by Nina Mason
She touched his chest. “If I recall my history correctly…didn’t you booby-trap the battlefield in advance of the attack?”
Her knowledge of their strategy impressed him further. “We did indeed. By digging pits we lined with spikes before covering them over again.”
“Another reason you needed to engage the English in the carse?”
“Aye,” he said, delighted once more by her cleverness.
Her mouth quirked and she shook her head before pulling her gaze from his. “I still can’t believe the outcome of the referendum.”
Frowning, he ran a hand through his hair. He had no idea what a referendum was or how it might be relevant to what he just said. “What are you talking about?”
She shook her head and gave him a tight-lipped smile. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter. Just continue with your story.”
Turning away, he rubbed his furrowed forehead as he regathered his wool. When she interrupted, he was descending the hill toward the carse, making every effort to keep his horse and weapons quiet. With some reluctance, he picked up the story from that point.
“We made it as far as the edge of the bog before the English outposts sounded their trumpets. With a roar that eclipsed the alarm, we surged forward—if you can call an assault on a muddy bog a surge…The startled English quickly formed into platoons, but, as hoped, the mire proved too much for the armored knights, who took refuge on an isolated hogback—the only spot suitable for their archers.
“This was a boon for us, too, as their bowmen posed a serious threat. Unfortunately, someone in the English command realized the error and started herding the knights off the rise. When the archers started marching toward the knoll, I tried to head them off. We worked our way through the puddle-pocked sludge, stumbling, splashing, and swearing all the way. Some of the archers beat us there. Arrows whizzed past my ears. Several bounced off my helmet and breastplate. One struck my horse’s withers. He whinnied and faltered, but kept going.”
He paused, considering his words, then drew a deep breath and let it out. She seemed interested in what he had to say, which gladdened his heart. “When we reached the mound at last, we rode down the bowman who attempted to hold the rise, swinging our broadswords like sickles. Those left standing fled into the bog. As I looked out over the bedlam, an arrow from out of nowhere pierced my armor. I slipped from my horse and must have lost consciousness, because the next thing I knew, the battle was over. I was buried so deep in the mire, I could scarcely move or breathe. Then, I heard an approaching horse and ringing bells. I wiped the mud from my eyes in time to see a bonny lass with long black hair jumping down from a pure white pony.”
His mouth had gone dry, so he swallowed and licked his lips before continuing. “She pulled the arrow from my chest and gave me mead to drink from a golden cup, which healed my wound. I thought sure she was a Valkyrie, come to take me to Valhalla. When I was revived, she remounted, pulled me up behind her, and rode off—but to Avalon. And instead of becoming an einherjar—one of Odin’s immortal warriors—I was enslaved as a breeding drone to the queen of an Amazonian colony of faeries.”
Her perfectly arched red eyebrows drew together. “Amazonian? Are there no men in Avalon?”
“There are men, but they serve no purpose beyond pleasure and procreation.”
Her wonder-filled green eyes held his gaze. “That must have been awful for you.”
“An rud a thig gu dona falbhaidh e leis a ghaoith.” He shrugged one shoulder.
She squinted at him. “What does that mean?”
“What cannot be helped must be put up with.” Handing back the book, he gave her an affable smile. “Are you interested in learning magic?”
“Are you offering to teach me?”
“I cannot teach you witchcraft, but I might be willing to pass along the basics of the sort of magic I practice—if you are truly interested in learning.”
“Might be?” Her radiant emerald eyes challenged him.
“Aye.” He cleared his throat. “Depending on how things go.”
Swallowing hard, he looked away from her bewitching stare. He was falling under her spell. Why else would he volunteer so much about himself? Why else had he offered to instruct her in runic magic?
There was his quest to prepare for. The last thing he needed or wanted right now was to form a romantic attachment. Were he not already enchanted, he would have ordered her away and put the notion of bedding her out of his mind completely.
When his gaze returned to hers, she batted her fiery red lashes at him. Something in her wrapped around something in him—a lustful serpent that wanted to be inside her more than it wanted her gone.
Oh, to Helheim with fighting her pull on him. What the gods willed would come to pass, whether he liked it or not. So, he might as well go along with the plan and have faith in their wisdom. For they knew what he could not know and saw what he could not see.
“Come.” He offered her his arm. “I shall begin your instruction as we make our way toward your cottage.”
When she took his arm without hesitation, he led her into the woods. At the edge of the millpond, he stopped to admire the moon’s reflection on the water. “To begin at the beginning, the runes are associated with Odin, the principal god of my ancestors. His wisdom and exploits are recorded in the Edda—our equivalent of your Bible, except that it takes the form of an epic poem. According to the Edda, the runes were revealed to Odin after he hung upside down from Yggdrasill for nine days in a mystical trance.” His mouth quirked into a smile. “And before you ask, Yggdrasill is the cosmic tree of the nine worlds comprising creation.”
“Nine days and nine worlds.” Her voice was wistful, her gaze fixed on the pond’s glistening surface. “What significance does the number nine have in your belief system?”
Her picking up on that wee detail told him she was as clever as she was beautiful and powerful. “Nine was a sacred number to my ancestors—perhaps because it took nine months to bring forth a new life.”
