North Sea Dawn

by Susan Amund

  He schooled his features before he approached and turned her towards him. His enjoyment in teasing her faded quickly when he caught sight of her neck. With her hair smoothed back from her face and the reflection of light off of the water he could clearly make out the hand print in brown and purple bruises on her throat. He wasn’t sure what he said or did next, only that he had turned her and her back was marred by equally ugly injuries. Two narrow patches of dark blue on her shoulder blades were surrounded by a wide swath of fading purple and yellow. Eric could imagine how she had received those. She would have been pushed into a wall - hard. His eyes traced the fingerprints on her upper arm and he growled.

  Her whimper brought him back to himself. He had tangled his hand in her hair and it must have hurt. He took in her form, and his anger surged again, this time at himself as well as the English knight. She was cowering from him, flinching away from his touch and his words. He did his best to soothe her. He spoke calmly and reassured her. When she asked him not to loom, he immediately complied. The fear in her eyes gradually faded, but even as they spoke he struggled to contain his rage. He needed something to soothe himself, not just her fear. He needed to reassure himself that she was whole and her that she was safe with him. He needed to touch her.

  He hadn’t realized that he had asked aloud to wash her until she agreed. Then he was smoothing the soap bubbles over her skin. He ignored the cloth she had brought for the task and used his bare hands. As he washed her, his anger was banked while his desire grew. He gently cleaned her injuries and then rubbed her flesh, finding the stress that had accumulated while he was gone. You should never have left her, a voice accused inside him. He agreed and vowed it wouldn’t happen again. By the time he finished, his hands rested on the ledge on either side of her, pinning her effectively between his body and the wall of the pool. This time he sensed no fear from her, and if her sighs and little moans were any indication, she was feeling something very different. He was forced to hold his own arms stiffly, to keep from brushing against her and giving her something new to worry about.

  She offered to return the favor and Eric almost refused. He had wanted to tease her, to intrigue her, and had ended up scaring her. He wanted to soothe her, and had pushed himself to the edge of his control. He wasn’t certain he could endure her touch without taking them both beyond that edge. The scent of her soap rose from her hair and he breathed deeply of sweet flowers and a hint of something spicy. In that moment, if she had asked him to conquer England for her he would have done it.

  From the corner of his eye he watched her reach out of the water for the apple soap provided at the bath. The torchlight gave a warm glow to her pale skin where it emerged from the water. Sparkling rivulets that he would have paid half his treasury to follow with his tongue flowed down her body to merge with the water. It took only a moment, and then she was completely in the pool again, moving out of his sight with the soap in her hands. Never before with a woman had he been worried about his control. But this woman, Julia, with her dark hair and red lips that commanded others as he had never heard a woman do before; this woman tested him and he felt there was a very good chance he would fail. It would be the only time he had ever enjoyed losing at a task he set himself.

  Eric cast his mind around for something else to concentrate on. Her hands started on his shoulders, hesitating and unsure, and he calculated how much pitch would be necessary to seal MØrket’s hull. Slender fingers slid into his hair, kneading and lightly scratching at his scalp, and he recounted the weight of the spices in his dolgildi and exchanged their value into English coin. She pushed lightly on his shoulders to send him under the water, and when he emerged she had lathered her hands and they dove confidently into his hair again. She smoothed her hands around to work the soap into his beard and the tips of her breasts brushed against his back. Eric exchanged the value of his spices into Danish gold, Frankish currency, and the silver ingots of the Byzantine Empire before giving up on distraction and dunking himself under water. He stayed there for longer than was necessary to rinse his hair, wrestling with his desire.

  When he surfaced, she was in front of him, holding the cloth and soap. Her plump bottom lip was caught between her teeth as she reached for him. She used more force than necessary to apply the scrubbing cloth to the soap and nearly lost both in the process. He closed his hands quickly over hers, catching the bathing implements and pulling her closer at the same time. Her cheeks burned pink, and his eyes were drawn to the narrow sliver of blood on her lip where her teeth had reopened a split in the skin.

  Slowly, he pressed her palms against his chest and held them with one hand while he cupped her jaw with the other. His thumb found the corner of her mouth, and he dragged his callous across the lower bow of her mouth, drawing a sharp inhale from her. He intended to draw out her desires, but found his own clamoring for attention. He pushed aside the growing need for her and bent his head to whisper against her mouth. “You are injured.”

  Confusion clouded her eyes for a moment before her lids slid closed as he kissed her. Eric savored the feel of her: soft, full, ripe. He resisted the urge to seize her tightly and force his way into her mouth. Instead, he traced the seam of her lips with his tongue. Once, twice, and then with a small sigh she parted and granted him entrance. She tasted of strawberries and mint; for a moment he was confused, before he remembered the powder that all the islanders seemed to rub on their teeth. No doubt his own mouth tasted the same. He mapped her wet cavern with his tongue, heating his blood with every stroke against the velvety walls of her cheeks and the smooth surface of her teeth.

