In Bed with the Viking Warrior

by Harper St. George

  Alstan dropped his hold when they walked around the corner of the hall, putting some distance between themselves and the crowd. The moon was full and high, and had claimed its freedom from a mass of clouds, so that she was able to see her brother’s features. He wasn’t happy about what he’d found.

  ‘I don’t know. There’s record of the marriage. It’s recorded in the ledger, but there’s no contract and there’s no record that there ever was. I’ve spoken with Lord Oswine and he promises to look into it...but...’ His voice trailed off and he looked away from her, hands on his hips.

  ‘But? Alstan, what are you saying?’ If there was no record that the house was hers, then she might as well leave now instead of waiting for Wulfric to toss her out.

  Shaking his head, he said, ‘It doesn’t feel right. I’m not certain, but it seems that it was intentionally misplaced. Or perhaps it was destroyed.’ He said that last so low that she had to lean forward to hear it.

  She plopped her heels back into the dirt and teetered a bit, her shoulders catching her weight against the side of the hall. She stayed that way. Dejected and defeated, leaning on the building because she was too weak to hold herself up. Her anger and frustration fled, because despite her initial alarm, she realised that she’d been expecting this. Wulfric always got what he wanted. She might now appeal to Cuthbert, who was kind and just, but even he couldn’t force Wulfric to allow her to stay in her home. Not if it wasn’t hers.

  She wasn’t surprised at all. It was only at that moment that she realised how much she’d been considering the foreigner’s proposition. Her fingers even went to her mouth, touching her lips, which tingled from the memory of the phantom touch of his.

  She had to accept. It was the only choice that made sense. If they were successful, she’d keep her home and not have to marry. But even more, she’d have a child. She had to bite back the smile of relief that threatened to overtake her. Her arms crossed over her belly as she imagined herself growing large with the foreigner’s baby. Perhaps it should have felt wrong—she’d been trying to convince herself of that fact ever since he suggested it. But the very idea filled her with such a sense of hope and tenderness that she was nearly overwhelmed with it.

  Alstan spoke, but she had to blink away her thoughts before she could make sense of what he said. ‘I’ll look into this. I vow to you that I’ll figure out what happened. But whatever happens, I want you to know that you’ll always be welcome in my home. You won’t be alone.’

  She couldn’t hold back her tears and threw herself into his arms. He could make her so angry sometimes that she wanted to stone him, but he always took care of her. ‘I know that I am, Alstan. There’s still hope of a child, though.’ She bit her tongue after the falsehood and hoped it wasn’t too sinful.

  He pulled back, hands on her shoulders. ‘Do you think it’s possible?’

  She nodded but refused to say anything. It hurt to keep anything from him, but this...she could not share it.

  He gave a hint of a smile and hugged her again. ‘I know a child is what you want, so I pray that it’s true.’

  There was one other issue she needed to discuss with him before she went to find the foreigner. ‘What of Rowena and Beorn? What did Lord Oswine decide? Did you make sure he was merciful, as I asked?’

  Alstan nodded. ‘I convinced him Beorn’s transgression was too small to warrant his concern. I’ve dealt with them both.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘Two years of servitude.’ At her expression of dismay, he held up a hand. ‘It seems harsh, but it’s the same work he was doing here. Wulfric did have evidence, so I had to do something. They have lodgings and won’t suffer.’

  Aisly nodded. In the face of what could have been, this wasn’t so bad. ‘Thank you. I knew I could count on you to make it right.’

  ‘You can always count on me, Aisly.’ He tugged the end of her braid and gave her a grin as he bid her goodnight.

