hot sparks.

  “Please,” she begged, not sure what she needed, but confident he could give it to her.

  Tormod found her clit with the edge of his teeth, grazing the swollen pearl before he sucked and licked, laving it while he worked his thumb against her bottom pucker, pressing it just enough to make her gasp.

  “Wild cherries,” he muttered as he hauled her back against him, cupping her breasts. With one hard thrust he was inside her, and worked her mounds in time with the pounding he gave her spasming pussy. Next to her ear he crooned, “I’m your cream now, wench.”

  Jema gripped the sides of his thighs, digging her nails into his flexing muscles as she tightened around him, massaging him from within each time he plowed into her. She felt his chest heave, and heard him make a hoarse sound. She impaled herself on him, leaning back until her head rested against his shoulder.

  “So you’re mine, are you?” he said, his voice low and soft, “I’ll no’ leave you alone again, my lass. You’ll come to crave this every night, as I have, watching you sleep. And you’ll take me now, willnae you?”

  His sensual threat almost shattered her again. “Yes. Oh, Tormod.”

  The climax that seized and shook her wouldn’t let go, and he swore as he drove hard and heavy into her, gripping her breasts as his cock swelled and pumped. Finally she fell limp and boneless, and he tumbled with her, their arms and legs tangled. The aftershocks racked them as if they were fevered, and then at last the cold night air soothed their flushed, sweat-sheened bodies.

  Jema could feel his big body relax as he dozed, his shaft still firmly planted inside her, and pillowed her cheek on his hand. She’d be tender in the morning, but she didn’t care. If she could hold him inside her until they woke, they could start the day as they’d ended it.

  Tormod was wrong. She already craved him. She also realized why she couldn’t go back to her time, and it had nothing to do with the loss of her memory.

  She’d fallen utterly, hopelessly, and irreversibly in love with her Viking.

  Chapter Twelve

  RACHEL TALORC BRAIDED her long dark hair as she watched her husband finish dressing for his night duty. “Are you sure I can’t tag along? Maybe I can pick up something from the Viking.”

  Evander belted his tartan before he buckled the spear sheath strap across his chest. “We agreed you’re no’ to read the minds of the clan. Liefson maynae be Pritani, but he fought like one with us against the Romans. For that he deserves the same consideration.”

  “He also didn’t kill you on the black ship when you were trying to free me from the legion,” she reminded him. “And he supported you rejoining the clan and becoming Captain of the Guard. I want to help him. I’ll just take a quick look.”

  His slanted green eyes glittered as he came to take her in his strong arms. “I dinnae have to read minds to ken that you’ve been conniving with Raen’s wife.”

  Rachel tilted her head back to smile at his fierce, handsome face. “She didn’t kill you either.”

  Evander lifted her off her feet, and kissed her until she clutched his shoulders and tried to wrap her legs around his waist. “More of that and I’ll no’ leave this chamber until dawn.” He held her for a moment longer before he set her down. “’Twill only be a few hours before I return. Be naked for me when I do.”

  A few
minutes after Evander left, a knock sounded. Rachel went to let Diana inside. “He said not to read the Viking, and he meant it.”

  “Despite once being a real jerk, your husband is a very good guy.” The towering redhead closed the door and leaned back against it. “Here’s the thing: I’m not that good, and neither are you. Something’s wrong, very wrong, and if we don’t get on top of it–”

  “Tormod will leave the clan. I know, you told me.” Rachel touched her arm. “Maybe that’s not such a terrible thing. He isn’t like the rest of the McDonnels. If he goes back to Norway, he’ll find what he’s been missing.”

  “You really think there’s a clan of immortal raiders hanging out in the fjords? And they will welcome their brother, the Scottish Viking, with open arms?” Diana threw up her hands. “This is something else, Rache. I swear to you, all my cop gauges are in the red. You have to read him and find out what it is.”