  Finally, tentatively, her tongue met his. They tangled in a brief battle for dominance before her mouth fell open wider and her blunt nails dug into his chest. He growled against her, encouraging her to hold him tighter. She answered by snaking one hand around his neck and into his hair and leaning into him. The sinfully decedent slide of her wet, naked skin against his sent what little control he had left spiraling away. Heat shot to his groin and he could not help but grind himself against her thigh. Her breasts pressed into his chest, her nipples hard little points that demanded his attention.

  He gave in without thought, releasing her hands to slide his palm down her ribs, over her hip to grasp the round globe of her ass firmly. She gasped, gulping in the warm air of the bath house when he released her mouth to trail his lips down her throat. Her skin was smooth and scented of flowers and something spicy. At the joint where her neck met her shoulder he scraped his teeth gently, drawing out a keening moan. He laved the spot in apology – and promise that it would happen again.

  Eric lifted her as he moved, letting his hand fall from her hair to slide down her back and arch her chest towards his waiting mouth. In the shadows between their bodies, he trailed his tongue across the slope of her breast. When his lips met the tight, pebbled flesh at the center, his fingers tightened unconsciously and she made a strangled sound caught between encouragement and protest. Convince, not bruise, he reminded himself forcefully.

  Instead of tasting her as he wanted to do, he pressed a closed mouth kiss against her. He swore silently that the next time he would spend far longer – in every place in throbbing ache in his cock shouted he should touch, taste, caress, and stroke. He took deep, measured breaths to bring himself back under control as he lowered her back to her feet. It took a few more moments for his blood to cool sufficiently so that he could allow some space between them. Her lips were swollen and red. Her cheeks flushed dark pink. He bit back a groan. If she continued looking at him in that way, he would not keep to his promise to go slowly with her.

  She had recently been harassed, assaulted, nearly raped, and held prisoner in her own home. As a man, he could think of no better way to make himself feel more alive, more in control, than satisfying his lust with a beautiful, willing partner. However, long experience had taught him that women were complex creatures. Although she would enjoy the experience, he would make certain she was more than fulfilled,
he knew that afterwards she would think about it. Dwell on it, until her own mind had twisted a time of pleasure into something that she felt guilty about.

  He did not want that. If she felt guilty, she might avoid such experiences again. He most definitely would not allow that. His mind latched onto the first thought that would focus them both on something other than the heat still simmering between them. He pulled the soap, mangled by her grip, and cloth from her hands. “We will have to return to the keep today,” he said, and almost immediately regretted it. Her eyes lost the glaze of desire, her face tightened as though she had not just been plastered against him.

  “Yes, I am not sure yet how to explain how I left.” Her serious words took the edge off of his need, but he wasn’t sure his sanity was worth her new burden of worry, or her frosty tone.

  “Alvar has already been to the fort to begin his shift watching the Norman. He told Ulrich that you left before dawn to check in on Mary Ellery and the babies.”

  “Ulrich believed that?”

  “Of course not, but he will keep his questions to himself until he can speak with you privately.”

  “Dunholm will come looking for me if he thinks I have left the keep.”

  “I am counting on that.” Eric scrubbed his body vigorously. As the cloth dipped below the water, he was rewarded with a blush that was easy to see on Julia’s cheeks. She turned her back and swam to where she had left her things while he continued. “I have sent men to wait in the woods with a view across the river to the fort. When Dunholm and his men leave for the village, Torvald and the others in the passage will clear out any English at the keep and open the gates for the rest of my men. By the time Dunholm returns, we will outnumber the English better than two to one at the keep. The rest of the men will secure the village.”

  “Dunholm can stay as long as he likes, but he won’t risk a fight with those odds,” she said slowly. Her respect for his plan was obvious in her tone, and he had to restrain himself from grinning with pride.

  “He can stay as long as he does not offend me,” Eric corrected, “and he will have to return to William in little over a month.”

  “Offend you?” He could see her raised eyebrows from across the room. She finished scrubbing and tossed her wrung out cloth into a basket near the wall. “Have you forgotten this is my island?”

  “Of course not, my Lady.” He bowed at the waist. “But you do not take offense easily enough.” His words and meaning were serious, but he could not resist drawing her out once more. He made his way to the edge of the pool and braced his hands, then spoke again to draw her attention, “I, on the other hand, have been offered much on this island, and I will take great pleasure in convincing you to offer more.” He smiled a wicked smile and pushed himself out of the water. Her eyes went wide and her mouth fell open. She must have forgotten to tread water, because her head went under for a moment. She bobbed up again almost immediately, sputtering with her face to the wall. “And keep in mind, my Lady, I will suffer no offense to anything I claim as my own.”

  He picked up a towel to carry with him to the hot bath, but did not bother covering himself. He was almost through the doorway when he heard a muffled sigh and another splash. He felt a grin split his face as he parted the curtain. Perhaps he would not have to work too hard to convince her. He would certainly enjoy the task.

  Cold Welcome

  Julia alternately cursed herself and traced her lips with shaking fingers. He had kissed her before. She had seen him, bathing in the darkness before. This had been different. No one had ever touched her so intimately. She had never imagined kisses, caresses, could feel so good. Amazingly, mind-numbingly good. It had been a terribly forward, sinful thing to do; and while she was surprisingly unconcerned about the consequences, she was also aware that it should not, could not, happen again. She knew she wouldn’t be able to stop him before it went too far, and she doubted that he had done so out of concern for her reputation or marriageability.