  Immediately she turned to look for the foreigner. She’d seen him earlier in the evening. He’d been the object of adoration of a few of the young women as he’d stood talking with them and their families. He’d caught her eye even then and some unspoken tide had passed between them. Hurrying around the building, she searched for the foreigner’s face in the crowd. She was suddenly anxious to accept his proposition before that option, too, was taken away from her. Not seeing him there, she glanced inside the hall but didn’t find his handsome face amongst those listening to the storyteller. Turning back to the crowd outside, she fought against the disappointment threatening to take root and hurried around the fire. After a few moments of searching through the people, she thought that perhaps he’d gone home, but she couldn’t risk knocking on his door so late at night. What if someone saw her?

  * * *

  Magnus had kept an eye on her all night. It wasn’t that she needed to be watched, it was that he couldn’t look away from her. She was constantly lingering in the periphery of his thoughts, but ever since the day he’d made her that offer, she’d somehow pushed her way in even more. Every time he’d seen her since, he’d meant to approach her, to take back the offer because even not knowing who he was, he knew that it had been too much, too far. He had nothing to offer her beyond fathering a child. Yet every time the opportunity had presented itself, he’d held back.

  He wanted her to accept him.

  Whether it was because he wanted her or because he wanted the primal satisfaction of watching her grow round with his seed, he didn’t know. They tumbled and twisted in his mind until they became one and the same.

  Other men watched her as well. She didn’t notice them, but he did. They watched her when she wasn’t looking, or as she passed them and walked away. They couldn’t openly show their interest because she was so recently a widow and he’d learned that she wouldn’t be allowed to marry until summer. He wanted to tear their eyes from their heads, or at least put his arm around her and claim her as his own. He wasn’t certain if it was a primitive instinct that made him so fierce, or if it was some leftover trace of his previous existence.

  Perhaps he didn’t want to know who he was. Perhaps he could start anew. With her.

  His heart picked up speed when he saw her searching around the large roasting fire. She was looking for him.

  ‘Fair one.’ His voice reached her before she saw him. It was husky with longing. He’d been rigid with wanting her since she’d seen him at the stream earlier. If it had been just her, he’d have turned so that she could see what she did to him so easily.

  That was another reason he’d stayed away. If she didn’t want him, he didn’t want to put pressure on her. Only, the look in her eyes at the stream had been easy to decipher.

  Aisly looked for him, turning her head until she spotted him emerging from the shadow of a house just outside the light cast by the fire. His eyes ate her up as they passed over her, making her lips part in pleasure.

  The tiny gasp was welcome, as was the way her eyes warmed when they touched him. The desire was clear on her face for everyone to see. A quick glance found that no one was paying them any attention. Still, he stepped back into the shadows away from prying eyes, silently beckoning her to follow him. His heart gave a jolt when she did.

  ‘Were you looking for me?’

  ‘Aye.’ But she didn’t say anything else and her eyes roved his chest. She was remembering the encounter at the stream.

  He stood straighter for her scrutiny.

  Aye, look at me and imagine yourself beneath me.

  She bit her lip and looked down, as if she knew his thoughts. After a moment, she found her courage and boldly met his gaze again. ‘Why do you look at me like that?’

  ‘Like what?’ He cocked his head to the side, though he knew what she meant. He just wondered if she realised that she looked at him the same way.

  �
�As if... As if I’m someone special to you.’

  ‘Because you are someone special to me.’

  Her cheeks turned rosy and she glowed with pleasure. ‘You barely know me.’

  He laughed. ‘I barely know myself, but I know you. You’re compassionate, fiercely independent, courageous, kind...beautiful.’

  She looked away, unable to meet his gaze as he recited the praise. ‘Why do you say such things?’

  ‘They’re true.’

  ‘It’ll only make things more difficult when...’

  Ah, so she was thinking of the inevitable, too. He would leave her sooner than they both wanted. Somehow the knowledge only made the need to be with her now even stronger.

  ‘I see they’ve given you back your sword.’

  ‘Aye.’ His hand automatically went to the scabbard’s strap that crossed his chest. ‘Cuthbert gave it to me earlier today. It seems I’ve earned his trust.’

  She nodded, but her thoughts weren’t on the sword. He held his breath as he waited for her to speak.

