Cursing the trembling in her fingers, she opened the chamber door and slipped inside. Mykyl lay tangled in the furs, one muscled leg bent, and the tanned flesh glistening in the flickering of the flames from the hearth. His chest rose and fell with each breath, his face relaxed, at ease. Nervously, Amoda moved through the shadows toward the bed. Pausing at the foot of the bed, she reached for the ties of her dress.
The soft material whispered over her skin, drawing a shiver from her. Sucking in a breath for courage, she straightened her shoulders. Uncertainty hit her for a moment as self-doubts rolled through her mind. Would he rebuff her attempts? Would he want a more experienced mistress if he really knew…? Stop it! She shook her head at the thoughts racing through her mind. You will never know unless you follow through. This is your chance, and as such, you need to embrace it. Get on with it!
Moving slowly, she crawled onto the bed. The familiar creak of rope beneath her weight seemed a comfort as she moved over the furs to straddle Mykyl’s sleeping form. Leaning forward, her hair cascading down to create a curtain around them, Amoda feathered a teasing kiss over his lips.
She froze as he shifted beneath her, his hand coming to rest upon her bare hip for a moment before sliding up to rest on her back. Forcing the tension from her muscles Amoda lowered her head and pressed her lips to his. Shyly, she brushed her lips against his, teasing and pulling him into wakefulness.
“What?” Mykyl grunted sleepily as he blinked his eyes open. Sleepy confusion crossed his face as he gazed up into her eyes.
Amoda smiled at the shock in the crystalline depths before she moved to kiss him again.
“What are you doing?”
“Kissing you,” she whispered against his lips.
“Why?”
“I have chosen.” Impatience stirred within her as he pulled back from her kisses before she pushed her annoyance aside ruthlessly.
Amoda stared into Mykyl’s eyes as she waited for him to realize what she meant. Her fate long since written, a slave had no more value than a horse or cow. However, if she could barter her freedom before she conceived, mayhap she could prevent her child from suffering a lifetime of slavery.
“Really?”
“Do you really need words? Do my acts not…?”
“I need to hear you say it.”
“I choose freedom, for myself and for my child. I will bear you an heir on one condition.”
“You are hardly in a position to be placing limits upon the agreement.” “Mayhap, but then, my lord, this is not the sort of thing one does, is it? My child will never be a slave. I refuse to bring a child into this world to be bound to another like I am,” Amoda whispered passionately. “If that is to be my legacy, then I shall forfeit my own freedom, rather than my child’s.”
Amoda met his dark stare with stubborn determination. She could not back down from this. Written in the Laws of his people, as a slave she could be sold, her child sold with her and she would not risk losing a child for a promise of freedom.
Even in the dancing glow of the candlelight, she could see the stubbornness that marked her master’s every move. She could almost read aloud his thoughts and a small smile crossed her face as she recognized defeat within his eyes.
“Agreed.” His words did little to soothe her nerves. Nor did they calm the uncertainty and distrust that still clung to her mind and heart. She knew from bitter experience that the word of a lord and master had no more meaning than a trail of smoke into the heavens. If he changed his mind— no! She pushed her doubts aside.
She trembled as he carefully worked loose the small, narrow braids that she’d placed at her temple. With each sweep of his calloused fingertips along her face, the heat flooded her body.
Each indrawn breath caused friction as the soft, pale hair on his chest rubbed against the exposed, sensitive tips of her breasts. She shifted, pulling her knees up tighter to his hips as she leaned over him, gasping as the movement sent shards of hot pleasure through her core.
Bracing herself, Amoda knelt over Mykyl’s prone body; her eyes closed as waves of intense desire rolled through her. The rough glide of calloused fingertips along her jaw, throat, and collarbone drew a whimper of need. High pitched and broken, her cry of pleasure filled the room as his mouth latched onto the hollow of her throat.
She rolled her shoulders and arched her back into the slow downward caress of his hands over her shoulders and back. She shivered as he trailed his hands down her body. Measured and controlled, each caress seemed designed to memorize each curve as he slid his hands up her ribs to cup her breasts. He weighed her heaving flesh as he lifted her to latch his mouth upon a turgid tip.
