by Sandra Lake
Embarrassed and determined to be done with it, Lida emboldened her heart. “May I await upon you in your”—she swallowed hard—“bed, Jarl Magnus?”
Chapter 5
Magnus ignored his bride’s request. With a simple tug, he pulled her into his lap, water splashing to the floor. She clenched her jaw, and he found her rising annoyance an improvement. He preferred vexation to timidity.
He tightened his grip at her knee, sliding his hand along her lean thigh, coming to a halt at her hip bone. Not a whisper of frailty—her taut muscles held strength. He kneaded her solid hip, pressing his thumb into her side, spanning his fingers around to her back. Indeed, she might be one of the most beautifully formed women he had ever inspected in his many years searching the known kingdoms.
He had no fear of breaking her. She had worked hard to earn her strength, and he would reward her by not requiring her to labor again, other than in his bedchamber.
As the jarl’s powerful hand cupped her breast, Lida tried to remember how to breathe. His thumb roamed across the center of her sensitive flesh, pebbling the skin under his touch.
When will this torturous examination end? Her heart raced as her legs itched, begging for the freedom to do the same. She wanted to run a hundred miles from here, a hundred miles from this feeling. He continued to fondle her breasts, and her internal restraint snapped. She could bear this torture no longer. She decided to speed things along. After they—after he finished, she could return home, burrow into bed next her daughter, and scrub this eve clean from her mind.
Lida braved her first touch and placed her hand on the jarl’s stone-sculpted chest. His eyes were locked to her breasts, but he released his hold, allowing her to step out of the bath.
Magnus studied his bride as she seductively stroked the drying cloth down her flat abdomen, up between her succulent thighs, twisting to remove the water from her rounded backside. She moved with a refined grace, comparable to that of the courtesans of the southern kingdoms. Her open seduction was a welcome surprise.
The time had come to make his bride his wife. He rose from the water and stood proud.
Lida could not summon the courage to return the jarl’s burning gaze, so she thought to serve her new husband, and wiped the drying cloth over his chest, his arms, and down his legs to the floor. She fixed her eyes solely on her own hands, ignoring his nether region. Crouching before him while drying his feet, she mistakenly flicked her gaze up.
His member was practically the size of a battering ram.
His eyes narrowed. Some invisible thread of control seemed to break. Heedless to her distress, he reached down, shoved his hands under her armpits and jerked her high into the air, her feet not finding ground for the second time tonight. In three long strides, he crossed the room and tossed her to the bed.
Very well, at least this will be over quickly.
His chest heaved with carnal need, muscles flexed, ridged and hard. There was no mistaking his primal intent.
As he moved toward the bed, Lida flipped to her stomach. She could not look at him as he took her. Giving her body willingly to a man she had no affection for cheapened her, and she preferred to stare into the mattress rather than the jarl’s lust-fueled eyes.
He rubbed his hardened member against the curve of her backside, nuzzling her neck, inhaling deeply. A low rumbling radiated from deep in his throat into her spine, sending a quiver to her toes. He grabbed her by the shoulder and flipped her chest-up beneath him. He devoured her breasts, suckling and assaulting her skin with the prickly rub of his short whiskers.
She twisted, dug her heels into the mattress and arched, desperate to break free from his powerful hold. All the while her head chanted, Submit. Must submit.
His hand traveled down the span of her chest to the planes of her stomach, holding her down. His mouth was still kissing, nipping along her neck, teeth dragging across her skin in a disturbingly pleasurable sort of way that she wished he would stop. She was not a roasted poultry bone to be picked clean.
His hands roamed, pressing up her sides, releasing her just long enough for her to squirm and momentarily break free from his dominance, allowing her to flip back to her belly and push up onto all fours.
Determined for the act to be finished swiftly, she arched her back, presenting herself to him. Forthwith, he accepted her invitation and impaled her. The air tore from her lungs. Her eyes widened. Her body had no time to adjust to his size.
Must not cry out, must not cry out.
Lida clawed at the corner of the soft linen pillow, pulling it to her face, shoving the corner in her mouth and biting down. She concentrated on breathing through her nose, keeping still and silent, forbidding herself to register the raw pain his size caused.
Thrusting deeper inside her, Magnus grabbed her hip bone, ceasing his movement. “Why are you dry?”
Lida held her breath. Her eyes pinched tight.
It will be over soon.
Urho had explained this position was very rousing to a man. Logic told her that if she maintained it, the jarl would be done with her in a shorter period of time. She hissed in a sharp breath through her teeth.
Why was he not moving?
“Why are you not prepared for me?” He withdrew and shoved her hip aside.
Flopping down hard on the bed, she said, “I am prepared. Why did you stop?” She tried to understand what was wrong.
“You are not prepared.” He descended down upon her again, this time to cover his mouth over hers.
Lida wrenched her face away. Having to allow him to put his seed inside of her was bad enough, but kissing him was out of the question—it was not a requirement in the contract, as she recalled.
