Erinsong

by Mia Marlowe

  Suddenly, like water springing from a rock, a flood of memories seemed to burst in Jorand’s mind and out of his mouth. He spoke quickly, eager to voice the thoughts as though he was afraid they’d retreat into darkness again. He told Brenna about his childhood in the jarlhof at Sogna under the care of Harald the Jarl, which she supposed was a level of nobility roughly equivalent to her father’s kingship. Jorand talked about playing “Gnomes and Elves” with young Bjorn in the deep Norse forests, and climbing for gulls’ eggs on the craggy side of the fjord.

  When he reached the end of his litany, he subsided into silence.

  “Is there more?”

  “No.” He put a hand to his temple and rubbed. “Nothing more. It seems I remember I was ten once, but that’s it. Lot of good it does me.”

  “Of course it does,” she said. “You remembered something, at least. Surely more will follow. You look tired. Why don’t you rest here by the fire and watch the stewpot for me? I’ll be right back.”

  She gathered a change of clothing and slipped back to the path by the stream, heading for the quiet little pool they’d passed by.

  Her heart was banging in her chest. At first, she had no idea why she felt so unsettled, but then she realized it was because Jorand’s memory was returning. True, there was no woman yet in his past, but that didn’t mean one wasn’t there, waiting for him to find her in the closed-off part of his mind. And when he did...

  Brenna flung down her brat from off her shoulders and stooped to lift her hem up over her head. It felt good to strip out of her briny-stiff clothing and stretch in the last rays of sunlight. She’d rinse them out and put on her spare tunic before going back to Jorand and the fire, but for now, the water called to her. She eased into it up to her hips.

  Brenna scooped up handfuls of the clear liquid, splashing it on her face and shoulders. Rivulets of pleasure coursed down her arms, over breasts and belly. Weariness sloughed off with the salty grit and her skin tingled in the fresh water. She waded out farther and discovered the pool was even deeper than she thought. The bottom of the stream retreated under her and she slid beneath the surface.

  Brenna clawed back up, sputtering and floundering. No matter what she’d told Jorand to coax him into bringing her with him, she really was not much of a swimmer. When her toes found the bottom again, she was able to stand upright and push her hair out of her eyes. Brenna looked up to see Jorand sitting beside her pile of discarded clothing.

  “How long have ye been there?”

  “Long enough.”

  He stood and yanked his tunic over his head.

  “What in the name of all the holy angels do ye think ye are doing?

  “You’re not the only one who likes to be clean, princess.” He pulled a face at her. “Besides, I always knew you’d lure me into the water one day.”

  That day long ago when she’d spied him at his bath flashed in her mind. She decided she really couldn’t fault him for peeking at her. Besides, it wasn’t as though he’d never seen her naked, and they were married, after all. Modesty was a shame between husband and wife.

  Jorand tugged down his leggings and stepped out of them. Brenna caught herself staring and turned around lest he catch her at it. From the top of his golden head to the strong muscles in his calves, the beautifully shaped feet, the man was disturbingly well made.

  She heard him enter the water with a splash and then saw his sleek form glide past her under the surface. Broad shoulders tapering to his narrow waist and tight buttocks, powerful thighs—he was a delight to watch.

  “Careful,” she said as he surfaced. “ ‘Tis deeper than it appears.”

  “Don’t worry, princess, I’m a strong swimmer.”

  His gaze flickered over her shoulders and down to her breasts bobbing on the surface. She waved her hands before her to stir up the water, sending a light mist his direction.

  “Ye needn’t stare so.”

  “Ja, I do need.”

  His smile made her heart skip like a spring lamb, but alongside the pleasure his admiration gave her, panic rose in equal measure. She swiped at the water and splashed him.

  Jorand made a low growling sound and dove beneath the surface, heading straight for her.

  She cried out as he came up under her and tossed her into the air. She sailed about the distance of two spans and landed bottom-first with a splash. When she sputtered to the surface, all she could hear was his laughter bounding off the trees and rocks around them.

