The Seducer (Viking Warriors)

by Jianne Carlo

  “And are you maiden, sweet wife? I would know now. You have been without a man’s protection for some time. Have any taken you by force?” He caged her loosely against the wall, smelled her hair, and touched a finger to her shoulder. “Are you a maid or not? Aye or nay. You need not say more.”

  “Aye.”

  He kissed the top of her head, shifted, and drew her cheek to his chest. “’Tis a boon I had not expected.”

  A strangled sound escaped her lips. “I know not why you do this.”

  He caught her wrists, turned her palms up, and kissed first one then the other. “’Tis a move on a Fox and Geese board, our marriage this eve. A move I had not anticipated.”

  “So Máel Coluim leads the game with the sacrificial goose. Me?”

  * * *

  When they reached the circular room that formed the turret, Elaina paused, wishing she knew how to be coy, how to flirt, but they weren’t skills she’d ever even wanted to acquire. Fear clogged her throat. She had pretended a calmness that the blood thundering through her veins belied. Bitterness tainted the mint she’d chewed earlier afore entering the hall. Mint drew courage and cleared the mind. She would need both this eve. Feed him, let him do his duty as husband, and search for escape. No one knew better than she how to play the simple-minded female.

  “Wine, my lord? There is ale too.”

  “I will follow your preference.”

  Elaina examined the chamber, and she yearned for her former half-sotted giddiness. The bed against the wall loomed like a yawning whirlpool. The night sky held no hint of moon or stars. No owls hooted. Naught to do but get on with the deflowering.

  Under an open window on a rug stood a jug of wine, two goblets, and a tray filled with fruit, a hank of yellow farmer’s cheese, and a round loaf. The sharp cheddar’s smell overwhelmed the sweet fragrance of the apples and pears, and the pungency disturbed her already turbulent senses. She debated delaying the bedding by pretending hunger, but nay, ’twas best to do this fast. And the more wine the merrier.

  Even thought her mind urged her to have the deed done forthwith, a spike of fear had her avoiding being anywhere near the bed. Elaina dropped to the rug and tucked her legs to one side.

  Jarvik settled against the wall and under the open window. He shifted her so she lay between his spread legs and she tried not to stiffen. Heat radiated from his warrior body and his thighs hugged hers. She was forced to stretch her legs alongside his.

  “I would see your naked skin, wife.” He gestured to a nearby bowl and a heap of cleaning linens. “Deidra said that soap would take the soot and the lard from your face and lips.”

  Her cheeks flamed, but she quickly washed the soot and powder away, scrubbing her skin to a burn.

  “Enough.” He captured her hands, let the cloth fall into the bowl, grabbed another and gently dried her flesh. “You have not changed, but grown more beautiful if ’twas possible.”

  She had not changed? Grown more beautiful? What could he mean? A bolt of panic made her babble. “The wine, my lord. You wanted wine.”

  “Aye.” He sat back against the wall.

  Elaina let out a breath, poured the wine, and shifted to give him the goblet.

  Their noses near rubbed.

  “Hold the goblet to my lips.”

  Her hands trembled. She grasped the stem, cupping her fingers at the base, and brushed the fired clay to his mouth. He sipped, relieved her of the wine cup, rotated the edge, and offered her the same spot from which he’d drunk.

  She shivered under the intensity of his stare, gulped too much wine, and coughed.

  His thumb wiped a fallen red drop from her chin. He set his mouth to another ruby pearl trailing her bottom lip and suckled, all the while not allowing her focus to stray from his.

  Heat scaled her throat and face. His palm cradled her shoulder. He slid a finger under the neck of her chemise and traced the curve of her cleavage. She stilled, not expecting the flare of tiny embers striking across her flesh with each graze of his calloused fingertip.

  He nuzzled her ear, a wet hot tongue tasting the whorl, and his teeth nibbled the lobe. Her toes curled in her slippers.

  When his lips skimmed and kissed a path up her neck, Elaina whimpered. Sensation after sensation skipped like falling sparks over her skin. ’Twas ecstasy, the strange waves crashing over her. A tickling that promised untoward tantalization, a burning between her legs that howled to be cooled or set on fire, a heaviness that weighted her arms and legs into an unheard-of languor.

