by Delle Jacobs
Passion looked like torment on his face. His love words came in wispy gasps. He began to withdraw. Perhaps it was pain she saw. Could it hurt him, if it felt so wonderful to her?
Then, as he began slowly stroking in, out, gradually deeper, harder, longer, faster, she began to understand the nature of his passion as it became like her own, growing stronger, compelling. Something wonderful. And his hand found an unexpected center of pleasure that rippled through her again and again, doubled to passion, to something beyond words.
She breathed his name, a sweet sound, melding with the flow of passion within her until she thought she couldn't breathe. And still it built, this nameless everything, with the stroke of his hand, the stroke of his body, ever deeper, stronger, harder, faster, and she could bear it no more.
Wave after wave of light and pleasure rippled through her, the sensation that seemed to lift them to the heavens together. He stiffened, cried out, and plunged deeply inside her, his strong body coursing with a rigid force that dissolved into trembling.
They floated together, like a feather caught in a light breeze. They were the universe, the stars, all of life from the beginning of time. Arienh closed her eyes, floated, letting the being of it fill her. The tickle of his breath against her cheek, the silken rasp of his finger pads cuddling the blanket snugly against her neck.
Sliding aside, his arms remaining about her, he whispered in her ear. "Told you."
She opened her eyes. Sharp, cold air stung one cheek while the warmth of his breath caressed the other. "What?"
"Told you. You're mine, love. It's done."
"Done?"
A contented smile draped across his face. Almost as if it took great effort, he raised his head to capture a nipping kiss from her lips. "I'll build you your own house. We're much too noisy, you and I, to share with anyone else. Wood, though. Stone would take too long."
The cold air slapped her."House? To live in? With you?"
"It is usually done that way." He gazed triumphantly at her, and he nipped her nose again. "I will always give you the best that I can."
With the suddenness of a plunge into icy water, reality returned. Flinging his arm away, she jerked to sitting. Blankets shed off her like water, leaving nothing between her bare skin and the dawn's early light.
Blessed saints, what had she done? She had lost her head, her body, her senses. Everything recklessly abandoned. Against all common sense and decency, against the safety of herself, her people, and most of all her sister, she had given herself to the Viking.
"But I can't live with you."
Ronan sat up abruptly, his brows knitted with confusion. "How else do you propose to conduct a marriage?"
"Marriage?" She scrambled to her feet. "You're a heathen, a Viking, a-a- I can't marry you!"
"You just did."
"I did nothing of the kind. This is not marriage."
He looked at her as if she had just slapped his face. Arienh snatched her discarded kirtle and tangled herself as she tried to pull it over her head.
"Nay!" she screeched as he reached to help. The armhole that had maliciously hid itself finally submitted. She wiggled the garment into place.
Already he was on his feet, his garments fastened. He stepped toward her. She retreated.
"Arienh, you know it is enough, among your people or mine."
"Yours, maybe, but I have given you no promises."
"I have given you mine."
"Nay, there must be vows," she lied. "They must be said before others. At the church steps."
"Nay, there is no need, but if that is what you want, I will do it."
"Then you do it alone. I do not consent."
She turned to flee, but he caught her arm. His mouth quirked bitterly. "Then, what was this?"
Oh, what was it? She'd known perfectly well what she was doing. She just had not cared. She had wanted time to stand still and keep that moment forever. Something separate and apart from the life she must lead, which had no room for Viking lovers.
"Arienh?" Confused pain etched his face.
"Foolishness. That's all. Foolishness." She snatched up the cloak that had been discarded unnoticed in that time before, before everything inside her had been turned upside down. And she ran, throwing the cloak over her shoulders as she went.
And perhaps she was a little disappointed that he did not follow.
Oh, what had she done? She needed to think. Her head was too muddled to make any sense. He could force the issue. He had only to tell. Then Birgit would be stripped of the protection she needed, and she would be helpless alone. Egil might think her pretty enough now, but no man wanted a wife who could not see. And if he took Liam? Birgit would die inside. How could she have been so careless with Birgit's life? Nay, she could not betray her sister this way. She had to do something.
But she had no idea what that was.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
All right, so they didn't eat children. Of course, Arienh had never believed that one. It was too bad that Liam did.
And no matter how big their organs were, they weren't too big. She certainly was glad of that. Trouble was, she couldn't tell anybody.
As she fluttered about the small cottage doing useless tasks, Arienh was aware of Birgit’s eyes following her almost in rhythm with the quiet swishing of her shuttle. She dared not even look up to meet Birgit’s gaze. She needed to leave, yet Ronan could be out there, anywhere, and she couldn’t face him.
What if he told? And why wouldn't he? Surely he did not really believe her lie about saying vows at the church door. And not even the Celts would support her if they knew, for marriages had been made in just this way for as long as there had been Celts. They would see her as the traitor who gave in to the Vikings. Once he had her, all the others would simply fall into place. And where would that leave Birgit?
It was hard to tell what to believe about these Vikings. They were not filthy, but in fact very clean. At least, these Vikings were. Perhaps some of the other rumors had begun with frightened villagers, or passing tinkers with always a dramatic tale to tell. But which ones?
