Michelle Willingham

by To SinWith a Viking

  The thought of living with her, sensing her disappointment in his inability to give her a child...made him wary. He knew the truth of his marriage. It had reached the breaking point, and he didn’t know what he wanted any more. Elena hadn’t been happy in years.

  But if he ended their union, she had another choice. She could find another man to marry, and perhaps have the baby she wanted. He didn’t have to imprison her in a marriage filled with resentment and lost hopes.

  He could set both of them free. All he had to do was speak the words of divorce in the presence of witnesses.

  And Thor’s blood, it tempted him. He closed his eyes for a moment, breathing in her scent. Wishing it was Caragh who belonged to him.

  She took his hand, gazing up at the stars. ‘It’s beautiful, isn’t it?’

  He leaned in, his hand catching the hair at her nape. Without taking his eyes from her, he admitted, ‘Yes.’

  He didn’t know how long they sat beside one another, but he held her hand in his, grateful for her presence.

  * * *

  The winds eased their travel, bringing them near to the green stone within a few hours. The fragment of rock rose up from the sea, coated in moss and grasses. The sight of it, reflected against the moonlit sea, tightened the nerves inside of Caragh. From the moment Styr saw it, he’d grown more distant, as if plagued by thoughts he wouldn’t voice. The men drew the ship in as close as they dared, and Styr carried her to the shore, never minding that his clothes grew soaked in the sea.

  They made camp, building a fire and eating the food his men had brought along with them. Though she knew she ought to be tired, a restlessness heightened within Caragh. And when they made camp, Styr set up her tent far away from the others.

  Away from him.

  She lay inside the shelter, darkness enveloping her. When she’d dared to come with Styr, she’d not imagined what it would do to her heart. It was a physical ache to be apart from him. Right now, she wanted to lie beside him, to feel the powerful warmth of his body against hers. She needed him in a way she didn’t understand.

  And when she crossed the camp of sleeping Norsemen, she entered Styr’s tent, not knowing whether or not he would let her stay.

  He jerked awake at the slight sound when she moved through the opening, and she said, ‘It’s me,’ before he could draw a weapon.

  Styr let out a sigh and she heard the sound of a blade slipping back within its sheath. ‘Is something wrong?’

  ‘I didn’t want to be alone this night,’ she admitted. ‘I just wanted to sleep beside you. If you will allow it. I needed—’

  You, she wanted to say. But she didn’t finish the words, afraid he would turn her away.

  For a time, she could hear only the sound of his breathing. She sensed an invisible tension, as if he were making a decision.

  ‘I’ll go, if that’s what you want,’ she whispered, frustrated with herself for even daring to ask.

  But his hand caught hers, and he dragged her down upon him, seizing her mouth in a kiss. He wasn’t wearing armour, and the touch of his hard, bare chest was dizzying. His skin was so warm, she found herself unable to stop from moving her hands over him, exploring his flesh. Every ridged muscle, the fine texture of his hair.

  He stole her breath, and she felt as if she could touch him for ever.

  ‘You shouldn’t be here, Caragh,’ he said.

  ‘I know.’ He was right. Even to be in his presence like this was so terribly wrong. ‘I didn’t come here for this,’ she admitted. ‘I just wanted to lie beside you for one last night.’

  He drew her against him, her back nestled against his chest, his arms around her. But instead of lending comfort, her heart beat faster. Every part of her body craved more. And she couldn’t understand it.

  Against her hips, she felt the rise of his arousal and knew that he was not unaffected, either. It was a grim torture, for she wanted him in a way she shouldn’t.

  ‘I wed Elena when I was Brendan’s age,’ Styr began. ‘Our parents arranged it.’

  It was the first time she’d heard him openly speak of his marriage, and she reached for his hand, saying nothing.

  ‘Elena was beautiful, and I knew the arrangement would bring together our tribes.’ He released her hand, bringing both of his arms around her. ‘She was a quiet woman but strong in her own way.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘She planned every moment of her day, from the time she rose to the time she fell asleep at night. She worked in our garden every morning, wove cloth or sewed in the afternoon, and cleaned our house every evening. Each day, exactly the same. There was never any change, but she didn’t want it to be different. It was her own sort of control, her own power.’