  She felt all the emotions flooding out of her friend, and some of them made sense of her urgency. “Does Tharaen know how close you came to falling in love with Tormod?”

  “Oh, sure. I told him that on our wedding night.” Diana made a rude sound. “Don’t get any ideas. It’s Raen for me, it always has been. Forever won’t be long enough for us. But the Viking is mine, too. My best friend, and my honorary big brother, and the family I never got in my time. Of course I love the jackass. Now will you peek inside his brain and tell me what the fuck is wrong with him?”

  Rachel knew her friend didn’t realize she was shouting. Nor could she explain to Diana how her spirit-bond with Evander through his ink made it almost impossible for her to go against his wishes. “I can’t disobey my husband. I’m sorry.”

  Without another word Diana stalked out of the chamber, slamming the door behind her.

  Worried that her friend might do something even more reckless, Rachel pulled on her cloak and went to find her husband, whom she tracked by his cool, decisive thoughts, to which she was permanently connected. He had stopped in the armory to have a word with Neacal Uthar about forging some special spear heads. For a time she nervously paced along the gallery, until she saw Evander enter below. Though he bounded up the steps in front of her, she thought she heard something like footsteps approaching from behind. But before she could look, Evander was with her.

  “I thought you were keeping the bed warm, wife,” he teased, and then stopped suddenly. Taking the spear from his shoulder sheath, Evander quickly put her behind him, ready to throw. When she rested her hand on his arm, he told her quietly, “No.” In a louder, commanding tone he said, “Show yourself.”

  Although the gallery remained empty except for the two of them, Rachel felt a third person’s presence. Which was impossible, unless the intruder was a ghost.

  Or invisible.

  A flood of fear was pouring over her from her husband’s immediate right.

  “I can’t see anyone here, my love,” she said, turning in that direction.

  “Nor I.” Slowly he lowered the spear, and gave her a rueful look. “I thought I smelled the Viking, and a female. But ’tis no’ like him to chase after a maid through the stronghold.” He came and put his arm around her. “What do you here, now that I have terrified you?”

  “Diana was upset with me for refusing to read Tormod.” Telling one truth but not another was better than lying twice. “I told her you asked me not to, so I thought I should warn you that she is now upset with you.”

  “That explains why she didnae return my greeting when we passed in the kitchens. I’ll speak with her.” He caressed her cheek. “Go to bed, love. I’ll wake you later.”

  Rachel nodded, and started walking in the direction of their bed chamber. As soon as Evander turned the corner, she backtracked and opened her mind. The thoughts of the hidden female were lightened by relief and muddled by regret.

  Tormod is going to be so angry.

  “You didn’t do anything wrong,” she told the unseen woman. “My husband has a very keen sense of smell. What’s your name?”

  The woman’s fear spiked.

  “It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me.” Rachel lifted her hands in a gesture of surrender. “Mine’s Rachel. Are you lost?”

  I know where I am, but I can’t remember my name. Tormod calls me Jema.

  The unseen woman was deliberately thinking her answers, which gave Rachel a small amount of hope.

  “Jema, I’m going to a room where we can speak without drawing any attention. You don’t have to show yourself, and I’ll leave the door open, too.”

  Walking away from Jema gave Rachel a few moments to think. Something definitely seemed amiss with the other woman. Jema’s thoughts felt clear and strong, but behind them was a layer of dark emotion between her consciousness and a lifetime of memories.

  Rachel entered the map room, and went to stand by the window. If Jema was Tormod’s secret, then it would explain a great deal. The Viking had a very protective nature, as well as a tendency to mischief.

  The door to the chamber slowly closed.

  “You’re the mind reader,” a low voice said in a distinct Scottish accent. “That’s how you knew I was there.”

  “Yes, and I heard your footsteps.” Rachel gestured toward the work table. “Would you like to sit down?”

  One of the chairs slid out, and rocked a little.

