Mykyl strode from the room, his thoughts tangled as he warred with the plans and the thoughts of the woman who exasperated, disobeyed, and tempted him on a regular basis. Pausing for a moment, he glanced behind him before heading up the stairs. Amoda would not leave the house without an escort. That meant she had found somewhere to sulk.
So unlike Darina. The thought tickled at his consciousness. Whereas his betrothed had been an elegant lady, a daughter of a noble line, Amoda was all fire. Darina had sought to soothe him with her calm demeanor and gentle touch. Delicate as a sprig of heather in the spring, Darina had been all he’d wanted in his youth.
Opening the chamber door, he stepped inside and stared at the woman pacing furiously. “How fitting a place to find you, don’t you think? We ride out to battle as soon as all preparations are completed, so I desire to spend the remaining hours in a more pleasant pursuit than thoughts of war.”
“What of your people, my lord?” Amoda glared at him. “Are we to be left unprotected?”
“Worrying over the others within my house? Amoda, I know you’re concerned—”
“I merely wish to live long enough to slit your throat!” Amoda snarled as she stalked to the other side of the room.
“You have had many chances, my lady, yet you have hesitated each time. What does that say of your will to see my blood spilt?”
“Curse you! Curse you to the very underworld you crawled from! You are not worthy of entering Valhalla, nay, nor Tara. You are a deceitful serpent!”
“Careful, Amoda. You should guard your tongue more devoutly.” Mykyl grabbed her arm in a punishing grip. Anger, as hot as the fires within the blacksmith’s pit raced through him, scorching his control. With each second, the heat grew, erupting into passion, into the need to mark her as his.
“Am I not to your liking, my lord? Not lady enough? ‘Tis too bad your brother bedded your betrothed before you could. She didn’t even want you, too much of a whore for your brother!” Amoda taunted him. “You haven’t the strength of will to be like him. A coward’s fool who seeks to be a more revered king? Could it possibly make you your brother’s equal? Punish him even further by ruining a slave you can’t even take!”
“What do you know of her?” Mykyl ground out. “I have spoken nothing of her to you.”
“Nay, you’ve never whispered to me about her. But I have ears, and I’ve heard you lament about her more than once in your sleep,” Amoda retorted, pain tangled with the fury in her voice.
He caught the tremble in her hands, the shadows in her gaze before she withdrew behind a curtain of anger. “Aye, you are nothing like Darina! She was a woman in every sense of the word whereas you are not! You are a shrew, a twisted, hate-filled shell of female flesh! You could never be like her, never understand what she meant to me!”
“I am aware of how desperate you are for her even now. Whispering her name in the darkness like some lost, scared child pleading for his mother!” He pulled back at her words. Was his sorrow still so deep he had pulled Darina into his dreams? Did he cling to one to avoid facing the other? Had Amoda found a weakness she would exploit—one that could cost him everything he’d hoped to gain with her? He shook his head to clear it, barely hearing her words.” I shall pray each day that you are gone.” Amoda sneered at him. “Pray that you fall before one of your own kind’s axe. Mayhap, you shall be caught in battle and taken prisoner, and I will wallow in your suffering as you are destroyed.”
“You would do well to remember who I am,” Mykyl spoke coldly
“I do not fear you. I pity you,” Amoda ground out.
Angrily, he pulled her flush against his body. Staring into the deep jade of her eyes, he smiled slowly, coldly.
Reaching up, he tangled his hand in her hair, loosening the thongs that held it in place and letting them fall to the floor. “I rather think you have much better uses for your passion.”
A swift tug and he held her steadily as he stared into the fire within the green of her eyes. A steady pounding of her pulse danced beneath the skin.
He plundered her mouth, taking what he wanted from her, harshly. His grip shifted, slipping past her shoulders as her hands pushed against his chest ineffectively.