  ‘I’ve thought about your offer.’ Her voice dropped to a whisper and his heartbeat hung suspended while he waited.

  When she seemed reluctant to continue, he gave a nod of encouragement, all the while telling himself that whatever she decided wouldn’t be the end of him. Though either way he knew he was lost.

  ‘Aye. Tonight.’ She was too embarrassed to wait for his response. She simply turned and ran in the direction of her home, droplets of rain dogging her steps.

  The rain that had threatened the entire day finally began to fall. Slowly at first, but the sky opened up before she’d passed from his sight. Magnus stayed where he was, allowing the cold water to cool his overheated body. He wouldn’t follow right away, because he wouldn’t dare to draw attention to the fact that he was doing so. Also, he was fairly certain that his ability to walk properly had been compromised.

  As the sprinkles settled into a steady drizzle, it soaked through his tunic and shirt. Scraping a hand over his face, he sucked in a breath and vowed to not attack her. No matter how he wanted her, he had to go slowly, but first he needed to make sure this was what she wanted.

  People scurried about, gathering the last of the roasted meat and putting it away. Some clogged the doors of the hall, hoping to get inside where the feast still continued. Others ran for their homes to avoid the downpour that was sure to come soon. Magnus was impervious to it all. His thoughts were centred solely on the woman waiting for him.

  Finally, when he’d beaten back his desire to a manageable level, he allowed his steps to take him to her. He took the long way, meandering so no one could guess his intention. His heart beat in his ears with every step, matching the answering throb in his trousers.

  Before it seemed possible, he was raising his hand to knock on her door, but she must have been listening for him, because the door opened before he brought his fist down. She smiled a shy smile and the fierce edge of his arousal changed to something infinitely more tender. She stepped back to allow him inside and closed the door behind them. The sound of the latch fitting into place threatened to stoke the savage flame to life again, but he fought it back down, holding it in his tenuous grip.

  Not yet. Not until—

  Her soft hand pressed against his forearm as she came up behind him. The cold wet sleeve did nothing to dampen the heat of her touch. His eyes closed and his jaw clenched as he fought the battle within him.

  Chapter Twelve

  Aisly shivered from the cold she’d let inside when she’d opened the door, but it was chased by the secret thrill she felt from the intensity of the foreigner’s gaze. Even with Godric—nay, she wouldn’t allow thoughts of him this night. She’d never felt so wanted. The wanting was so poignant that it was almost like need. Perhaps if she’d been less inclined to restraint, she’d allow herself to believe it was need.

  But that was foolishness, as this was simply an arrangement. He was paying her back for saving him.

  Still. The need to touch him was overpowering now that she felt she had some right to him. Pressing her palm to his forearm, she felt him tremble and knew an answering weakness in her knees. Clearing her throat, she said, ‘Come. Take off your tunic and I’ll dry it by the fire.’

  She preceded him into the room, uncertain of how to continue. She’d changed into her nightdress when she’d arrived home, but beyond that and unbraiding her hair, she’d been at a loss as to what he might expect. When a moment passed and there was no movement from him, she turned and lost her breath at the intensity of his expression.

  ‘I need to hear you say that you’re certain, that you’ve thought about this.’ The husk of his voice raked across her skin, drawing it tight with yearning. The wet wool of his tunic and the linen of his shirt underneath was plastered to his chest, emphasising the broad expanse of muscle. His hands were closed into loose fists at his sides, she imagined to keep himself from reaching out to her, though that was probably wishful thinking. He couldn’t possibly feel the way she felt.

  ‘Aye.’ It was a breathy whisper and she was surprised she’d managed that with the way he looked at her. Swallowing, she tried again with more confidence. ‘I’ve given it a great deal of thought. This is what I want.’