  “Why, ye Finn-Gall demon! I’ll teach ye to mishandle a daughter of the house of Ui Niall.” Brenna lunged at him and shoved his head below the surface. He came up shaking his mane and roaring with laughter.

  Brenna giggled like a little girl and pushed him down again. This time he grabbed her legs and emerged with Brenna perched on his shoulders. She struggled for balance, grabbing at his slippery skin and settling for latching on to his ears.

  “Ow!” Jorand howled. “Lots of women claim their husbands never listen to them. Better leave my ears attached or you’ll have no room to complain.”

  Brenna released him and he ducked beneath the surface again, pushed off the bottom, and shot her up into the air. This time she landed in the deeper part of the pool, where she floundered and bobbed. She stiffened and sank. In her panic, she sucked in a mouthful of water and disappeared beneath the surface like an anchor stone.

  The dying sun flashed through the water in long shafts, illuminating the fine grains of silt floating before her eyes. She flailed her arms and legs, but made no progress toward the sun and the world of light and air. Her chest ached. She fought against the urge to inhale.

  Then suddenly a hand gripped her and yanked her upward. She broke the surface and blessed air rushed back into her lungs. Jorand’s arm was around her, pulling her with sure strokes back to the shallows. She coughed out the liquid and dragged more air in over her teeth. It never tasted so sweet.

  As soon as Jorand could plant his feet, he stopped and held her close. With a shock, Brenna realized he was trembling more than she.

  “I’m sorry, princess.” His breath warmed her ear. “I thought you told me you were a swimmer.”

  “I can usually keep meself afloat, but ye ... ye make me weak,” she admitted.

  “Forgive me. I played too rough.” He put a hand to her head, stroking her gently.

  He was playing anything but rough now, Brenna thought. Pressed against his chest, buoyed by the light current, she’d never felt such safety, such peace. When she looked up at him, his features were marred with concern.

  “I’m fine,” she said. “No harm done.”

  One corner of his mouth turned up. “No harm,” he repeated. “You scared me to death. But if that’s what it took to get you into my arms naked, it was worth it.”

  Brenna blinked. She was in his arms naked. They floated together, skin on skin, her taut nipples grazing his chest, his erection hard against her flat belly, and—miracle of miracles—she wasn’t afraid.

  She turned her face up to him, inviting him. He answered her summons by covering her mouth with his. Her whole world turned warm and liquid.

  When he released her, she smiled up at him with promise.

  “Aye, ‘tis worth it.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  The cool of the brook, the heat of his mouth, the way his hands slid over her skin, Brenna was drowning in a steady stream of new sensations. Together she and Jorand rolled beneath the rippling water, locked in a kiss so sweet, she’d rather have died than break it off. Like a pair of otters, they twisted together in love-play.

  Jorand regained his feet and pulled her back to the surface with him.

  “Are you sure?” he asked intently. “I don’t think I can bear it if ... I don’t want to hurt you, but I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop again if this goes much further.”

  Ye swore before God Almighty to give the man your body, and by all that’s holy, ye must honor your oath.

  Her father’s admonition ra
ng in her head. Somehow the prospect of joining with this man, this husband of hers, seemed less daunting than before. Especially since Jorand’s kiss roused such aching need. She’d feared passion before, maybe even more than her dread of the pain of coupling, afraid of dancing too close to the flames. Now, looking into the cool, blue depths of Jorand’s eyes, she knew he’d keep her safe, no matter what kind of madness he led her into.

  “I don’t want ye to stop,” she said. “Not ever.”

  With a groan, he clasped her to him again and kissed her, this time with all the urgency of a starving man at a banquet.

  “I don’t know what ye want of me.” Brenna gasped, both for lack of air and for the tingling feel of his mouth on hers. “What must I do?”

  “Trust me, princess. Just trust me.” He cupped her bottom, tugging her closer. Brenna felt his chest swell in a ragged breath as he struggled to control himself. Like one of her father’s huge workhorses in harness, Jorand was the image of bridled strength.