“By Thor I want you,” Mykyl groaned as he lapped at the hardened peak. He tangled his fingers in her hair, and he pulled her down to press a soft kiss along her jaw.
“My lord, please,” Amoda whimpered at the sharp pleasure that radiated from her scalp as he tugged and twisted her hair in his fist. The heat of his breath washed over her skin to awake each inch of her flesh. A low, tortured groan escaped him, reaching into her very soul and squeezing. Pushing her hips against him, she searched for an answer to the ache within her.
Squeaking in shock, Amoda felt her world spin as Mykyl rolled. His weight pinned her beneath him, his length spread out over her body. The bruising force of his lips upon her mouth brought a niggling memory of another’s kiss, but she forced it from her mind. She responded to his kiss, her tongue dueling with his as he explored her mouth
“You please me, my love, so very much!” His guttural words filled her ears.
Mykyl braced most of his weight upon his hands as they clenched around the bedding beneath her. His passion darkened eyes stared into hers as he shifted. His thigh rubbed against the moist center of her body. A startled gasp from her as pleasure spiked through her body.
Mykyl pressed open-mouthed kisses along her jaw, his tongue tracing over the sun-kissed flesh. His teeth nipped at her earlobe. His hot breath whispered over her skin as she tilted her head to give him better access.
Corded muscles rippled beneath her fingertips as she trailed her hand over his chest. Each movement slow and delicate, she traced over each scar, new and old. The pebbles of his nipples tightened, hardening like the shaft pressed along her flank.
Swept away by the rising tide of passion, Amoda could barely catch her breath. Each touch, each caress stoked the fire within her. The heat of his breath on her throat chased away the chill of the room.
Moist kisses pressed against her throat drew a moan of surrender she couldn’t help. Hands that shook traced up the hard, muscular arms, learning each scar new and old. Warm skin bunched and flexed with each movement of the arms around her. She whimpered at his caresses.
She wanted more of the softness that marked his lovemaking. The tickle of his beard contrasted sharply to the stings as he gently nipped her flesh, raising goose bumps along her arms, and she clung tighter to him as she moved into his grasp.
The heavy weight of his hand squeezing her breast stirred the first niggling of fear within her. Memories, old and unwelcome began to creep through her control. Harsh groping overshadowed his gentle touches. The softness of the fur beneath her vanished into the icy touch of the cold, hard floor. The clean, woodsy scent of him quickly turned to the stench of stale sweat and rotten vegetation.
Mykyl’s familiar whispers faded, replaced by the ghostly echo of another’s, whispers that instantly drew resistance from her and smothered the very air from her lungs. Twisting, she jerked away from him, kicking at the furs as she scrambled from the bed. Aware of the mixed emotions in his eyes, she gasped, her arms wrapped around herself as she hunched on the floor sobbing.
“Do you enjoy teasing me, my lady?”
Anger and arousal filled Mykyl’s voice, and she shook her head, sobbing harder as she pulled at the sheets to cover herself. Even this, even a moment’s tenderness had been ruined by the monsters within her mind. How could she possibly expect to be a w
oman, to give Mykyl what she wanted if she couldn’t shake the memories of Rognvaldr’s brutality?
“Amoda, you will answer me!” Mykyl ordered, pushing himself from the bed. He stalked toward her, unmindful of his arousal or his nakedness. His shadow seemed to fill the room as he walked toward her.
Flinching away from his touch, she curled into a ball. Whatever punishment he felt justified, would be taken with silence, with acceptance. Her fingers tangled within the strands of her hair as she sat rocking. “No, no, no! No more!” she whimpered softly. “I hate you! I hate you!”
“Amoda!”
The sharp crack of Mykyl’s voice drew her eyes to him. “Hate me if you will, but you will finish what you’ve started. Shaking her head, Amoda shook. “I can’t.”
“You will.”