  When Jarvik’s warm palm cupped her mound, no notion of escape entered her head. The need for pressure, firm hard pressure, had her grinding against him.

  “To me, give me your mouth.” He covered her lips with his, and she surrendered to his coarse tongue, the surging and stroking. He tasted of wine, and he cloaked her with his aroma, salty male, leather and smoke, soap, and the tang from the pond.

  She helped him unlace the chemise, focused on his bent head when he cupped her breasts, and blew out a long sigh. Air rushed over her bared breasts, and her nipples, already pearled and aching, flamed as the chill hit the tips.

  “Cinnamon and clover. I am in Valhalla.”

  Elaina had no time to savor each pleasure, for too many exciting, tormenting, frustrating sensations battered her nerves, one after another until her whole body ignited, and a thin film of sweat coated her skin. The room had warmed so as to be overheated. Flushed from top to down, bottom to up, she fisted her hands and opened her eyes to find Jarvik staring at her.

  “Tell me how you feel.”

  “’Tis so potent. I need. I want.”

  He slid his warm palms under her buttocks, and she arched off the rug. “Raise your chemise. Now.”

  Elaina shook her head, then nodded. She balanced on one hand and both feet, bunching the cloth to her waist. She knew what to expect. He would now take her maidenhead. Her heart beat like a falcon’s wings in her throat. Her eyes widened when he buried his face in her folds, and slurped and suckled. Her legs widened of their own accord, the magik of his tongue too potent for naught but a heady surrender. His mouth ate at her folds as if they were coated with the sweet chocolate she so enjoyed, lapping and licking, and sending her sex into a fervent clenching and jerking.

  His fingers held her open there, and he pinched her center gently.

  She whimpered, her hands scrunching the pile of drying cloths, toes half bent to breaking, and shattered. The walls of her sex contracted and gripped at his thrusting tongue. His teeth grazed her woman’s nub and he bit down. Pleasure eddied through her as each convulsion touched off another and yet another. She collapsed on the floor, panting, fighting to gulp in the sweet icy air.

  Too dazed and astounded to do naught but catch her breath, Elaina watched his movements, as if in a dream, enjoying the grace of his fluid actions as he divested himself of his boots and weapons. The neat square he folded his tunic into made her smile. The smile faded at the sight of him in profile: a Viking warrior at his prime, the most sought after lover and seducer in the entire kingdom, her husband, the man to whom she now belonged.

  The moonlight caressed his naked body, dusting the powerful thigh muscles with silver streaks, casting the shadow of his torso and massive shoulders over her face. His organ rose between his thighs, a pulsing rod glistening with moisture, the balls below full and round.

  His man’s spice filled her lungs, giddied her brain. She prayed for him to hurry to finish and have done with it. Fear had her hands trembling. She balled them into fists, and when he knelt, Elaina forced her legs open.

  “Be easy, sweetling.” He licked her lips. “Open for me. Match me move for move.” His tongue entered her mouth and retreated. Tentatively, she mimicked his actions, the slipping and sliding of tongues and lips, the fire and ice of each contact rebuilding the unbearable pressure between her legs, turning her nipples into shards of sensation with each scrape of his chest.

  Lost in the headiness of his taste, she clutch
ed his shoulders when he rubbed and rocked his rigid member between her slickened woman’s folds. His mouth ate at hers, nips, thrusts, long grazes. Greedy for more of his tongue’s magik, she cradled his jaw and suckled him.

  His hands palmed her ass. He lifted her high and drove inside.

  Elaina froze. The pain was surprising and sharp.

  “’Twill get better.”

  Their eyes locked.

  “I promise. ’Twill not hurt again.”

  “Methinks ’tis easy to promise. I cannot accommodate you, my lord. You will surely rend me in two.” She felt full to her throat, stretched to bursting, and his member seemed to be growing from within. “Can you not make it smaller?”

  His powerful belly laugh only served to deepen his penetration and the sharp sting.

  She swatted his arm. “’Tis a serious request. I do not believe it an occasion for laughter, my lord.”