  His hand moved to hers. ‘We were happy for a time, but she wanted a child. I couldn’t give that to her.’

  Beneath his voice, she sensed his frustration.

  ‘We tried for years,’ he admitted. ‘And never once did her belly grow round with my child. Elena believed the gods were punishing us for something we did. Or didn’t do.’

  Caragh turned to face him. ‘It’s not your fault,’ she whispered. ‘Some men and women are not blessed with children.’

  ‘The first two years, we kept trying,’ he said. ‘During the full moon or during the crescent. At night and during the morning, until we couldn’t bear the sight of each other.’ His hand came to touch the side of her face. ‘It was impossible to please her.’

  ‘Why did you stay?’ she ventured, not knowing how he would respond. A fragile hope burrowed within her heart, that perhaps there might be a chance for the two of them.

  ‘Because I didn’t want to give up. A warrior never surrenders in any battle. It’s not my way.’

  ‘And now?’ Caragh asked, resting her hand upon his heart. His legs were tangled with hers, and although his body remained aroused, it didn’t threaten her.

  ‘I thought of sailing away, of giving her distance.’ He covered her hand with his, before bringing it to rest at her waist. ‘When I offered to leave, she said she would come with me.’

  He expelled a breath. ‘This, from the woman who never altered her day by a single moment.’

  ‘She didn’t want to give up on your marriage, either,’ Caragh said, her throat closing up. She could understand that. If she were wedded to a man like Styr, she would follow him across the seas.

  But hearing the truth from him only warned that there would be no happiness for them. Not if he and Elena wanted to stay together.

  He said nothing, but only held her tighter against him. ‘Every day I’ve spent with you is a betrayal of her.’ The words were a blade twisted inside her, wounding her heart. Then he added, ‘I won’t forget a single moment of it, Caragh. Or you.’

  His embrace only deepened the heartbreak. But leaving him now would only heighten the loneliness. Her eyes blurred, and she admitted, ‘I shouldn’t have come here.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because it only makes me desire you more.’ She started to sit up, and he caught her wrist.

  ‘I can’t give you an answer,’ he admitted. ‘Not until I see her.’

  ‘You’re her husband. I understand that.’ Though she tried to keep the pain from her words, they caught in her throat. ‘You must go to her.’

  ‘I have to see that she is provided for.’ He kept his hold upon her wrist, drawing her back against him. His hands moved down her side in a caress. ‘And if she wants to return to Hordafylke, I will arrange it.’

  ‘Without you?’ she ventured.

  He turned her upon her back, his body above hers. ‘What do you think?’

  She couldn’t breathe from the intensity of heat that rushed over her. Against the juncture of her thighs, she felt the hardened length of his shaft, and she couldn’t stop herself from opening to him. Between her legs, she ached, and even her breasts were sensitive to the weight of him.

  ‘She deserves to be happy,’ he said. ‘And perhaps it shouldn�
�t be with me.’

  Caragh shielded her heart from the wild hope that beat within her. Though she wanted desperately to believe that he might divorce his wife and stay with her, he’d made no promises.

  ‘You deserve to be happy, too,’ she whispered, reaching her arms around his torso.

  He shook his head. ‘The gods have cursed me. For I have no sons or daughters to carry on my blood.’ He moved to his side, drawing his hand over her hip.

  She recognised the warning. He was telling her that even if they did come together, there might never be a child. But she didn’t want to believe it.

  ‘You might...with me,’ she whispered. She couldn’t believe she had dared to speak of such a thing. Not when they had been so careful to avoid touching.

  ‘Do you want to know what it would be like?’ His whisper was a half-growl, and she wasn’t sure what he meant by that.

  ‘Yes,’ she breathed, ‘but it would be wrong.’

  ‘I won’t lay a hand upon you,’ he said, his voice resonant within the darkness.