But one had come from Father Hewil himself, in a sermon about Christian duty. He had told a story about heathen Northmen who sent their invalids and elderly out into the freezing north storms to perish so that they didn't have to take care of them. She remembered it well.
On the other hand, there was Wynne's husband, Gunnar, father to Ronan and Egil, who was thin and bent, and had an unhealthy pallor. Did it apply only to certain people, perhaps those who were poor, or who had no relatives? Wynne seemed to feel Gunnar was exempt. Maybe they only did it to slaves. Or Celts, perhaps.
But she couldn't run a risk like that, not with Birgit's life. Poor Birgit had been through so much. Arienh must not fail Birgit again.
Really. And what had she just done?
Arienh dropped wooden bowl on the table, and porridge slopped onto the earthen floor. Birgit winced.
Nay. She had to find out. It was the only way to protect Birgit. But how? If only there were someone to ask.
His mother, Wynne.
Aye, she was a Celt, and she knew the Northmen. She would be the perfect one to talk about how the Northmen were different from other folk.
But how to go about it without giving away the secret?
***
When Ronan stomped into the cottage and threw his pile of blankets down on the low platform bed, Egil's eyebrows rose to pointed arches. Ronan hurried out of the cottage without saying a word. Nobody knew him the way Egil did, and at the moment, that was not a good thing.
He snatched up his adze and hacked at the new beam he was making for one of the cottages. That should take him all day. Good, hard work was what he needed now; sweat pouring over his body, draining every ounce of strength from him.
By Thor's beard, what was the matter with the girl? He hadn't done anything she hadn't welcomed and enjoyed. Why would she go that far if she didn't mean to marry him? That business about vows. Th
at was nonsense. Wasn't it? Oh, he knew it was a common enough thing to say the words on the church steps, in front of the village. And the priest blessed the marriage bed, when there was a priest. But when there wasn't-ah, he knew better.
Ronan swung the adze with a fury, sending shavings flying. Maybe he'd better ask his mother. They might do things differently here.
"Enjoy the sunrise?"
Damn. Egil.
"You didn't go out there with all those blankets for nothing."
"It was fine." Ronan turned away, renewing his effort on the beam.
Egil let out a hearty laugh. "By Thor's hammer, you got some, didn't you?"
How did he do it? Sometimes he thought Egil could read his mind.
"You did, didn't you. Then why by Hel's frozen tits are you so mad?"
Ronan gritted his teeth and concentrated on his adze.
"Went sour, did it?"
"Damn, Egil, back off."
"Ah." The blue eyes twinkled halfway between merriment and concern. "Scared her off."
"How should I know what's in her head? Damn the stars, Egil, keep it quiet, will you?"
"If you want. Why? Most men would be bragging."
Ronan gave up and set the adze down, leaning against a tree. "I'm not most men. I don't know. I pushed too hard, I suppose. Everything seemed just fine until I mentioned marriage."
"Marriage to a Viking." Egil carefully examined a wood shaving he had wrapped around his finger. "Pretty hard for these Celts to swallow."
"I know, but why would she? She's skittish, like a pony in a lightning storm, running from something."
"Well, it's better than most of us are doing. Not a one of us doesn't get hard at night dreaming of tits, but that's all we've got. Dreams."
Ronan mopped the sweat from his brow. "Looks to me like I'm right back there with the rest of you."
"But if she'll do it once, she'll do it again. Plant a babe in her. That'll settle her down."
Ronan glared fire. "That sounds pretty strange, coming from you."
"Aye." Egil nodded. "It's not my way. And 'twould be the wrong thing entirely for my Birgit. But maybe it's the right thing for her. But keep your own advice, at least, Ronan. They don't know us. They only know the worst of our kind. That's a lot to overcome."
"I'm not as patient as you."
"Yes, you are. You've waited ten years for this girl. Don't ruin it now. Maybe you should talk to her."
"Tried it."
"Try again." With a sweep of his hand, Egil gestured down the valley toward the estuary. "She went out with Liam toward the beach about an hour ago. Several of the women are out there."
"Trust you to know. No, I don't want anyone else to know about this. Not till she's ready. I know that's part of what's upsetting her."
"Then be careful what you say. But if the others are around, she couldn't run away. She might have to listen."
Ronan shook his head and picked up his adze again. It looked pretty hopeless to him. "She just needs some time. I think I'll just finish this beam. We can replace the thatch on another cottage when it's done."
"Suit yourself," Egil said, clamping his hand on Ronan's shoulder. He started to walk away. "By Thor's beard, would you look at that?"
"What?" asked Ronan, his head already turning in the direction Egil was staring. But he saw it immediately.
"By the forge, with Bjorn. Who is that?"
"Elli, I think, by the long blonde braids."
"No women in his life, huh?"
"Maybe, maybe not. Her father was the blacksmith. Maybe she has some business there."
"You think? Let's go see."
Ronan was not really of a mood to do such a thing, but he was greatly in need of a distraction. The brothers sauntered down the path toward the old forge that Bjorn was renovating, keeping a careful eye on the man and the girl to whom he talked.