The jarl squeezed her chin in the palm of his hand, forcing his mouth to cover hers, pinning her in place under his heavy frame. He pressed his thigh between hers, prying her legs wide apart as his hand claimed the apex between them. She squeezed her eyes shut tighter, her humiliation complete. She knew she was not moist, but why would that matter to him?
After failing to gain access to her mouth, the jarl sat back on his heels, scooped both hands under her bottom, and shoved her up toward the headboard. He kissed the soft skin on the inside of her thigh, and his tongue began to explore where his fingers had previously been. He ignored her, speaking only to her female parts.
Grinding her teeth, Lida jerked, struggling to be free. His dominating hand pressed harder on her stomach, pinning her to the bed. His other hand clawed her bottom, his elbows spreading her legs shamefully wide apart. His body and his hands offered no gentleness, but his mouth did.
A flash flood of pulsing pleasure sent her head snapping back into the headboard with a thud. Her heels dug into his back, climbing him, not able to remain still. He was coercing her body to respond to him, demanding her sensual surrender. “Why—what?” She pushed at his head, trying to pry him away. His tongue should not be there, doing such things, tasting her, teasing her.
This was not normal. This was not right, not moral. This was . . . sending her off the cliff. Her body seized, arching her back off the bed with a crippling pleasure that took her to long-forgotten heights. Stars burst behind her eyelids, floating her down into a blissful oblivion, leaving her gasping for air.
Indeed, Magnus realized, his choice of wife would be a problem—her intoxicating scent as well as her potent form would be distracting until he became immune to her appeal. He was mesmerized at the sight of her release, her core softening, pliable, fully prepared to accommodate his length without causing her undue pain. He held her limp leg up on his hip and eased inside her. Faintly purring from the aftermath of her release, his wife was the portrait of sensual perfection. She should have made mention earlier that she had not dew, and he would have seen to her first. She was mouthwatering, and had she not found her release so quickly, he would have been satisfied to continue the entire nigh
t, learning every aspect of her, every secret her body held.
Her eyes opened and she gasped softly as he sheathed himself deeper inside her. He enjoyed the glassy look in her sapphire eyes. He had won complete victory over her.
He increased his speed, drawing a stifled moan from her with each plunge.
He neither slowed nor tired, but stroked deeper into her until her toes dug into the backs of his legs, her small hands clutching tight to his shoulders and lower back, her pleasure seizing control over her body once more.
With the sight of the lustful creature below him being swept away, clamping down on him from deep within, he could not have held out a moment longer. Thrusting deeper into her, he planted his seed. He bent his head low to capture her plump bottom lip. Biting her lightly, he rocked, grinding out the remaining aftershocks of his release.
“You are beautiful lying here under me.” He could not resist tasting the tender flesh of her neck. She quivered. “You pleased me well, wife. Take your rest.” He kissed her temple and gazed at her swollen ruby lips, seeing with pride that they now held his mark. Rarely had he been stirred to compliment his women after mating, or felt the desire to converse with them, yet this creature mesmerized him. Her eyes remained closed and her mouth and brow were clenched. She barely breathed, and was clearly far from relaxed. He was intensely curious as to what she was thinking, and desired her to open her eyes so that he could attempt to read her heart—heart? What care did he have for her heart? He would need to keep himself on guard to such a weakness in the future.
Not ready to remove himself from her tight, warm core, he continued to examine her face. He stroked the stray strands of hair that had escaped her collapsing braids. The sudden urge to see her hair unbound came over him. He would inform her next time they mated that he would prefer her hair down.
With the jarl gently stroking her face, Lida tried drawing on the memory of her loved ones for support, not permitting herself to weep. She was trying to deceive herself into thinking she had taken no pleasure from this consummation. But his intoxicating male musk penetrated her lungs, and the hard, muscular weight of his hips pressed into hers, his long and thick male member was still buried deep inside her. It was not an unpleasant feeling.
Her body trembled with the overwhelming reality of what had just happened. Fine. She would force herself to sleep to escape from these torturous, conflicting emotions.
***
Lida woke to a pitch-black chamber, quickly remembering where she was and what had happened. She had fulfilled her primary obligation to Magnus in receiving his seed—mayhap a child grew in her now? Nay, she could not think of an imagined child while her real-life daughter lay alone in a bed so far from her reach and protection.
The jarl was a conquering warlord, a stranger—how could she trust his word that he would allow Katia to depart with her, since his initial plan was for her daughter to remain in Turku? She must secure her child in her arms.
She stared over at the profile of the large warrior sleeping. He breathed slow and deeply. What would the jarl’s reaction to her absence be? Was he the sort of man who beat his lessers? She supposed she would soon find out.
Chapter 6
Cloaked in the crisp autumn night, Lida allowed herself a few deep, cleansing breathes. The distance to her father’s house was not very great, especially if she cut through the forest to the back fields. With renewed spirit, her legs sprang to life.
Approaching the final meadow, Lida slowed her pace. Off in the distance, long, silver veins of moonlight spilled across the Baltic Sea, outlining the shape of her family’s home with strokes of pewter. She had studied the landscape countless times, yet tonight she saw its true beauty. Would she ever again have the opportunity to stand here, under an autumn moon, and bask in this perfect serenity?