Slowly, coercion faded into seduction. With each tentative response, each moment, his kiss turned soft, sweet. He groaned softly as he felt her hands creeping up around his neck, her curves pressing against his body, stirring the embers of his desire into a flame. Breaking the kiss, he panted as he stared down at her. He could see the rise and fall of her breasts, hear the struggle for her to gather her breath. He reached up to cup her face. “You will be mine, Amoda. Accept your fate. Accept what your body already knows, what neither of us have control over.”
“Nay, I will not, cannot,” Amoda croaked, tears beginning to form within her eyes. “I’ve survived worse than anything you could ever do to me. You’re no different from Rognvaldr, a man swimming in power but kept on a leash like a dog! You do your father’s bidding and that is all. You’re not even worthy of your titles!”
“Nay, my lady,” Mykyl whispered softly. “There is no power strong enough to stop the fire that rages between us. Deny it, hide from it but you know it to be truth. If it were not, you would not be so agreeable to my kisses.”
Ignoring her whimper, he kissed her. Her lips were warm, soft beneath his as he licked along the seam. He traced the contours of her mouth, his tongue stroking along hers, giving and taking in an age old dance that his body clamored to consummate. He felt her press tighter against him.
Her moan of desire sliced through him as he deepened the kiss. The heady taste of honey and wheat crashed over him like a wave upon the beach. The distinct flavor of her filled his head, fanning the lust within his body into a raging inferno.
Made clumsy with desire, he traced over her teeth, over the corners of her mouth with his tongue, seeking, sampling her taste, her essence. Like a starving man, he needed to memorize her taste, wanted to have it to call up in the coming nights when he found himself lying alone in the middle of a bustling camp near the battlefield.
Moaning softly at the uninhibited response from her, he pulled her tighter against him. He shuffled backwards, stopping when he felt the edge of their bed. Using his weight, he bore her backwards onto the bed, never breaking the kiss.
Trailing a hand down her shoulder, under her arm, he caressed her body carefully, softly. He needed to learn each curve, each inch of softness under him with his fingertips until they stayed imprinted within his mind. Over the curve of her breast, down her waist, to her hip, he stopped only long enough to separate her blouse from her skirt. Slipping his fingers beneath the thin fabric, he traced the warm softness beneath tenderly.
Breaking from her mouth, he pressed hot, open mouthed kissed along her jaw, down her throat, and back up. He memorized each of her features with his lips, feeling the softness, the curves beneath him with a desperation he’d never felt before. The sting of her nails as they bit into the flesh of his shoulders was minor to the pain in his chest as he struggled to restrain himself.
The sudden loud pounding on his door drew his attention for a moment. “What?” he roared. His chest felt as though fire raced through it as he stared into the dazed green of her eyes.
Cahal’s voice came through the thick panels of the door. “All preparations have been completed, my lord. We await you downstairs.”
“Aye.” Mykyl pressed a gentle kiss to her lips, shock reverberating through him as he felt her embrace tighten around him.
“I do not know how long I’ll be gone. Byrne will watch over you in my absence. Have you thought of my offer? I would like to know your answer before I leave.”
“I have been busy, my lord and master.” She stared at him, her teeth chewing upon her swollen lower lip, tempting him to forget his duties and remain twisted within the silken web of her hair and their furs.
“‘Tis a small matter.” Mykyl smirked at her. “You will agree.” He rolled off the
bed and stalked to the door. With a final glance at her, he opened it and stepped into the hall. As he closed the chamber door quietly, he caught the softness of her whisper, “By Thor, have they no thought to a woman’s wants?”
A warm chuckle escaped him. Glancing up, he caught Cahal’s hard stare and straightened his shoulders. “We ride now.”
“Aye, my lord.”
~ * ~
Olaf glanced behind him to the keel of his ship. Hunched over against the spray of the sea, his wife looked rather uncomfortable. With a disgusted shrug at her weakness, he turned back to stare out over the rolling blue and grey waves.
He reached into the front of his tunic, pulling the discarded collar Amoda had worn to his father’s court. The ends ripped apart; the clasp ruined. The damage done to it didn’t irk him, nay; it was the manner in how it happened.
“Husband? You seem disturbed.”