Their footfalls got Bjorn's attention. He glowered at the girl. "Go on, girl, go on. I've got work to do. Don't need a woman around to bother me."
The girl looked slapped. She turned swiftly and left. Why was Bjorn so brusque, if he had been so willing to talk with her before?
"No women, is it, Bjorn?" Egil asked.
Bjorn shot an evil glare at Egil. "Woman just hangs around," he said. "Said her father was the blacksmith."
"So he was," Ronan agreed. "Does she have a liking for the forge? Or do you have a hankering for her?"
"Don't want nothing to do with women," Bjorn insisted, bristling. "But she knows things. There's things here that are confusing, and she knows about them. Girl knows more than most folks."
"Oh? Like what?"
"Guess her father had some idea about getting iron so hot, it'd flow like water, and using molds, like a goldsmith does."
"Not possible, is it?"
With the return to a safer topic, tension eased in the blacksmith's face. "Not that I know of. But I've thought of it myself. Thing is, can't get a fire that hot. I've tried, but there's nothing hotter than a charcoal fire. Bellows make it as hot as it can get, but not hot enough. And molds, anything that hot would crack any mold. But he must've been trying. Found a bunch of them."
Ronan's eyebrows raised. "Interesting discussion for a girl."
Bjorn set his square body, feet spread, bulky arms folded. "Aye, but she's still a woman. Got no use for women."
***
The rains came again. Arienh was relieved, for it kept the Viking away. When the sun shone, she stayed away from him only by judiciously watching where he was and making sure she was somewhere else. Every day he helped Tanni bring in the sheep, and she left Liam to tell him she was off on other errands. Knowing he would then watch to see where she went before the sheep were brought in, she took herself off even earlier. For over a sennight she had avoided him. But she could not keep it up forever. He was only humoring her, and she knew it.
At least there was never a loss of things to keep her busy. She needed more time, time to think. Especially since she couldn't find the courage for more tricks.
She took Liam to gather clams. The boy ran ahead, then dashed back, taking her hand and tugging, then he ran off again. Sort of like a young dog trying to tease its master into a game of chase.
"Come on, Aunt," he said, pulling her along. "The tide'll be back up before we get there."
She laughed. Never could she look at the child without reveling in the incredible gift he was to them. "The tide's still going out, Liam."
"Well, you're so slow."
She quickened her pace along the narrow trail that wound between the curve of the hill and the estuary. Brilliant sunshine lit up pale sand and gleamed on Liam's brass-colored hair. The boy was beautiful, special. For all his horrible origins, she could not be anything but glad he had come into their lives. She wondered if they were right in shutting the huge blond Viking out of Liam's life.
Nay, they had to do it. Egil would want a healthy, whole wife. All men did. And the more time he spent with Liam, the greater would be the risk of discovery. He was a greater threat to Birgit than the man who had raped her and fathered her child.
A child. She hadn't thought of that either, when she had so easily given herself to the Viking. She hadn’t thought of anything except her own desires. He hadn't just stirred her body. He stirred her soul. And addled her brain.
She had been so angry with him for moving in and taking over, and all the while denying he did what he did. So angry, she had been determined to resist him. And so sure that anger was all she needed to protect herself from him. Yet, all he'd had to do was touch her and her resistance had crumbled like fine-grained sand.
She should be angry with herself. He had only done what any man would do.
"Look, Aunt. See? It's low enough to dig already. Hurry!"
The boy was right. In her dallying, she was going to miss the best of the low tide. Out by the far sand spit, Selma with her two cousins, and Elli with their kirtles knotted up high, walked the edge of the surf, dodging the occa
sional high wave.
"All right," she said, handing Liam his little shovel and one of the knotted mesh bags she had made to hold shellfish. "But stay close to me."
"Aw." He shuffled in that ungainly way he had, meant to make his reluctance known. He would spend more time running in and out of the surf than digging, but she didn't mind. He would be eager enough when he found something.
Spotting the squirt of a razorshell, Arienh dropped to her knees, rapidly shoveling sand with her trowel until the trowel struck the shell. She latched fingers around the shell before the creature had a chance to dig away and escape. She plopped the clam into her bag, then walked on along the strand line, glancing up now and then to be sure Liam hadn't gone far.
"Liam," she would call when he wandered.
"Aw." But he would hurry back.
When he lingered around a clutch of boulders that lay in the warm sunshine, she called out again. "Liam, come away. There could be adders."
"Aw. I don't see any."
"Just because you don't see them doesn't mean they aren't there. Come away."
Liam flailed his lanky arms in disgust as he stomped away and returned to the wetter part of the beach.
"You would not want to be hungry tonight because you did not dig, Liam."
Liam dug, but his heart was not in it. A world of fascinating things awaited him, and he did not often get so far away from his mother. But he was too curious, and had no natural caution. This time of year, as the sun began to warm the rocks, the adders came out to sun themselves, and their mottled markings hid them well. Engrossed as he often became in minute things, Liam would not see a snake before it struck.
She bent to her knees again and again, digging, most of the time achieving her quarry, soon became engrossed in her task.
A shadow fell across her.