“I don’t know how,” Amoda whispered shamefully. She could not trust that she would not to refuse him again. “I know nothing of tenderness, of kindness in these matters. Just fear. I was a fool to listen to her.”
Wiping at the tears, Amoda stared at him as he sat back on his heels. Would he believe her, would he trust that she spoke words of honesty? She hoped for his belief. The other option seemed too painful to contemplate.
“Rognvaldr!”
The single word struck Amoda like a blow, and she flinched away from him. Inching backwards at the rage that colored Mykyl’s face, she waited for the beating. Tensed, prepared for the pain of a punishment, she was completely unprepared for him to pick her up gently and carry her back to the bed.
“Fear is a poor bed mate,” Mykyl whispered in her ear. “Trust me in this, I will not hurt you. When frightened by something I do, whisper my name. Whisper something that brings you comfort. I swear to you, you are safe in my arms, my city—and my bed.”
Amoda nodded as he gently wiped away the tears running down her face. A moment later, he kissed her softly. His warm lips pressed gently to her cheeks, her eyes, her nose, and finally her mouth.
“Mykyl.” Her soft whisper ghosted across his skin. She had felt a bolt of terror as his hand settled on her breast.
Lightly, he kissed her, allowing her control as he asked with his body, with his kisses before he took. With each tentative advance Amoda felt the niggling fear fade slowly, pushed aside by arousal, by need. Her breathing stuttered as he deepened the kiss. She held onto his shoulders. Every nerve ending in her body swam in a sea of fire. Every inch of her mind filled with the man atop her.
Fighting against the niggling fear that slithered through her, Amoda whispered his name, again and again, as his touch drifted over her naked flesh.
Trailing kisses down her throat, she squirmed into his touch as he paused to worship at her breasts. The feel of his hot, wet tongue on her nipples stirred the embers, stoking the desire that had cooled. With each lap of his tongue, each feathering along heated skin, the coil of tension within her body increased until she longed for him to possess her, to take her. Opening herself to him, she ached deep inside for something she’d never felt before.
“Mykyl?” She tightened her grip, fear dancing with the arousal that raced through her blood. “Mykyl, please.”
“Yes, that’s it, Amoda, take what I give you.” The soft whisper filled her as he moved into position, his hard length pressed against the core of her femininity.
Inch by inch he pressed forward, easing into the moist heart of her. Easing in and out, with each movement of his hips, she felt him sink deeper. The pressure built as he slid forward, pressing against the proof of her innocence.
Amoda felt his start of surprise, felt the searing heat of his possession as he forced his length deeper, tearing her maidenhead as he slid to the very depths of her. She felt as though split in two as a burning agony washed over her. She barely stifled the scream of pain, her entire body bucking beneath his as she fought to dislodge him. Closing her eyes as he stilled above her, she panted as the pain slowly faded, replaced by the gathering desire. Gone was the hesitant fear, replaced by a gentle awareness.
With slow, gentle movements, he built the flames back within her body. Lifting her legs, she wrapped them around his hips, moving with him as her body dictated. A moment later, the waves of desire crested, crashing over her and sending her into oblivion. Trembling, clinging to him as her world shook and stars exploded behind her eyelids, Amoda cried out.
The harsh groan from above her barely penetrated the fog as she felt the hot wash of his essence as he reached his climax. Holding him within her arms and legs, she lay still, needing him close.
His possession, while painful at first, had been nothing like Rognvaldr’s degradations. There had been no shame. As he nuzzled at her throat, she stared at the ceiling in a maze of confusion. Her mind seemed foggy, dulled by the passion that still clung to her. A deep-seated feeling of contentment and passion still tingled throughout her body.
Loathed to let him go, she clung to him in desperation, torn by the desire that claimed her and the need to hide from her own shame. There had been pleasure beyond anything she’d ever believed in his arms, in his lovemaking. The steady weight of him pressed against her offered comfort, and yet, her body began to burn. Tensing as he slipped from her spent body, she tried to hide her slight grimace of pain, but knew from the way he kissed her softly upon the temple he’d caught her expression.