Olaf turned at his wife’s voice and stared at her for a moment. “Go and sit. I have no need of you at the moment, Sonja.”
A look of disgust settled on her features before she ducked her head, turned from him, and made her way back to her seat. Olaf watched her settle back into the curve of the boat’s side before turning back to the item in his hand.
“Your brother is quite crafty,” Tyr declared, moving to his side. “But I believe I have found a way to settle the matter for you. A man who is to be wed will not have time for a slave.”
“No matter, Father, for I shall have her back.”
“You must know he has already taken her, probably did that while you slept that very night you showed her to him.”
“If he has taken her, I shall make him pay,” Olaf declared with a cold, calculating indifference. “I should have slain him years before the night I took his precious Darina from him.”
“‘Tis true that Mykyl has been too pampered, softened beyond his use. I should have taken him in hand long before now.”
“Aye, he is weak as well as foolish if he will stand up against me.”
“It matters not. You will have what you have been promised. I did not go to war with all of Ui Droria to watch you be cheated out of your rightful property.”
“By now, Mykyl is being made aware of my displeasure.” Olaf chuckled. “The men I sent against those who are loyal to him are cunning and brave warriors. They will ensure he is aware of what happens to all who dare oppose me.”
Olaf nodded; his gaze out over the pitching evidence of Odin’s displeasure. It could be weeks before they reached their destination on the far western shores of Eire, and he began to accumulate what he needed. He knew his father would bring to the table a woman of standing, one whose sire and whose clan he could influence by his power. Aye, he would make his brother pay a great price for taking what had been his since that day so very long ago.
~ * ~
“You seem vexed.”
Mykyl glanced up from his place atop a sun warmed boulder to stare at Cahal, who stood a few feet away. His captain’s face carried the streaks of sweat and mud. His tunic had more than one tear and had a multitude of bloodstains. The days had been long and brutal since they had left the castle. There had been a steady resistance for over a week. Men lay dying, crops burnt, lives destroyed, and all for the sake of peace.
“Nay.”
“Why do you keep her?” Cahal joined him on the rocky ground. “Why do you not send her away? Is vengeance upon your brother so desired that you would risk so much for a woman?”
Mykyl stared out over the rolling hills. The sun cast its fading golden light over them. He knew that his closest advisors did not understand why he refused to send Amoda away. Truthfully, he did not know how to answer them. She refused him, disobeyed him, argued with him to no end, but, she had kissed him back.
Rognvaldr had taught her little of the skills she needed to be a good mistress. She’d been hesitant, inexperienced, as though she had been trained in the art of disobedience but little else. She had kissed him like a young maiden, not an experienced bed slave.
Aye, she often balked at his attempts to get closer. She, however, showed no hesitation at verbally putting him in his place. She carried a strong will, yet she did not focus upon herself. Rather, she tried to fit in, tried to become a part of his household, in spite of the lack of welcome afforded her.
“My lord?”
“I will not send her away,” Mykyl muttered. “She is weakening. Her resolve is slowing.”
“You still want what is left of a body after Rognvaldr and Olaf have done with her?” Cahal shook his head. “Why? She is a slave. Send her forth and find a new mistress.”
Mykyl shot him a dark look. “Perhaps I shall take Freyja. You seem to be in such haste to rid me of my woman, mayhap you are offering me yours?”
“Nay! Do you hear yourself?” Cahal shook his head, shocked, red anger flooding his face. “I see things, my friend, things that are dangerous and foolish. You are growing to care for her, and you know as well as I that Olaf will realize that you’ve duped him. When he does, there will be war.” “Olaf has no interest in pursuing something he tossed aside.”
“He did not toss her aside.” Cahal rose to his feet, his long legs stretching with grace. He crossed his thick arms over his chest and smirked. “I think he has realized what he had stolen from him. You have seen it upon the battlefield. More than one of the men that we have fought today bears the mark of your brother’s house. Do you not understand that he will kill for what he wants?”
Mykyl rose to his feet and shrugged. “Then let him attempt it. I will not give back what is mine! I will not cast her away because of another’s foolish pride or fear. Amoda stays with me.”
