The Seducer (Viking Warriors)

by Jianne Carlo

  “The last healer believed so, but ’twas never proved. My father nigh wasted away. He went through each day as if in a fog. Refused to convene season gatherings. Feuds broke out in the kingdom, yet he made no attempt to resolve the quarrels. His advisors and I urged him to marry again.” Her jaw clenched.

  “Queen Maude.”

  She snorted. “She bore him my two half-sisters. Maude and I had no liking for each other, and I came to hate living in the keep. I asked my father to let me apprentice with our healer. He agreed, and I went to live in her croft in the castle’s forest.”

  “’Twas how you became a healer.” His cock twitched, but he ignored the pesky fellow. “Were you there during the Norse raid when your father and Maude were killed?”

  “Norse raid—Satan be damned!” She rolled her eyes. “’Twas my uncle and his sons. I had taken the girls to the croft unbeknownst to all. Maude misliked me spending time with them, so I oft snuck them out of the keep. Our steward sent his son to warn me. I knew that my uncle would kill us, so I took the girls and left.”

  He reached for his tunic. “Lift your arms, sweetling. You have goose flesh on your shoulders.”

  “I can find my cyrtel.”

  “Nay. ’Tis my duty and pleasure to provide and protect you and our progeny.”

  He pulled the soft linen over her head and helped her with the sleeves. “You are fetching indeed, bride, dressed in naught but my tunic.”

  She shook her hair free of the open neck, and her fingers went to the tie the loose laces. He stayed her hands. “Nay. I would have my fill of you. I will warm some water to cleanse your virgin’s blood from your puss, thighs, and my cock.”

  “’Tis my duty to see to you, my lord.” She straightened the tunic and tried to stand.

  “I am your lord, am I not?” He kissed the tip of her nose and cuddled her close, keeping her secured to his side.

  “Aye.” She frowned.

  He cupped her breast and tickled the tip. “Then ’tis for me to give you your duties. And I say your duty at this moment is to let me care for you.”

  She watched his every movement when he left the bed, and Jarvik couldn’t suppress a grin when her stare locked onto his buttocks, then flickered to his turgid cock, and dropped to fix upon his stones. Ambling to the window, knowing her quick mind plotted escape, he let a wide smile form. For she was his, and he would never let her far from his presence.

  ’Twas full on night, and the moon had surrendered its dominance to a heavy cloud cover. He arched, kneaded the small of his back, and leaned out the window. The air had that dense thick quality that portended a mighty storm. A hint of sulfur that spoke of Thor shedding violent thunder. His lightning bolts would chase away the summer sweetness of earlier.

  Jarvik crouched and reached for the bowl adjacent to the dancing flames.

  “Nay.” She rose on her forearms. “Use a cloth, please. Have a care for your hands.”

  “My hands are as tough as leather, but I thank you for your concern.”

  He snatched a few drying cloths, grabbed the bowl, and set it down beside the pallet. He yearned to light a dozen candles, set every wall lamp to blazing, and wile away the hours imprinting her image on his brain, tasting her honey, and suckling her cinnamon-tipped breasts.

  Instead, he readied a square cleaning cloth, dampened the fabric, lifted the blanket from her torso, and cupped her mound.

  She gasped, and he looked up to find color rioting over every inch of her flesh. One nipple poked through the tunic’s loose lacings, and his mouth watered. Her lips quivered. She clamped the succulent ruby flesh together and averted her eyes.

  “What lass? Ask of me what you will. ’Tis this? That I cleanse the sweetest honey a man can hope to savor. That I stare upon your woman’s folds as if I have the most precious treasure that exists?”

  “My mother spoke of this oft.” One white tooth snagged her lip. “But she never converted to the Christian faith as I did. My father insisted I learn not only from my foreign tutors, but also from the priest. ’Tis the most foul, wicked act, the priest said. But ’tis not the truth, for it is most delicious.”

  Jarvik repressed a smile and wrung out the linen. She found puss eating wicked and delicious. Mayhap she would think of cock sucking in the same manner. His rod twitched in hopeful anticipation.

  “I have heard that your Pope keeps a mistress in every port. That he has dozens of scattered bastards in every city. Are you a zealot, Elaina? Do you care of naught but what the church thinks?”