She let him turn her to face the wall as he rolled, his breath feathering over her passion flushed flesh. The hard arm that came around her waist pulled her back against the sweat soaked flesh of his chest, his hand coming to rest upon a breast. She could feel his now soft manhood press against the curve of her buttocks and shifted uneasily.
“Sleep, Amoda, there is so much more to come, my love. Next time, there will be no pain. It will be better, I swear it.” Gently, the whisper drifted over her skin. Closing her eyes, she lay still, waiting for him to fall asleep. The scalding trail across her cheek told more clearly than any words of her emotional unrest.
Oh Freyja, I love him! Like a bolt of lightening, the thought raced through her mind to land in her heart. Love the man who holds me in bondage. I can never let him know. Aye, I cannot let him have that much power over me.
Twelve
Mykyl leaned against the windowsill and watched Amoda walk across the courtyard, a large basket in her arms. Since his return, they’d come to an almost ideal peace. Amoda was still as headstrong, as willful as she had always been, but that fire she possessed was more than welcome in the darkness of their bedchamber.
The gentle sway of her hips beneath her skirts teased him. His fingers itched with the remembrance of the silken feel of her skin beneath them. Already he could feel the fire within him growing, scorching at his control. Having her hadn’t dulled the need he felt to claim her. Nay, it had only inflamed it more.
The sweet taste of her still sat on his tongue long after the night had given way to day. He smiled as he saw her hurrying up the steps. When she disappeared through the doors, he turned intent upon meeting her downstairs.
Busy with the daily running of the house, his servants barely paid attention to him as he hurried along the stone. He caught a glimpse of Amoda as she sat the basket she’d been carrying on the table and began to remove numerous plants. With each movement, the fabric of her dress tightened or relaxed, caressing the curves he knew so well.
Pausing in the doorway, he watched her for a moment, noting the soft smile upon her lips and the ease of tension in her shoulders. His heart pounding, his palms itched to cup the full breasts bound by her tunic. He swallowed and brushed past Byrne, who glanced at him, an expectant expression upon his face.
“Amoda.” Mykyl stood next to her, his eyes traced over her features. Loose strands of hair hung freely, having escaped her braid. A delicate flush tinted her cheeks, highlighting the few faint freckles there. A strong urge to trace over them with a finger, with his lips, swept through him.
“My lord.” Amoda glanced at him quickly then away.
“A word in private.
” His tone left no room for debate, though from her sly smile she had no desire to offer one.
Her quick nod made him grin before he turned and headed up the stairs to their chamber. He listened to the soft sounds of her footsteps behind him and counted each step carefully. Allowing her to precede him into their chamber, he closed the door softly and leaned against it.
“Have I done…?”
“Nothing.” Mykyl waved away her concern. He tossed his shirt aside as he walked toward her. Puzzlement lay within her eyes but she remained still. “I simply wish to relieve myself of a bit of a difficulty.”
“Difficulty?”
“Indeed.” Mykyl agreed. He reached up, tracing the line of her throat. With a deliberate movement, Mykyl tugged on the leather thong that bound her hair, letting the crimson and bronze strands fall past her hips. He stepped behind her, flush against the warmth of her body.
One hand came to rest on the flatness of her abdomen, his fingers making slow, heated circles. Nuzzling through the tresses, he pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses to her neck, over her shoulder even as he worked the ties of her blouse. With them loosened, he pushed the material aside.
“My lord, there is much work to do. I can not…” she protested weakly, her breathe stuttering as her head fell back, resting on his shoulder, giving him more access to her throat.
“Amoda, I am lord and master of this house. It is up to me to say who can break from their work.”
Her soft moan as he cupped a burgeoning breast delighted him, as did the hardening of the alabaster flesh of her bosom. Pushing the fabric from her arms he untied the waist of her skirt and let it pool around her ankles with a soft whisper. Each inch of flesh revealed he explored with his hands and mouth.
He nipped at the small birthmark on her hip while his hands trailed down her legs, lifting each foot out of the confines of material. He felt the shiver as she responded to the friction of his work-roughened skin against hers.
“My lord, please.”
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