  Carefully Rachel approached from the other side and sat down. “Jema, how long have you been at Dun Aran?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t a calendar.” Her voice went low as she added, “I think it’s been two weeks, maybe a little longer.”

  Rachel nodded. “It’s a little disconcerting, talking to thin air. Can you make yourself visible?”

  The emptiness of the chair gradually became filled with the transparent form of a fair-haired, lovely young woman with worried eyes and a tight mouth. She appeared more Scandinavian than Scots, especially with her striking bone structure and coloring. Her I’D RATHER BE DIGGING t-shirt made Rachel smile, until she realized what it meant.

  “You’re from the future,” Rachel blurted out. She hadn’t meant to be that blunt, but it seemed to put Jema at ease. “Sorry, it’s just a little exciting. There are only three of us here. Now four, with you.”

  The other woman leaned forward. “Did you know me in our time? Have you ever seen me?”

  “No,” Rachel said and felt a bitter surge of disappointment from the other woman. “But I think I can help you.” She recalled how she had looked into Cailean’s mind in order to save Evander. “I don’t think your memories are gone. I think they’re blocked.” She eyed the fresh scar on Jema’s temple. “Did you hit your head after you came here?”

  “It happened before I came, or on the way.” She touched the spot. “I woke up bleeding in Tormod’s arms. What did this, I can’t tell you. How can you help?”

  “There are levels to my ability,” Rachel told her. “I’ve been reading only your active thoughts. I can use a deeper reach and try to read your blocked memories. It may free them so you can remember your past.”

  Jema slowly nodded. “But you’ve never done this.”

  “Not with someone who has amnesia,” Rachel admitted. “If you feel any pain, or want me to stop at any time, I will.” She held out her hands over the table. “It works best if I can touch you.”

  The other woman didn’t hesitate, and joined hands with her. “All right.”

  Rachel closed her eyes in order to concentrate entirely on Jema’s mind. Her active thoughts had gone still, and were laced with fear, but she didn’t resist Rachel’s reach. The dark wall of emotions did, pushing at her as she encountered it, but she persisted with gentle determination.

  Around the edges of the wall images began to slip by, all of Jema working outdoors. She did like to dig. In fact, she dug big holes in the ground, huge trenches, carefully excavated. She came out of them to search through screens of soil, and study bits of pottery and chipped stone she’d bagged and numbered. With the field work ima
ges came a stream of texts, illustrations and lectures from Jema’s years as a student. Hundreds of nights spent in the library, always studying alone, and the bright pleasure of the day she’d received her first degree.

  “You’re an archaeologist,” Rachel murmured, smiling a little as she watched a memory of Jema sharing tea with other helpers at a site in the lowlands. “That’s why you’d rather be digging.”

  As more memories circumvented the wall, the darkness began to thin. Rachel relived the morning when Jema had learned her parents had been killed, and the bleak double funeral that followed. At her side had been a massive soldier in a black-cuffed red coat, high feathered helmet and dark green kilt, who had held her hand through the service.

  “Gavin,” Jema whispered.

  The dark wall collapsed, and Rachel saw Jema’s twin brother as a boy, chasing her through a field of heather. They had grown up as each other’s best friend, separated only when Gavin had chosen to join the military. Her heart clenched as she experienced Jema’s devastation when Gavin had finally revealed the reason for his medical discharge from The Black Watch: ALS. From that day on Jema had devoted herself to caring for her twin as his condition deteriorated.

  Rachel walked with Jema and Gavin as they visited her last dig, and watched as events unfolded. Jema’s head injury had not blocked off her memories. It had been the horror she’d felt to see Gavin falling in the pit after her. Rachel gasped as she watched the twins hurtle back in time. Then everything went dark until Jema opened her eyes and saw Tormod for the first time.

  The release of her hands cut off Rachel’s reach, and she opened her eyes to see Jema standing and holding her head as tears streamed down her face. On impulse she came around the table to embrace the other woman, and held her until she calmed.