  Julia stayed in the pool and waited for Eric to finish in the caldarium. She was shivering, her fingernails turning purple by the time he walked back into the washroom. She barely turned around in time to miss, to avoid, seeing his naked body as he passed through. She wrapped herself in her wet towel and nearly ran into the hot bath, pulling the curtain closed tightly behind her. The raised tile floor was heated by hot water pipes that carried the water out of the small pool and under the bathhouse to the river outside. To her chilled skin, the heat was delicious, almost painful. She took a fresh towel from the shelf and left her wet one in the basket.

  An inch at a time, she eased herself into the water. The pool was only a few lengths across, and tiered on the inside so that bathers could sit with their shoulders in the water. She relaxed her head back against the edge and reveled in the warmth. If Dunholm came looking for her in the village, there would be a confrontation. He would not easily accept that Julia was out of his reach. She tried to imagine what he would say to Vandalsson; what he would say to her when she told him that Eric was loyal to her, and could protect her with a small army of Viking warriors. Julia smiled to herself. She still had doubts that Dunholm would trot back to William without causing trouble on the island. And then there would be the far less certain outcome of what the Duke would do when he discovered the island had thwarted him.

  Even thinking about the Norman Duke could not ruin her good mood. She closed her eyes and settled into a daydream,

  “Oh, excuse me, Sir Dunholm, I’m afraid I didn’t notice you standing so close to my crossbow target,” Julia said coolly. Dunholm screamed like a little girl and tried ineffectually to pull the bolt from his rear.

  “You poxed whore!” His voice sounded high and nasally. He pointed one dirty finger and spit at her feet.

  “Apologize.” Eric appeared beside her. His weapon was already in his hand, the axe hefted easily, making the muscles in his arms contract in interesting ways.

  “Who- who are you? Lady Julia, get away from that barbarian!” Dunholm backed up while he talked, scrambling for his sword. In comparison, Eric stood tall and unaffected. Julia noted the difference between the two men. Dunholm was pale, dark-haired, and sweaty with fear. Eric was tall and tanned from sailing. His hair, kissed golden by the sun, tossed in the wind. He was sweaty as well, from training and working on his ship. She could see the droplets running down his bare chest, across well-developed muscles and flat brown nipples.

  “Him?” Julia said off-handedly, still watching the progress of a single droplet. Down to his flat stomach...one...two...three hard ridges of muscle. “This is Vandalsson. Perhaps you have heard of him? Captain of MØrket? Bringer of Darkness? Harbinger of Swift Death? Mortvisbrica?” ...four...five...the drop ran into the ridge of his hip bone and glided out of sight into his low slung trousers. “Defender of Aurelius. He has sworn allegiance to me.”

  “What!” Dunholm’s high-pitched outrage was swiftly cut off when Eric stepped across the field. With one large hand he circled the knight’s neck and lifted him off his feet until they were at eye level.

  “Apologize,” he growled. “Then leave, and never return.” He threw the man to the ground, causing a pain-filled scream when the bolt dug in further. Julia’s eyes danced across Eric's back, finding those two dimples, so generously exposed. She stepped up behind him and placed one hand on his hot skin.

  “Next time you want to stop by the island, Sir Dunholm,” her hand smoothed down Eric's back, searching for the little divots she was aching to touch, “don’t.” Dunholm scrambled away on his hands and knees, but Julia couldn’t be bothered with him. Almost there...

  “Sweet dreams?” The deep voice in her ear startled her so badly she squawked and splashed wildly before sinking into the water up to her chin and covering herself with her hands. Opening her eyes, she found Eric, not quite as close as he had sounded, kneeling in front of the fire that heated the furnace. It was nothing compared to the fire heating her face. He was banking the flames, and not eve
n looking at her.

  “Get out,” she ordered. He had the gall to stand, looking her in the eye and ignoring what was below the water.

  “Of course, my Lady,” he said seriously. “But you had best do the same. That water is going to cool quickly, and we need to return to the village.” He left through the curtain and Julia waited a beat to make sure he wasn’t coming back before stepping from the water and wrapping up in her towel. Unlike him, she used the door between the hot bath and the washroom, rather than parading through the frigidarium. She dried quickly, barely taking the time to rub some of her oils into her skin before dressing. Her hair was a hopeless mess, so she wrapped it in a towel and bundled her things into the bag. She scowled when she saw he had already put his filthy clothes at the bottom.

  Her clothes were not appropriate for the weather, consisting of only a thin chemise and linen under tunic. Her outer tunic and leggings had been lost in the struggle with Dunholm, along with one of her shoes. She scowled, at least her comb had been left behind with good reason. She pulled Aelfreic’s cloak around her again and managed to tuck her towel covered hair into the hood. She parted the curtain to find Eric waiting for her at the door.

  He wore no cloak, but his over tunic was wool and came past mid-thigh. His boots were brown leather, she had only seen a few Rus traders wear anything like them, and came nearly to his knees.