  He shrugged out of the scabbard, leaning his sword against the wall before moving towards her. His steps were solid, somehow final, on the bare wood floor as he crossed the room and came to a stop in front of her, way closer than he ever had before. There was an intimacy in the proximity, a knowing that he had the right to her now. Slowly his arms came up around her, drawing her into their circle without ever really touching her. His fingers tugged on her loosened hair, burying themselves in its length. He smelled like rain mixed with clean male sweat, a scent that her body evidently found so pleasing it ached for him. A pulse beat between her thighs and her breasts swelled with longing. Something that shouldn’t have been possible without him even touching her.

  ‘I’ll want to look at you...touch you.’ His breath teased the hair at her temple as he spoke and his low voice rumbled through her. ‘I want your pleasure.’

  A shudder moved through her as languid heat settled between her legs. Her nipples tightened, pebbling as they begged for his touch first. She wasn’t entirely sure what he meant, but she sensed this would be different than anything she’d ever known. She wanted whatever he wanted as long as it meant he’d keep touching her with those gentle hands, looking at her with those intense eyes and speaking to her in that voice that moved through her. Giving a jerky nod that she hoped he interpreted as consent, she pressed her hands to his arms, moving them up until they rested on his broad shoulders.

  His lips brushed her temple, a slow drag that raised goose bumps along her skin. Fingers tightening in her hair, he tilted her head back, forcing her to meet his gaze. His eyes burned hot with arousal, so dark the gold was completely obliterated as they moved down to rest on her mouth. Her lips tingled in anticipation of his touch. Slowly, so slowly she was afraid something might stop him before he reached her, he leaned down.

  He stopped so close that his breath caressed her lips and she knew he’d taste of ale. She wanted the touch of his mouth. ‘Foreigner.’ The whispered plea finally coaxed him lower to tease at her mouth. He brushed her lips once, twice—on the third pass some wicked instinct made her open to him so that his tongue could fill her and brush against hers.

  He groaned and his hands flattened against her back, pulling her body flush against him. He was hard against her belly, long and thick, making her body clench in response while at the same time a dart of fear made itself known. It seemed that he was big everywhere. But she couldn’t give that fear time to flare, because his hands were roaming up and down her back, veering lower on every pass. Finally he filled his hands with her bottom and lingered there, gently squeezing before moving back up again. Her body
answered that with a flood of damp heat between her thighs, while her blood thickened and warmed.

  Just when she was catching on to the rhythm of his tongue, he pulled back. A soft grunt erupted from his throat as he stepped back, his hands moving over her waist and up her front to rest on her breasts for the briefest of touches before moving back down to her hips. Somehow her nipples tightened even more and stood firm, begging for his hands to come back to them.

  When her puzzled gaze met his, he explained, ‘I fear hurting you. I promised myself I would move slowly, but I can’t keep my hands from you.’ The concern on his face won over any threat of fear.

  ‘I’m hardly delicate,’ she assured him.

  ‘But you are precious.’ His large hand moved up to brush back her hair as he cupped her cheek. His fingertips brushed the sensitive skin of her neck and she shivered with the delicious pleasure of that simple touch.

  No one had ever called her precious before. And yet...the way he looked at her made her feel precious. He looked at her like he’d never seen anything that could compare, like he never wanted to look away.

  ‘I want to...’ She hesitated. Perhaps it wasn’t right to want the pleasure he promised, but he made her feel as if nothing she said could be wrong. ‘I’d like to see you.’ Her gaze dipped to his chest, not daring to stray lower, not yet.

  Already his hands were going to the neck of his tunic, pulling it up and over his head to fling it away. His undershirt was quick to follow and there he stood, naked from the waist up. She’d seen that magnificent expanse of muscle before, but never while knowing that it was hers...if only for the night.

  ‘You can touch me.’ He stood still as he waited.

  She wanted to touch him. Her palms tingled just imagining the feel of all that hard, solid strength beneath them, but she couldn’t get over the idea that it was wrong. She was shaking her head when he stepped forward. She instinctively stepped back, but he only smiled and followed her, taking hold of her hips and pulling her to him.