Michelle Willingham

by To SinWith a Viking

  She extricated herself from his embrace, pulling her gown back up. Taking a deep breath, she voiced the words that needed to be said. ‘But we still need to talk about what will happen to us if I cannot have children.’

  ‘We won’t know until we try.’

  She took a breath, steadying herself. ‘Would you end our marriage?’

  He stared at her, as if uncertain of what to say. His hesitation multiplied the fears inside her, but at last, he admitted, ‘Yes.’

  The hurt balled up inside her, her throat closing up. She could not wed a man who wanted a child more than he wanted her.

  ‘It would be the right thing to do,’ he said quietly. ‘If I cannot give you a child, then I’ll let you go.’

  His words were knives, slicing away at the tremulous fear within her. Did he truly believe that children were more important than all else? That she would want another man, all for the sake of a babe in her arms?

  She tried to shield herself against the pain, voicing the other truth that plagued her. ‘If Elena were still carrying your child, you never would have left.’

  His eyes grew harsh at the accusation. ‘What would you have me say?’ he demanded. ‘Never would I turn my back on my son.’

  She had no answer for that. But she wanted so much more from Styr. She wanted him to love her, to be with her, even if there were never any children.

  Was it worth risking her heart, knowing that he might break it a second time by leaving?

  The heavy weight of silence spread between them, and she waited for him to speak, to say anything at all. She needed reassurance from him.

  ‘I love you,’ she said at last. ‘And I won’t lie to you. I do want a child. A son with your eyes, or a daughter with your smile.’

  She reached out to touch his hand, and his arms stilled upon the oars. ‘But I won’t live from one month to the next, wondering if this will be the day when you leave me. I’d rather be alone than endure that heartache again.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  Styr spent the rest of the evening brooding among his men. He’d brought Caragh back to her home with all the gifts he’d given her, but his foul mood lingered.

  Thor’s teeth, but women were impossible to understand. He’d come back to her, hadn’t he? Yet somehow what was supposed to be an afternoon spent in her arms had become an argument that twisted him into knots. He’d given her the truth, even if she hadn’t wanted to hear it.

  If she wanted a babe and he could not give her a child, he’d rather release her from their marriage than have her look upon him with hatred. He cared about her too much, wanting only her happiness.

  He wished he could find the right words—to talk to her, to tell her all the reasons why he wanted to be with her. Damned words were of no use to him. He didn’t know what to say or what she wanted to hear.

  Styr rubbed the scar on the back of his head, unsure of what to do. But he wasn’t going to abandon this. Not yet.

  They made camp and Onund went out to hunt. Styr had spitted a trout he’d caught and was waiting for the fish to cook.

  ‘May I join you?’ came the voice of a wizened old woman. He’d seen her before, but didn’t know her name.

  Styr gestured for her to sit across from him, and she smiled, saying, ‘No, I can’t, my boy. If these old knees bend, they won’t get up again.’

  ‘Are you hungry?’ he asked, though he suspected that wasn’t the reason for her conversation.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘I came to lend you my advice, since you’re failing in your quest.’

  He lifted a peat brick and tossed it on the fire. ‘And what quest is that?’

  ‘Why, to win our Caragh’s heart. She wept over you, you know. She tried not to let us see it, but you hurt her. You’ll have to atone for it.’

  Styr said nothing, for he wasn’t about to beg. He wanted Caragh, but what more did she want?

  ‘Give her time,’ the woman suggested. ‘Build her a house and show her that you’re not leaving.’

  He studied the old woman and saw that her face was sombre. ‘I have no intention of giving her up.’ But neither did he want to wait for weeks, giving Caragh the chance to say no.

  ‘I think you already know what to do, Lochlannach.’ The old woman smiled. Leaning on her walking stick, she hobbled back to her husband.

  An idea took root in his mind, one that suited his intent perfectly.

  * * *

  Over the next few days, Caragh hardly saw Styr at all. He’d negotiated a truce with her brothers, and she half-wondered if it was in return for keeping his distance.

  But on the night Ronan and Terence took Brendan to visit a neighbouring clan, she found Styr awaiting her inside her home. He was seated on a stool, both hands enclosed in manacles, while a longer chain looped around the post where she’d once held him captive. His hands were in front of him this time, with each bound separately, to give him more freedom to move.

  And he wore nothing but his hose.

  At the very sight of his muscled chest, words failed her. He was magnificent, his sun-darkened skin gleaming against the fire. His shoulders were corded, lean and strong, while his stomach was flat and ridged.

  Caragh couldn’t imagine what had happened to him, but the heated look in his eyes drew her closer.

  ‘Wh-what are you doing here?’ she asked, pushing back the storm of unexpected feelings. ‘Who’s done this to you?’ Had Ronan or Terence ordered him chained? She wouldn’t put it past her brothers. But if that were the case, they wouldn’t have confined him here.

  ‘Close the door,’ Styr answered. ‘This was my decision, with the help of Onund.’

  ‘Why?’ she blurted out, not understanding what would possess him to do such a thing. It reminded her of the first nights they’d spent together, when she’d held him captive.

  ‘Because I’m not good with words.’

  Caragh bit her lip to keep her mouth from falling open. He had chained himself here? For what purpose?

  She studied him, taking another step closer. He was bared to her, his body chained so that he could not leave.

  And she understood what he was trying to say.

  ‘Promise me,’ she whispered. ‘No matter what happens between us.’ Her hand came up to cover his heart. ‘Our marriage will not rest upon the condition of having children.’