  “My name is Jarvik, Elaina. I am buried deep inside you. I would have you say my name at such a time.” He nipped her lobe.

  She shivered. “Jarvik, will you make your manpart smaller?”

  “Ah, sweetling, my cock surges to your puss’s welcome, and ’twill only engorge more when you speak of the lusty fellow’s size.” He touched his wet lips to her shoulder and reached down between their bodies to press the aching nub nigh hidden by her folds. “You are hot and slick and I yearn to move, to slide in and out of your tight sheath. To feel your puss fist my cock.”

  His words prompted a rush of cream to her sex. Her belly coiled, and his manly musk dizzied her thoughts. She blinked, and through her blurred vision, she studied the golden stubble dusting his square jaw. When he retreated, drawing his cock to the rim of her core, her woman’s flesh clamped around his engorged cock. She clutched his shoulders, all at once bereft and needy.

  He rocked forward, nudging deeper, filling her more. A slight, sweet burn caught fire low in her loins. Her sex responded, clamping the exciting length of him. He flexed within her, and a shudder shook her from head to toe. He pressed down, and that nubbin he’d suckled smoldered.

  Wild shuddering contractions took hold of her. She couldn’t get breath into her body, couldn’t focus on anything other than his driving into her over and over until he flung his head back and roared like a tiger.

  Chapter Three

  Jarvik leaned on an elbow and drank in his wife’s exotic features. She had one arm flung out to the side, the other resting over his heart.

  Her eyes opened. She caught him staring and turned aside, touching chin to shoulder.

  “’Twill never hurt again.” He nuzzled her cheek.

  “So my mother said. ’Tis very strange.”

  “Which part is strange?” Every facet of her fascinated him, particularly the small mole kissing her temple. He touched his lips to the dark spot and traced the slightly uneven oval.

  “All of it.”

  When she tried to move her hand, he clasped it and pressed her palm to his chest. “Nay, sweetling. I will not let you off so easy. Which part find you strange?”

  She snorted. “Methinks you should not be called seducer, but nagger.”

  “Mayhap. Still, I would have an answer.”

  Her brows met, she focused on his shoulder, her fingers flexing within his grasp. “’Tis strange to hold another inside you. ’Tis strange to have both pain and pleasure all at once. ’Tis strange that you know of my half-sisters.”

  “Ah, we come to the crux of it.” He brought her palm to his mouth and suckled the sweet center. “You would have answers to your questions. So be it. I honor my vows.”

  A slice of moonlight lit the round chamber. The two open shutters thudded against the castle walls. Summer aromas, sweet pea blossoms, sprouting tree buds, and fresh sprung grass perfumed the room. He’d lit a fire to take the chill from the air, but the roaring flames had long subsided to the odd blue licks and bursts skipping o’er the logs.

  “I need not your answers. Deidra betrayed us. ’Tis the only explanation.” Her ruby lips canted down, and that arrogant nose flared.

  Jarvik gathered her close. He settled her unyielding body on his lap and draped a bed blanket over her back. “In the pond, you asked if you knew me.”

  Her head jerked up. Eyes wider than chestnuts searched his features. She shook her head. “I feel as if I know you. As if I have seen you afore. ’Tis there but not. A memory. Like trying to catch a snowflake on your tongue. You feel the chill, but there is naught there.”

  Jarvik repressed a grin. How had the legendary seducer fallen to such depths? That the one woman whose siren smile beguiled his dreams, the lone female whose green eyes had bedeviled him for so many seasons, that one woman had only a fleeting memory of him.

  “I fostered at your father’s castle some winters ago. I was one of many pages training to earn my warrior spurs.” He toyed with a silky lock. “You followed me around like a lost pup.”

  The fine arch of her brows rose. She shook her head and touched the corner of his eyes. “I have seen eyes this blue only once.”

  His lips quirked. “Aye. You wanted me to lie on the sky so you could compare the blues.”

  She pummeled his shoulder. “Nay! You cannot be he. The brother of The Bear of the North?”

  “Aye. The one whose kisses you sought.” Jarvik knew the instant full memory returned to her, for rosy hues dusted her face and throat. A moonbeam caressed the hollows and ridges of her cheeks.