  ‘But I don’t—’

  ‘You’re going to touch yourself.’

  Chapter Twelve

  Never in his life had he wanted a woman this badly. Caragh’s hands around him had awakened an arousal he couldn’t deny, instead of lending comfort. He wanted to lay her back and taste her bare skin. Learning what pleased her body.

  But then, she was a virgin. Asking her to be intimate in this way would likely embarrass her instead of bringing her pleasure.

  ‘Or you could return to your tent.’ He offered the escape, uncertain of whether she would seize it.

  When he heard no movement from her, the air within the tent seemed to grow warmer. He went rigid at the thought of what was about to happen between them.

  At first, he’d believed that she would run away. Instead, she’d met his challenge, leaving him with no choice but to continue.

  ‘I want all the time that remains between us,’ she murmured. ‘Even if it’s stolen.’

  He moved to her, not touching her, but so close he could feel her breath against his cheek. ‘If you stay, you obey my commands. Without question.’

  She took his hand and laid it beneath her gown upon her heart. Beneath his fingers, he could feel the harsh beating of her fears and inhibitions. But he lifted his hand away.

  ‘Remove all of your clothing,’ he ordered. ‘Lie down upon it.’

  In the darkness of the tent, he could not see her. But he imagined the delicate skin, the soft curves of her breasts. Her nipples a pale pink, her slender waist flaring to hips he wanted to hold while he drove himself within her.

  ‘I’m ready,’ she whispered.

  He heard the nerves in her voice, the uncertainty. But he would have traded every last piece of silver for this night. He would give rein to his desires, the forbidden dreams of her.

  And, if the gods were willing, he would free himself from Elena and one day make love to Caragh the way he wanted to.

  He stripped away his own clothing, lying across from her. ‘Do you feel the cool air upon your skin?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m going to tell you where I would touch you now, if I could. You’re going to touch yourself where I command it.’

  Caragh said nothing, but her breathing remained unsteady.

  ‘Place your hands upon your breasts,’ he said. ‘Stroke your nipples until they harden.’ He moved beside her, gritting his teeth against the taut erection. It was torment, telling her all the places where he wanted to touch her.

  Yet, he would not dishonour Elena by lying with another woman, much as he wanted to. His conscience warned that this act between them was nearly the same.

  But his wife no longer wanted him. And Caragh did.

  ‘It aches,’ she confessed. ‘I feel it all the way between my legs.’

  ‘Don’t stop,’ he ordered. ‘Use your fingers to roll the tips and imagine that I am the one touching you now.’

  He heard her emit a shuddering gasp, her body arching against the pile of clothing.

  ‘Lick your fingers and then touch your nipples,’ he commanded. ‘As if it’s my mouth on top of them. Suckling each one, and imagine my tongue against the sweet tips.’

  A moan broke forth from her, and he couldn’t stop himself from curling his fist around his erection, squeezing the shaft and imagining that she was impaling herself upon him.

  ‘Now move one hand downwards,’ he ordered. ‘Over your ribs and your belly. Down between your legs.’

  ‘I—I’m wet,’ she said, as if not understanding what was happening to her.

  ‘It’s your body preparing itself for lovemaking,’ he said. ‘Take one finger and slide it inside.’

  She let out a low hiss, and he added, ‘Keep touching one of your breasts while you slide it in and out.’

  ‘Styr,’ she pleaded. ‘I can’t. I need you.’

  ‘No.’ His voice came out in a low growl. ‘You will not argue with me. Tonight, you are my prisoner. And you won’t leave this tent until I hear you cry out in release.’

  His words were nearly as erotic as the touch of her own hands. Caragh had never imagined her body could be awakened like this. And though it was wicked, she wanted to know what it was to take a lover. He was guiding her, teaching her mysteries she’d never known.

  She obeyed because she trusted him implicitly.

  ‘Two fingers now,’ he ordered. ‘Stretch yourself and move your fingers in and out while you caress the other breast.’