  “Be easy now,” he whispered into her ear, his breath sending tendrils of pleasure down her neck, “and let the water bear you up.”

  He lifted her gently, hooking an arm under each knee. Under his direction, she circled his waist with her legs, then released her hold on his shoulders, letting him guide her. Lying back in the water, her hair floated around her, gently swaying in the current, tickling her bare skin.

  She puzzled over what might come next. Since she’d given him her word not to stop, Jorand seemed intent on taking his time.

  “What a wonder you are, Brenna,” he said, his voice husky with desire. “I never know what to expect from you.”

  “Are ye not pleased with me, then?” She squeezed her legs tighter around him, reveling in the way his eyes widened. So, she could feed the fire in him, too. The knowledge gave her a little thrill of power. “Would ye rather I finish me bath and go tend the supper?”

  “Let it burn,” he said hoarsely as his gaze devoured her. He slid his hands over her hips, up past her waist, to trail lazy circles around her breasts. “You’re so fair, princess.”

  She forced herself not to try to cover her nakedness and hide from his admiring eyes. His earnest expression made her feel his words were true. She was fair. If the hunger in his face was any measure, she was downright beautiful and she felt it.

  Brenna closed her eyes and let her arms float away above her head, secure in knowing he held her safely.

  His fingers sent swirls of pleasure over her as he explored her body, tracing the curve of her belly and skimming along the underside of each breast. Her nipples hardened, aching for his touch as his hand danced past them.

  “You’re soft as silk, you know,” Jorand said.

  “What’s silk?” Brenna caught her lower lip with her teeth, fighting against the urge to bring her own hands to her throbbing bosom. Anything to still the bewildering need.

  “Silk is a fabric so fine, it feels like water on your skin.” He lifted his hand and let droplets patter down onto her belly, then returned to graze her breasts with his fingertips.

  “Then by those lights, we’re neither of us naked, we’re wrapped in this silk ye speak of.” She squirmed, trying to position her nipples into the path of his hands.

  “What do you want, Brenna?” His voice sounded far away, muffled by the stream.

  “Everything.” She released a shuddering sigh when he finally captured a breast and massaged its swollen tip. Her eyes flew open and she searched his face, satisfied with the acceptance and encouragement she saw in his heavy-lidded eyes.

  He was leading her into a strange new country and she followed willingly, surrendering to his hands, his voice, the growing maelstrom of delight sweeping her up. There was no pain. No fear. Only him.

  “Oh!” She moaned when his thumbs found the soft crevice on the inside of her thighs. Her mind spiraled, as though she were floating away from her body. She needed to focus on something or she’d burst right out of her skin. “Tell me more of this thing called silk.”

  One corner of his mouth turned up in a knowing grin. “They say it’s spun by magic in far away Cathay, the weaving done in greatest secrecy.”

  Given the wild surges of bliss his hands sent through her, she wouldn’t have doubted him if he claimed to have produced the wonderment of silk out of pure air. “Where did ye see this miraculous cloth?”

  A shadow passed over his features and Brenna wished she hadn’t asked. Obviously, a partial memory had broken through, but not enough for him to answer her question.

  “Don’t know, and right now I don’t much care.” He teased the curling hairs between her legs. “But I know I’ve run a bolt of silk through my fingers and it doesn’t begin to match you for softness.”

  What is he doing to me with those fine clever hands of his?

  It was the last coherent thought Brenna mustered as Jorand claimed her secret place, gently exploring and stroking. A surge of warmth flooded her belly, a deep rhythmic throb begging for ... what? She had no answer for this need building inside her. She could only trust him to lead her aright and if she but yielded to his touch, all would be well.

  But oh! How her insides twisted into knots. She was wound tighter than a spool of new yarn.

  Brenna arched her back, thrusting her hips up to him, heedless of the way it forced her head beneath the surface of the water.

  “Ho, now, none of that,” he said, pulling her upright.

  “Ye’re not stopping, are ye?” She bit back a groan of frustration.

  “No fear of that,” he promised. “We just need a change of scenery.”