The sea breeze licked at her cheeks, prickling her skin and sending a shiver to her toes. She imprinted the image of her home on her heart and released her legs to the pull of the hillside, allowing the slope to dictate her speed. As a child, she had imagined gliding down the meadow as a hawk in flight. With her arms cast out, she surrendered to the night, savoring the rawness in her lungs from her exertion.
In the magic of the moonlight, her heart opened, feeling everything all at once. No longer weighed down with heavy stones from her past mistakes, she felt renewed, reborn.
As if . . . as if she could soar.
Her woman’s pleasure had awakened something deep within her that she had buried long ago.
***
Magnus kicked in the door to Lida’s room, toppling over a small table, pieces of parchment flying high into the air. Hunched in the small doorway, he glared down at his errant wife, who had draped herself protectively across a small ball of blankets.
Torch in one hand, sword in the other, he demanded answers. “Who brought you here?”
“No one,” she whispered.
“Do not try my patience, woman.” His voice rose with his temper. “Who brought you here?”
“No one. I came on foot.”
“Alone?”
“Aye. ’Twas the middle of the night.” Her eyes were wide, her movements slow and calculated, as she twisted her shoulders to sit up, blocking his view of the child.
His relief at finding her in bed with only her child would not be enough to quench his burning desire to draw his blade on the lover he had expected to find. A woman this beautiful and carnally responsive must regularly have a man in her bed.
The small girl child sat up, rubbing her eyes.
“My love, this is Jarl Magnus,” his wife said, revealing her skill for artifice in her forced tone of excitement. “He has come to escort us to his ship. We are going on an adventure.”
“Adventure, truly, Mama? Grandma as well?” the girl-child said, her voice building with eagerness.
Lida kissed her daughter’s head. “No, my sweet. We shall pack your charcoal so that we may make her drawings from our travels. Does that not sound like fun?” For some reason, it was so easy to lie to her child if it was done to protect her from fear.
She turned her attention back to the raging bear in the doorway. “Would you give us a few moments to dress, Jarl Magnus?” The jarl switched his glare back and forth from her to her child, turned abruptly, and left. Perhaps he wasn’t the sort to beat his wife after all, or perhaps he would beat her at a later time, alone, without the presence of Katia. At least he showed restraint. She could be thankful for that.
But the polished longsword he had gripped was clear evidence of his bloodthirsty nature . . . yet what had she expected? She had wed a Swedish warlord, after all.
***
With dawn’s first light, her entire family and half of Turku traveled in silence down to the port. The sight of the fleet of Norrland ships felt imposing; there were ten massive cargo vessels, the likeness of which she had never seen. All were equipped with sky-high masts, mile-long oars, and protective shields of engraved iron flanking each side, identifying them as the lords of the sea.
Under the jarl’s close watch, Lida bid farewell to her loved ones. The concern in her parents’ faces and their carefully crafted words of farewell to Katia tore at her heart. What if this was their last embrace? She held back her words, squeezed both of them harder, and locked their sweet apple scent deep in her heart.
Before the sun had fully risen on Turku, the jarl’s ships lurched forward. The retreating tide and fair winds made for a quick withdrawal from port.
After depositing his wife and her child at the stern of his vessel, Magnus took a turn at the oars with his men. He needed to work off some unsatisfied rage—for what, exactly, he did not fully understand. His new wife had not run off with a lover; she had gone to see after her child. ’Twas not acceptable, but not punishable either. Hence the need to row harder, setting the pace for his men until the crew made the midday shift change.
His wife was sitting with her face to the wind, her eyes closed, her beautiful skin bathing in the sun. She resembled a queen—his queen. Magnus approached the pair of females and stood above them, looking down, not knowing what to make of either of them. He examined the girl-child, who slept with her head in her mother’s lap. She was a disturbingly beautiful little creature. If she grew to resemble her mother there might be a problem keeping her in the north; the tribal chieftains were notorious for snatching comely girls from the fields in summer. He would have to add more guards. But no sense overthinking it now; he had enough steel and gold for it if necessary.
“How long will we keep in sight of the Finnish shoreline, Jarl Magnus?” his wife asked in a serene tone.
“We follow the coast for a day. After we pass the red rock of Lylasku, we cross west at first light, if the weather holds.”
“Lylasku,” she said with a shallow gasp.
“Tero informed me that your child shares blood with Chief Lyyski.” Magnus studied her face. He needed to learn how to read her expressions soon.
“I was instructed never to return by the chief,” she said.
“You are no longer the chief’s concern. You are mine. Did you curse them on your departure from Lylasku?”
His wife turned her face, looking out over the gulf. “No, I do not wish to curse any of them. I pity them. They are the ones that have lost the most. They have never met their son’s child.” She returned her eyes to him, proving the truthfulness of her words.
He pushed his chest out and crossed his arms. “They will gnash their teeth with words of regret for exiling you. As friherrinna of Norrland, you hold great power over them.”