  “The church calls me a harlot, a slave of unclean lineage. Nay, I care not what the priests preach. Though I am not a heretic, no matter what others say.”

  “’Tis a serious crime, heresy. Has any accused you?”

  “Nay. But there are whispers.”

  She didn’t object when he hauled her onto his lap, settled her on his thighs, and arranged her legs on either side of his waist. “No more. Any who whispers ill of you will bear the bite of my sword. I will not have any man, woman, or child malign my wife or her sisters.”

  Ducking her chin, she fumbled with the tunic’s lace. “I thank you, my lord.”

  “In truth if you are indeed thankful, I would have two boons from you, Elaina.” He stroked the mounds of her breasts, ran his finger up her neck, and met her gaze. “Call me by name.”

  “’Tis easily done, my lord.” She smiled and covered her mouth. “Jarvik.”

  “I should like you to favor me with your dazzling smile oft.”

  Her features sobered, and the small curve to her lips flattened. “I am not prone to laughter, my…Jarvik. I will try.”

  “’Tis all you can do, try. But I have yet to ask for my second boon.”

  Her frown deepened. He smoothed the lines from her forehead. “I will consider your smiles a bonus. Nay, my second boon is a score of kisses every day. Of your own accord. You will snatch kisses from me like a wolf stealing ewes. One to wake me, one to set me to slumber, one because the fire’s light turns my skin to the color of a ripe peach. Like now. Kiss me, Elaina.”

  Every muscle in her body tensed, her nostrils quivered, but she leaned forward and touched her lips to his. ’Twas the slightest graze, the merest touch, but a conflagration of desire surged through his veins. He savored the moment, her bravery, and the grim determination clear in the set of her jaw, well content that he had wed neither a shrinking flower nor a termagant.

  She stifled a yawn, cupping a hand over her mouth.

  “You are weary. Rest.” He tucked her head under his chin, exploring the soft down of her cheek, learning the shape of her spine, accustoming her to his touch, his scent, and the feel of his naked body beneath hers.

  “I would know of your intentions, my lord.”

  He sighed. Her trust would not be easily won. “Speak to me of what worries you.”

  “Where am I and my sisters to live?”

  “Skjebne.”

  “Skjebne?”

  “’Tis Norse for Destiny. So I named the lands King Cnut has deeded me. ’Tis a modest keep, less than half a day’s ride from here.”

  * * *

  Hope she dared not show soared through her veins.

  A keep of her own. A place to raise her sisters.

  But what of the morrow? When the king saw her, what would happen then? And when all learned she was the daughter of King Crínán?

  And what of this man? Her new husband, who held her with such gentleness?

  Dare she trust him?

  The warrior all called Forfører, Seducer. He had proved his mettle in that arena this eve. ’Twas said he had spent four full seasons sampling the harems of the east. That the women wailed and wept when he left one harem to move to another. ’Twas said no female who shared his bed came away unsated. All spoke of his skills at giving a woman pleasure. None had lied.

  “Be you pleased to have Deidra so close?” He seemed to need to stroke her, kiss her temple, and fondle her buttocks. And ’twas nigh on impossible
to ignore the way her skin glowed under his caresses, the way she could not catch her breath when he tweaked a nipple, the way her thoughts listed and scattered as his clever tongue dipped into the whorls of one ear.

  What had he asked? She tilted her head to allow him more flesh to caress. Her walls softened and readied her folds for his rod. Cream drenched the flesh between her thighs. His tongue wreaked havoc upon her senses, and blood roared loud in her ears. She clenched her hands and attempted to gather words. “You will allow Deidra to visit?”

  He snickered. “Think you I could prevent such a thing? Magnus would have my head on a pike. Do you ride, Elaina?”

  For a moment, a deep sadness claimed her thoughts. She swallowed. “I have no steed.”

  “’Twas not the question I asked of you.” He combed her hair. She leaned into his petting, and he massaged her scalp.

  “I ride, my lord.”

  “Jarvik, Elaina. I will have a kiss or a suckle for every time you forget to call me by name.” He winked at her and set his mouth to her breast, drawing hard on the nipple that budded and peaked under his tongue’s onslaught. ’Twas both painful and so potent with pleasure, Elaina trembled and clasped his head close.