  He gathered her up as if she weighed less than an armful of posies and climbed out of the stream.

  “What of our clothes?” Brenna asked as he swept her past the discarded piles.

  “Don’t worry.” He gave her a squeeze. “They’ll be there when we have need of them again.”

  As he carried her through the deep woods, she rested her head against his chest, listening to the banging of his heart. She smiled, realizing her own was doing a considerable jig as well. The heat of the day had dissipated and the evening air was cool on her wet skin. But the fresh green breeze did nothing to quench the fire rampaging through her loins.

  Jorand laid her down beneath the lean-to he’d fashioned, settling her on his capacious cloak that covered a nest of pine boughs. She sank into the fragrant bower, letting her gaze rove over the body of her husband.

  Husband. Bathed in Jorand’s tender caring, she was pleased to be his if only it meant he’d keep touching her with those twice-blessed hands of his.

  But he didn’t move to stroke her again.

  Instead, he stood over her, potent and ready, his gaze traveling the length of her body, starting with her curled toes and finally settling on Brenna’s eyes. The steady drumbeat in her belly started afresh.

  “Come to me, husband.” Brenna stretched her arms toward him. “Love me.”

  He covered her body with his. Brenna welcomed the weight of him, thrusting her hips up to meet his, glorying in his hardness against her softness.

  “Brenna.” He breathed the name into her neck, then began trailing feather-soft kisses from her earlobe to the hollow at the base of her throat.

  All the tender, sensitive places his hands had invaded, his mouth now conquered. He covered her breasts with kisses and when he finally took an aching nipple between his lips, she cried out for the joy of it. A jolt of desire shook her as she felt the inner connectedness of her breasts and her throbbing womb. With each suckle, the tremor of a contraction deep inside flooded her with need.

  Jorand trailed his mouth down her ribs, stopping to tease her navel with his tongue. Brenna felt she’d crumble to bits in anticipation, but in anticipation of what she had no idea.

  “What in the name of all the holy angels are ye doing to me?” she gasped.

  “Loving you, princess. Just loving you.”

  Then he gently parted the delicate folds between her legs
and claimed her with his mouth.

  “Mercy,” she breathed.

  “I have none,” he answered and returned to sweetly savaging her.

  All semblance of control fled and Brenna quivered with wanting. She felt as if she were being pulled into a long, dark tunnel. She heard someone moan and realized without shame that it was her. Brenna knew she was naked before him, but Jorand was stripping her soul bare as well.

  And she didn’t care a whit.

  Part of her training with Father Michael included learning to create the decorative patterns that curved and swirled in never ending convolutions. Now, her insides were more twisted upon themselves than the most intricate interlace she’d ever designed on vellum. Tighter and tighter, the knot curled in on itself, stretching Brenna thinner than the finest parchment. She drew a ragged breath. Downward she spiraled in an agony of need.

  Then, suddenly, the knot shattered in a blinding wave of pleasure, followed hard on by another rolling spasm of bliss. Her body bucked with the force of her release as the contractions continued to suffuse her with delight. As dark as the tunnel had seemed when she was traveling along that bewildering corridor, she was now bathed in warmth and light, hearing nothing but the siren song of joy.

  When she finally returned to a sense of herself, she was aware that Jorand had snugged in close beside her, his hand splayed possessively over her heart.

  “Is all well with you, princess?”

  She rolled her eyes at him and sighed. “Aye, entirely and completely well, as if ye didn’t know it.” She traced a finger over his cheek and jaw, amazed at what he had done with just his two clever hands and blessed sweet mouth. “I thought for a moment the angels had come to carry me to heaven. I had no idea a Finn-Gall demon such as yourself could do it as well.”

  His smile glinted at her in the failing light. Brenna turned her head to kiss him and found to her surprise that her newly spent body quickened to him again. But this time she welcomed the pleasant ache, knowing it was the harbinger of future delight. The length of his erection pressed against her thigh, sliding over her skin in a slow knock that would not be denied.