  She groaned and covered her face. “I was but a foolish young girl.”

  “You were a girl blossoming into womanhood. Unfurling like a flower that summer. I watched you, but honor prevented me from responding to your pleas.” Had he revealed too much? For ’twould not do to let her know the hold she had on him, not until he had secured her affections and loyalty.

  “I was shameless. Wanton. Begging you for kisses. I cannot believe that I am now wed to you. What strange trick has fate played on me?”

  Jarvik pried her fingers away and edged his fist under her chin. “That winter after my fostering ended, when I went returned to my brother’s keep, I bid him arrange our betrothal.”

  “Betrothal? I know not of this.”

  Jarvik tested the pulse at the base of her throat, pleased when he found her life’s force beating strong. “Your mother took sick that winter, and neither you nor your father ever left her side.”

  Her long lashes lowered. “What do you tell me, my lord?”

  “That the contracts were never completed. Your father was…” He searched for the right words.

  “My father was insane with worry. He scoured the lands for healers.” She plucked at the woolen blanket. “To no avail.”

  “I saw what was between them. Your father, King Crínán, and your mother.”

  He savored her nape, licking the sensitive skin, enjoying her slight shiver when his mouth skated to her ear.

  “My mother, the caliph’s concubine.” Her lips twisted. “I am the concubine’s daughter.”

  “I had ne’er seen such between a man and a woman. He treated your mother as his equal. Sought her counsel on all matters.” Jarvik hugged her closer, sharing his heat, hoping to warm her limbs. “I came to know your mother. I respected her.”

  Her nails dug into his shoulders. She blinked rapidly. “You respected a concubine? A female slave from a harem? A woman trained to do naught but pleasure a man?”

  “Aye. She taught me chess. I bested her on more than one occasion.”

  A cloud shadowed the moon. She bent her head and whispered, “I had not the patience for the game. Mama despaired of me ever winning.”

  The sadness in her voice clutched at his heart. “Tell me of her.”

  “My father, King Crínán, stole my mother from the Caliph of Constantinople’s harem. He married her in the Christian way. The Highland women never accepted her as Queen, or me as one of them.”

  He knew of the slights of the Highland noblewomen. “You are my wife now. All will grant you the res
pect due you.”

  A sad smile lifted her lips. “Naught will change. ’Tis not something that can be ordered and delivered. Friendship. Welcome.”

  “Deidra is your friend.”

  “Nay.” She shook her head. “She betrayed us.”

  For a mere breath, their eyes met. “She is your friend. ’Twas only when we heard that your uncle had sent men hunting for you and the babes that Deidra told me where to find you. But I had been searching for you since your father’s death.”

  “My father’s murder,” she fair spat the words. “My mother’s murder.”

  “I have long suspected both.”

  Her lips quivered, and she breathed as if recovering from a long, hard gallop. Her attention flitted to the window, his shoulder, the staircase. She worried the plump flesh of her lower lip, reddening the color to a bright scarlet. “Deidra told you?”

  “Aye. “ She tried to shove away from him, but Jarvik rolled her over, and settled between her legs. “I needs know from you, wife, if I am to protect you and your sisters.”

  She met his stare full on and did not speak for long moments. Jarvik knew she was assessing her situation and judging how much to tell him. He had wed a woman of great intelligence. When he had fostered at her father’s castle, he’d been amazed at the number of tutors dedicated to a daughter. Learned scholars from far lands had been brought to the Highlands to teach Elaina.

  “In the space of one winter, Mama went from being hale to sickly. I was but a girl of thirteen summers and preoccupied with…you. I never noticed until her hair began to fall out. We had the same hair.”

  “Aye.” He combed her tresses. “’Tis a crowning glory. I know why you wore the wimple. No man could forget the sight of you with unbound hair. But, I digress. Pray continue.”

  “My father summoned all the healers in the kingdom.” Her voice wavered, and she averted her eyes, and fixed her gaze on the far wall. “If only I had not been such a frivolous, spoiled, selfish girl. Mayhap I could have prevented her death.”

  “Nay. Seek not to blame yourself. What is done is done. Was it poison?” He rubbed the tear rolling down her cheek sweeping away the moisture.