  He buried his face between her breasts. “I am afire for you sweetling, but ’tis too soon. My cock is a greedy, lusty fellow, and you are too tender yet. I would have us journey to Skjebne on the morrow. I have yet to explore the keep and the lands, for I have spent considerable time trying to find, wed, and bed my betrothed.”

  “But you said the contracts were never signed. So I was never your betrothed.”

  He chuckled and winked. “Who will gainsay my word? Or that of the Bear of the North? I cannot wait to see King Máel Coluim’s face when he sees you on the morrow. I fear I may have to let him best me in practice. For he truly thought me wed to a hag.”

  Elaina wanted to hit him. “You would have all know that you have wed the concubine’s daughter over a hag?”

  “’Tis a poor attempt at humor, wife. I seek one of your dazzling smiles.” He nuzzled her neck and brushed his lips to the tip of her nose. “Nay? No dazzling smile for the husband who pleasured you so well this eve? Mayhap we can change the penalty for I would taste your honey again afore we must depart.”

  Fear settled heavy on her shoulders. “You jest about penalties. I fear there will be many to be paid. What happens when my uncle, Eógan, learns that we are alive and reside at Skjebne?”

  “Worry not, wife.”

  Terror ruled her tongue. “Eógan will hunt the babes and me and any who defend us. I do not want Deidra hurt. Think of her coming child. I beg you. Let me remain in disguise. I know that Eógan has many enemies. I hear that his cousin seeks to take my father’s keep. If we but wait awhile, mayhap he will be dead.” Mayhap ‘twixt Deidra and herself, a poisoning could be arranged.

  “Shush, sweetling.” He rolled them over and helped her to stand. “Speak no more on this here. I know of many plans, of alliances being forged and cleaved with each passing moment. I ask that you place your fate in my hands. Give me but five days to set all to right.”

  She shook her head. “Eógan is the new King of Strathclyde, and he is the girls’ uncle. He can take them from me.”

  “Nay. I claimed them, and King Máel Coluim validated my claim.”

  “Will the king not be furious at our deception?” Elaina wished she had never strayed from her little croft in the forest.

  “’Tis the reason we ride to Skjebne on the morn.” Jarvik tucked a lock behind her ear. “By the time we return, all will be readying for the evening meal, and my brothers and their wives will be here. We will spread the tale that you wore a disguise to test my love for you.”

  Elaina snorted. “None will believe such a tale.”

  “All will believe the tale.” He had the most beguiling smile and perfect, even white teeth. “Cnut the Great and Máel Coluim play a game of Fox and Geese with the border lands. Each one seeks to gain dominance over the other and yet still remain allies. By our marriage, both Cnut and Máel Coluim can claim King Crínán’s lands in the Highlands. ’Twill be a boon for Cnut in their negotiations over the new peace treaty. Trust me, Máel Coluim will prefer to have the loyalty of Cnut’s Viking warriors over the treachery of your murdering uncle, Eógan.”

  His words made sense. The Highlands were rife with tales of Eógan’s cruelty and greed. Elaina pressed two fingers to the sudden throbbing at her temple.

  “Your head aches.” Jarvik drew her back to his chest and shifted to face the open window. He massaged her scalp. “Worry no more. Come, let us enjoy the dawn of a new day.”

  She leaned against his rock solid form. The temptation to leave all in his hands proved intoxicating. What harm would be done if she took but this one moment? All the worries would still be there on the morrow. For so long she had forgone all pleasure for safety. She had been so proud and so determined to keep her maidenhead and have none taint her as concubine that she had allowed no man near her.

  After Elaina’s courses had come, her mother had taught her how to pleasure herself. Mama had insisted ’twas not a shameful act as the church decreed. Elaina had long disdained much of the priests’ teachings after being told she could never reach the Christian heaven because she was the concubine’s daughter. What sort of God doomed a child at birth? She repressed a smile. ’Twas more than gratifying to flaunt her enjoyment of what the church deemed wicked.