  She did, and the added pressure of touching her breast echoed the rhythm below. It should have shamed her to be openly touching herself, but she imagined that it was his hands upon her body. That it was his thick manhood invading her flesh, sinking against the wetness and withdrawing.

  She was trembling now, her breathing quickened into short gasps. Something was happening to her, and she couldn’t know what it was.

  ‘Remove your fingers,’ he ordered.

  ‘I don’t want to,’ she murmured, revelling in the sensation that was so close, the trembling feelings rising up within.

  ‘Obey me.’ He reached for her wrist and removed it, guiding it until the heel of her hand rested upon her mons. With his fingers, he commanded hers, bringing her to a small fold of flesh above her entrance. ‘Circle your finger over this,’ he said. ‘Keep stroking yourself until you start to tremble. And imagine that it’s my tongue upon you.’

  The words shattered her inhibitions, and she found herself experimenting with the pressure, learning how to touch and how to bring forth the deep arousal she’d conjured earlier.

  ‘Do men do that?’ she whispered, arching when her body responded with more warmth. ‘Use their tongues upon a woman’s—’

  ‘Sometimes,’ he said.

  ‘And do women taste a man’s flesh?’ she enquired.

  He was so quiet, she didn’t know if she’d offended him. ‘My wife never did,’ he admitted at last.

  ‘She never touched you?’ The very idea seemed impossible. Even now, she wanted to explore his body with her hands, kissing him and finding out what brought him pleasure.

  ‘I don’t want to talk about Elena,’ he countered. And he commanded her again to touch herself, to draw out the aching pleasure until she was starting to shake. The pressure was building inside, and she couldn’t stop her hitched breath, nor the keening cries as she came closer and closer.

  ‘Styr,’ she begged, not knowing what it was she needed.

  ‘Don’t stop,’ he commanded. ‘Keep going.’

  The needs were so strong, she instinctively quickened the pace, crying out as her body tightened with a wave of heat so intense, she was hovering on the brink of collapse.

  But when Styr’s warm mouth closed over one nipple, she lost control. The sensation of his tongue suckling her while her fingers moved upon her wetness was too much. She bucked her hips, gripping his head as a frenzied storm of shaking hot pleasure boiled through her body, making her so wet
, she couldn’t stop herself from plunging two fingers inside. The rhythm of release shattered her apart, and she reached for him, closing her hand over his silken erection. He was hot and moist as her thumb brushed the tip of him. It took only a few strokes of her hand before he let out a harsh breath and spilled his own seed.

  He murmured words in his own language, words that sounded like a blend of an apology and a curse.

  ‘Put on your gown and leave this tent. Now,’ he commanded.

  ‘Are you certain—?’

  ‘If you don’t go right now, I’m going to break every vow I ever made.’

  With shaking hands, she pulled the gown over her nude body, her breasts sensitised against the fabric. Between her legs, she still longed for him, but she’d pushed him too far. For he’d nearly done what she’d wanted.

  She left his tent, tiptoeing outside into the night. The coals of the fire glowed red, while flames licked the banked pile of wood.

  His revelation, that Elena hadn’t liked to touch him, had revealed a side to their marriage she didn’t understand.

  But more, he’d offered her a hope she’d never dared to imagine. He would see to it that Elena was safe. But afterwards...it might change.

  He hadn’t turned her away tonight, and he’d given her a pleasure she’d never dreamed of. The only way it could have been better would be if he’d been inside her.

  The unexpected kiss upon her breast, the feeling of his tongue swirling over the nipple, had been such a shock, she could only imagine what it would be like to share his bed.

  As she curled up within her own sleeping space, her body was so warm, she hardly needed a coverlet.

  But fear and worry slid over her sense of honour. Styr had made her no promises. Everything depended upon Elena and what she would say.

  Though Caragh wanted to believe that Styr would abandon the marriage and stay with her, she didn’t know what would happen. He’d never spoken of his own feelings. If he held any at all.

  Tears filled up her eyes, as she forced them to close. Tomorrow, their fates would be drawn together. Or irrevocably severed.