“And what of your bargain?” Cahal asked. “What if she agrees and gives you a son? Will you let her go then?”
Mykyl glanced sharply at the other man. Amoda would never break her silence and reveal their bargain, not when she knew his offer was one forbidden. “Who spoke of it?”
“The walls are thin, Mykyl, and neither of you speak softly.”
Mykyl drew a deep breath. Would he honor his part of the deal? Would he give her the freedom she so desperately wanted if she gave him a son? Nay, he could not. To release her meant relinquishing the bonds that held him, something he loathed to do. Something within him cried out for her. Some part of him begged to keep her no matter what the cost.
“I can not,” Mykyl said. “I crave her too much to surrender her to anyone.”
“Then Gods help us,” Cahal muttered.
“Aye.” Mykyl turned and headed back for the camp. He would need the Gods’ help to win this battle of wills
Ten
The weight of the basket in her arms slowed Amoda’s steps as she eased through the crowd to the stream. Setting it down beyond the main crowd of women, she ignored their snide comments and distrustful looks as she began washing the linens.
Kneeling by the creek side, she dipped the material into the cold, fast moving water, soaking it. She could feel the venomous stares of the other women upon her and prayed they would ignore her.
As she pounded the heavy material to clean it, Amoda let her mind wander. With so much life within the city, it amazed her that it hinged upon the kindness of one man. Mykyl was a man who puzzled her. Unlike any other man she’d ever met, he acted with compassion and loyalty to his people, he ruled firmly yet justly.
Unlike Rognvaldr, who the King controlled, Mykyl never tried to force her surrender. He’d displayed patience with her, a slow seduction meant to break her will to fight him. Aye, the man surely waged war with her heart, and she feared she faced a losing battle.
Each time he touched her, kissed her, proved his mastery. He turned her traitorous body against her, made her want him. She heard his whispers in the dark for Darina. The name slipped past his lips, stirred him from his sleep and he turned to her, seducing, cajoling a response from within despite the pain running deep at the thought of being a mere replacement. The shock on his face during thei
r last battle struck a chord within her. Did he dream of another because he loved her so or because she’d been lost to him? Years after his loss he still cared for her. It was obvious in the pain when he whispered her name. Aye, it was a weakness of his but she couldn’t bring herself to use it. She wanted to hear her name on his lips in the darkness, hear the longing when he touched her.
Amoda sputtered in shock as icy water splashed into her face. She wiped at the water on her face and stood. She glared at the heavyset woman standing next to her, a smug smirk on her round face. Rising to her feet, Amoda stalked through the shallow current to stand toe to toe with her nemesis. “What do you want, old woman?”
“Our lord’s whore decides to grace us with her speech.” She guffawed. “With him gone, I imagine his bed is getting rather cold. Still, I am sure we could find you lodging elsewhere.”
“In your bed, mayhap?” Amoda smiled sweetly. “Aye, I’m sure your husband’s relief would be great, since you can’t seem to stay within it.”
“You are disgraceful.” The woman lunged forward. A look of fury turned her face a brilliant red.
Amoda sidestepped her easily. She watched as the older woman landed in the water, effectively ceasing all activity. The women inclined their heads to watch the confrontation.
Amoda hopped a stone and moved over to stand before the woman who struggled to get to her feet. With a derisive shake of her head, Amoda reached out to offer the woman a hand to help back onto her feet. Before the woman had stopped sputtering and choking, Amoda collected her laundry and walked away.
Amoda staggered a bit with the weight of the wet laundry as she moved to a secluded spot to finish it. Muttering under her breath as she laid it out in the stream to rinse, she began picking up the smaller, more delicate pieces and wringing them out.
A slight thump from behind her drew her attention, and she turned to see a young girl of about six standing, watching her. She smiled at the fair-haired child and turned back to her chore. “Holla.”
Shy and uncertain, the girl stepped closer to a rock and leaned against it. “What are you doing out this far?” Amoda asked, glancing behind her. “Shouldn’t you be playing?”
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