  Jarvik slipped his hand under her tunic, and his warm palms cupped her breast. Radiating heat, he smelled of the spring, the leather hauberk he’d worn earlier, and the tang of their joining. She had tasted herself on his lips when he kissed her, and her woman’s honey had flowed with excitement at such a wicked deed. Would it excite him to taste himself on her lips?

  When his thumbs rolled her nipples, her woman’s nub flamed. His rod swelled against her bottom and the temptation to slide her hands behind her back and touch him proved irresistible.

  Jarvik growled, “Nay. Elaina. Do not encourage my lusty fellow. I saw your grimace when I took your maidenhood. And I vowed to leave you alone today.”

  Elaina pivoted. Her hands explored his turgid arousal, and she focused on the thick organ rigid and pulsing in her grasp. “’Tis what you call your rod? A lusty fellow? He is like velvet and iron, and gives off the heat of a forge.”

  Viscous liquid seeped from a slit on the top. She fingered the thin opening, marveling as two more drops trickled over the bulbous crown. “’Tis where your seed erupts.”

  He gripped her shoulders hard enough to hurt. She craned her neck, and her breathing halted. He epitomized the image of a Viking berserker, teeth bared, head thrown back, nostrils flared. The green-blue veins of his thick, corded neck pulsated. Beads of sweat twined with the gold stubble dusting his chin. His jaw clenched, and the powerful chest muscles at her eye level rippled.

  “Your lusty fellow can erupt in my hands or mouth, nay?”

  Chapter Four

  Jarvik nigh swallowed his tongue. To explode in her hands or mouth. That his new wife, a maid, had said such and touched him so boldly would be his undoing.

  He had known from those days of fostering that Elaina would be a lover beyond compare. He had kissed her only once, on the day he left her father’s keep to serve King Cnut. Aye, but the memory of her taste, the eager response to his stroking tongue, the sensuous way she rubbed on him, had never faded from his mind.

  ’Twere many reasons ’twas Odin’s boon to have wed the concubine’s daughter.

  He nudged a fist under her chin. Their glances locked. “’Tis a pleasure we can both enjoy at the same time. Our mouths on each other.”

  He already knew and welcomed the signs of her arousal, for her nostrils quivered like a mare in heat scenting the stallion behind, ready to mount. She combined the best of East and West. The dusky hue of her complexion, her pouting mouth swollen and tainted ruby, those emerald eyes wide and glinting desire.

  She licked her
lips. “My mother had a drawing of such a thing. I have studied it often while pleasuring myself.”

  Pleasuring herself? Blood roared in his ears, his cock stiffened and surged, and his stones drew up like hard nuts, blistered and fevered. Words caught in his throat. He scooped her up, walked legs wide apart the two strides to the mattress, and set her down. Gesturing at the tunic, he said through gritted teeth, “Take that off.”

  Loki have mercy on him. She smiled, wriggled, and drew the linen up her thighs, sending him a smoldering half-lidded peek. Mahogany curls wet and glistening had him salivating when she slipped the tunic above her waist.

  “Nay.” He fisted his hands. “I will have you first, Elaina. For you fire me to spewing.”

  “I find I like this, Jarvik. And though I am sore, my puss longs for you to fill me.”

  Puss? Never had he heard a woman speak so bold, and her voice was rough with need. He bit the inside of his cheek and forced his gaze to the timbered roof. ’Twas naught for it. He would have to restrain her. Jarvik took a deep breath before focusing on the bed, and his cock wept at the bounty displayed for him.

  She was naked, the discarded tunic tossed to one side. Her pert breasts mounded, those long lean legs inches apart. The rose of her woman folds glistened. Jarvik grabbed the garment, caught her hands in one of his, and bound her wrists together.

  She blinked and frowned, lips thinning. “What is amiss? Why do you that?”

  He tied the tunic to one edge of the mattress’s wooden frame. “You will unman me, woman. Never have I failed to give a woman pleasure. My wife will not be the first.”

  “I know not what you mean.” She tugged at the bonds. “Did you not want me to taste you?”

  Her words alone could unman him. His cock jerked like a quintain skewered by a lance.

  That siren smile returned. “’Tis the thought that intrigues you. My mother told me of this. That a man catches fire from words boldly spoken. Or from a woman touching herself.”