In time, he would like to tell her more about his beliefs, but right now, he desired something much more intimate than talking. Stepping between her and the pond, he set two fingers under her chin and lifted her gaze to his. “May I kiss you?”
“You may—but before you do, I feel I should warn you about something.”
Alarm flared behind his breastbone. “Warn me about what? Please tell me you have not come to Rosemarkie with a husband.”
“No, though I nearly did. I was supposed to be married yesterday, but broke it off.”
“Did you indeed? May I ask why?”
“Because I had a dream about—well, never mind what it was about. It wasn’t my first premonition, but it was the first time I’d risked telling someone what I’d seen.”
Their gazes collided. The sudden tears in her eyes tightened his chest. Though they had only just met, he felt this woman’s heart more than he had any other’s. “And he rewarded your honesty—and your courage—with condemnation.”
“Yes.” Her voice was choked by emotion. “That’s exactly what he did.”
Axel found the next question surprisingly difficult to ask. “Did you love him?”
“No.”
Her answer gladdened him. He would not feel right bedding a brokenhearted lass—and he very badly wanted to know the friendship of her thighs. Circling back to where this thread had started, he said, very softly, “Is that what you wished to warn me about?”
She swallowed and the corners of her mouth twitched. How he would like to kiss those lovely lips. How he would like to kiss her all over.
Breaking free of his gaze, she looked out toward the pond. “I wanted to warn you that I’ve never been with a man before.”
His heart absorbed the mild shock her confession delivered. She was not a young girl and had been engaged. In his day and age, abstinence would have been expected prior to marriage, but not in these promiscuous times. Maidens sometimes came to the glen for the express purpose o
f offering him their virtue. They tended to appear on the high Pagan holy days. Yule, Imbolc, Ostara, Beltane, Litha, Lughnassadh, and Mabon. On those days, he lifted the enchantment that veiled him from human eyes. On Samhain, he took part in the Wild Ride with the rest of the occupants of the Thitherworld.
“You were not intimate with your betrothed?” he asked her.
“No.”
That she was still a maiden seemed unfathomable—unless she was frigid, and, if that were the case, he would curse Loki for his trickery. “May I ask why you remained chaste?”
“Because my fiancé didn’t want to.”
He arched an eyebrow, unsure he had heard her right. She was bewitchingly beautiful. How could any man with eyes and a cock resist her charms? “Did you say he was the one who did not want to be intimate?”
“Yes.” A blush tinted her pale, moon-kissed cheeks. “He insisted we wait until the wedding night.”
“How long did the engagement carry on?”
“Five years, but I was at university for most of it.”
Five years? Holy Valhalla. In his time, long betrothals were frowned upon, largely because remaining chaste for an extended period would torment the couple. Evidently, her fiancé had either been blessed with super-human restraint or cursed with a weak sex drive.
“What did you want?” he asked.
“I wanted to feel wanted.”
He understood. While she had not loved the man, his repeated rejections had nevertheless given her pain. She obviously resented her maidenhood and was eager to discard it. Were he a lesser man, he would have gladly done the job. But he was not a lesser man. He was a knight, and did not take advantage of the vulnerable.
Though it grieved him, he withdrew from her and turned toward the moon. “Methinks it best if we wait a while before sleeping together.”
Her sobs spun him back around. To his horror, she had crumpled to the ground and was weeping into her hands. His heart twisted in his chest. He could not bear to see a lass in distress—especially when he was the cause. Moving beside her, he dropped to his knees and pulled her into his arms.
“Why does nobody want me?” She moaned into his tunic. “Am I really so terrible?”
Her breakdown unnerved him. He had suggested waiting to protect her, not to upset her. “You are nothing of the sort.”
She snuffled. “Then why don’t you want me?”
“I do want you. Most ardently. What I do not want is for us to misuse each other.”
“I don’t understand.” She sniffed back her tears. “How would giving you my virginity qualify as misuse?”
He had no desire to explain his feelings, partly because he did not understand them and partly because he had little experience putting his emotions into words. After some rumination, he said, being as honest as he knew how, “I want you to want me for myself, not as the means to an end.”
“I do want you for yourself.” She twisted her fingers in the linen of his tunic. “I feel I can be myself with you—which is not a feeling I ever had with my betrothed. He always made me feel so flawed, undeserving, and unlovable.”
“Then, be grateful you are free of him.” He stroked her hair. “For you are none of those things, and deserve no less than a husband who cherishes you.”
“I am grateful he’s out of my life. I’m also grateful you’ve come into it. Even if it can only be for a little while.”
A chill wind blew through his hair and disturbed the glassy surface of the pond. As she lifted her tear-streaked face to his, he was entranced. Utterly, completely, and helplessly. She drew from his depths the most potent longing he had ever experienced—overpowering, unbearable longing that rendered him dizzy and breathless.
The moonlight had dyed her hair a muted shade of red-violet. Dipping his head, he let his mouth graze one wet cheek. She tasted salty but sweet, like the shortbread bars the village maidens left in the well at Yuletide.
When she touched his face, the world tilted on its axis. The longing in her eyes matched his own. As his lips touched hers, her petal-soft mouth opened to him like a bud in the warm spring sunshine. His heart opened, too.
Until this moment, he had seen women only as a pleasant place to stop along the way, but never the journey’s end. And now, after centuries of walking the road alone, he had finally found one he did not want to leave behind.
Neither did he want to stop kissing her. Scooping her up, he carried her to the cottage, their lips locked together the whole way. On the porch, he set her down so she could open the door. Endless moments ticked past. Inside, she clasped his hand and led him down a short hallway. The cottage was dark and smelled of cinders and mildew.
She pulled him through a doorway and flipped a switch on the wall. Light flooded the room, blinding him momentarily. There was a bed in the center with a headboard of brass. The coverlet atop the mattress resembled a field of flowers.
Putting her arms around his neck, she pulled his mouth against hers. Desire detonated in his groin, setting fire to his blood. He moaned, drew back, and blinked at her.
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
She nodded and licked her lips before pulling her sweater over her head. Static made her hair stick to her face, which was tear-stained and flushed. She pushed back a clinging strand and met his gaze. “Yes. I’m sure. I want you, Axel. More than I’ve ever wanted anyone.”
He shivered as she pressed her open palm to the spot on his chest where the arrow had struck him. Her touch was no less devastating to his welfare.
Clasping her hand, he brought it to his mouth and kissed her fingers, one by one. They tasted of the woods at night. Of damp earth, sweet grass, and silver moonbeams.
Her other hand burnished his erection through his trews. As sweet tongues of fire licked his cods, he liberated her breasts from her bra. They were the bonniest pair he had ever beheld. Round, full, and as white as fresh cream. The pale pink nipples were already aroused. When he brushed his thumbs across the firm tips, she gasped in a way that made his cock throb with approval.
Gliding his hands down the smooth curves of her body to the waistband of her jeans, he hooked a finger through one of the belt loops and tugged. “These need to come off.”
“So do these.” She brazenly yanked down his trews, freeing the blood-gorged beast within before lifting the front of his tunic. She took his measure. “Well, hello there. It’s so nice to finally meet one of your kind.”
Her boldness gave him pleasure, as did the sensations provoked by her fingers gliding over his length. From what little he could observe from his wee acre of the world, much had changed since he was mortal. Luckily, one thing remained the same as it ever was. He lowered the zipper on her jeans, revealing the skimpy pink undergarment she wore beneath. Pushing his hand inside the delicate fabric, he homed in on the locus of her pleasure and teased her until her breathing grew heavy and labored.
“Have you ever brought yourself to climax?” He withdrew his hand.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’ve always been told touching myself in that way was sinful.”
“That is ludicrous.” He frowned at her, incredulous. “How can something natural, which gives such pleasure and hurts no one, be wrong?”
“Lots of things that feel good are wrong, Axel. Most things, actually.”
His mouth cocked into a half-smirk. “According to whom?”
“My father.”
Pulling out of his reach, she kicked off her shoes and stripped off her jeans. Now in only those sweet pink panties and her pulled-down bra, she lay across the bed sideways with her long, slender legs dangling over the side.
As lust sawed him in half, it was all he could do not to come off right then. There was an armchair in the corner. Moving toward it, he removed his runes from his belt and set the pouch on the cushion.
While he disrobed, she said, “I saw you last night. In the pool of the falls.”
A smile played on his
lips as he conjured an image of her watching him in secret. She might be innocent, but she was also a vixen—a combination that quickened his pulse. “Did you like what you saw?”
“I only saw your admirable backside, which, I must say, looks even better close up.” Her tone was tinged with mirth.
Turning around, he walked to the bed and stood over her, giving her a full view of his attributes as he considered where to begin. It would be her fist time with a man, her first time penetrated, her first time brought to orgasm. The experience would be inscribed into the stone of her memory like one of his runes. He must use his carving tool well and make it good for her. Even if it meant delaying his own pleasure.
Positioning his legs between hers, he bent over her, set his hands on the floral coverlet, and pressed his mouth to each of her nipples. Moving higher, he nipped and licked her lips, which were swollen from their earlier kissing.
“I must leave you before the sun rises.” He withdrew just far enough to look into her eyes. “But will stay with you until then.”
Pulling off her panties, he discovered she was indeed a natural redhead. He pushed her knees apart, knelt between them, and pressed his mouth against her sex. She entangled her fingers in his hair as he saw to her pleasure. When he flicked his tongue hard against the hood of her clitoris, her whole body went rigid.
“Oh, my God,” she cried. “I never thought it would be like this.”
Pulling his mouth away, he smiled up at her, his lips and whiskers coated in her juices. “What did you think it would be like?”
“I don’t know. But not this heavenly by half.”
Getting back to work, he ran his tongue along the floor of her canyon before drawing her swollen bud into his mouth. As he gently suckled, he flicked the hardened tip of his tongue against the center. She bucked her hips and tightened her grip on his hair, pulling hard enough to hurt. Ruthlessly, he lashed her with his tongue until she was writhing and moaning like a cat in heat. She thrust herself at him, eager to scale still greater heights of pleasure.