  He leaned in, resting his cheek against hers. ‘I want to give you children.’ His hands moved to rest upon her waist. ‘I want to watch you grow round with my child, your breasts heavy with milk.’

  His words held a power that entrapped her, as if she were the one wearing manacles. Against her body, she felt the rise of his arousal.

  ‘Your brothers are gone this night,’ he reminded her, nipping her cheek with a light kiss. ‘We’re alone.’

  Her body responded to his sensual promise, aching for him. Against her gown, her breasts tightened.

  ‘What do you want from me?’ she whispered.

  ‘Everything.’ His voice was resonant, pushing past her defences. ‘Did you think I was going to let you walk away?’

  She had no idea what to say, but eyed the chains. ‘This wasn’t quite what I had in mind.’

  ‘It’s more interesting.’

  Her eyes widened, her skin warming at his suggestion. But she could not resist the urge to run her hands over his shoulders, feeling the strength of his bare skin.

  It felt wicked, having a man chained for her pleasure. Deliciously so.

  ‘This isn’t fair to you,’ she whispered.

  A slow smile curved over his mouth. ‘Søtnos, there isn’t a man alive who doesn’t dream of this.’

  She realised, then, that this was his way of atonement. When he’d left her before, she’d nearly crumbled under the weight of her grief. He had chosen to stay with his wife out of honour and duty to their unborn child. She’d understood that, though it had devastated her.

  ‘If you wed me, I don’t want you to leave,’ she said. ‘I want a child, ye
s, but more than that, I want you.’ To emphasise her words, she ran her palm over his cheek, down his throat, to rest upon his heart. ‘With or without a child. It’s you I need.’

  Styr held himself motionless at her words. When Caragh moved beneath his chained arms to kiss him, he claimed her lips, as if disbelieving what she’d said. Pulling back from him, she ordered, ‘Look at me.’

  He did, and she framed his face with her hands, seeing the yearning that mirrored her own. ‘I don’t love you for the child you may or may not give me. I love the man before me.’ She pressed another kiss against his heart, and he drew his chained hands against her hair, holding her as best he could.

  ‘I don’t want you to hate me, years from now,’ he admitted.

  She looped her arms around his neck, pressing her cheek against his skin. ‘I’ll only hate you, if you walk away.’

  In his eyes, she saw the uncertainty, the belief of a man who saw himself as unworthy. And she realised that he was as broken as she had once been.

  ‘When you left, it was as if a part of me was gone,’ she continued. Emotion welled up in her eyes as she reached down to touch the lengths of chain. ‘I never should have taken you prisoner in the beginning. I understand now, what you suffered, not knowing if Elena was alive or dead. It was wrong of me.’

  His hands came around her waist, pulling the chains taut until her body was pressed against his. She could feel his desire, and she warmed to it. ‘I love you, Styr. And though I may not ever be what Elena was—’

  He cut her off at that. ‘She cannot compare to you. Not in any way.’ He took her mouth again, kissing her and shaping her lips to his. When she opened to him, she accepted his tongue within her mouth, matching his invasion with her own.

  His deep voice was a breath of heat upon her skin. ‘From the moment I saw you, Caragh, you captured me.’

  The desire to touch him, to feel his bare skin against hers, was an ache that could not be denied. At his words, she reached back for the ties of her gown, loosening it until the linen slid over her shoulders, over her bared breasts, and falling to her feet.

  When Styr saw her body, he ached to touch her. Her slim lines had filled out, her breasts a generous handful that he wanted to caress. No longer could he see her bones, but a softer flesh covered the body he adored.

  ‘I am yours to command,’ he said, and by the gods, he prayed she would take advantage. Against his hose, he was rigid, almost afraid he would lose control the moment she touched him.

  She drew near to him, her unbound hair falling across her shoulders in a dark pool. He lifted his chained hands, and she stepped beneath them, her expression shy. The length of the fetters grazed her nipple, and she gasped at the sensation.

  ‘It’s cold.’

  ‘Is it?’ He covered one nipple with his palm, gently teasing the other with the chain. She gasped, and he distracted her with his mouth, tasting the sweet flesh while his hands moved over her hips, lifting one of her legs until he could loop the chain between them.

  She was so caught up in the attention he gave to her breasts, that she hardly noticed the length of chain until it slid between her thighs, moving upwards until it rested upon her womanhood.

  A cry escaped her when he rubbed it gently upon her. ‘What are you—?’ A shudder broke forth as he drew it over her flesh.

  His hands caressed her rib cage, his mouth still suckling her breasts while he tormented her below.

  ‘Remove my clothing,’ he ordered. But she was so caught up, her eyes closed at the sensation, she hardly heard him.

  ‘Caragh,’ he demanded, ‘look at me.’

  Her blue eyes were hazed with pleasure, her hands gripping his shoulders. He repeated his request, and she fumbled with the ties of his hose, drawing them over his hips.

  Her fingers brushed against his erect shaft, and it was as if she’d touched a torch to his skin. He nearly lost his seed at that moment, and he froze, trying to gather up the threads of his shredded control.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, pulling her hand back. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you.’

  It was the sweetest pleasure he’d ever felt in his life, but this was not meant to be a moment for his own release. To distract her, he moved the chain between her legs. Although he saw the flush of arousal deepening, her breathing growing faster, she never stopped her own torment. Her fingers curled around him, stroking him from the base of his shaft to the blunt tip.

  He was losing command of himself, a prisoner to her touch in truth.

  ‘I love touching you,’ she admitted, exploring his rigid flesh with her hands. ‘You’re like warm stone.’

  ‘If you do that for much longer, I won’t be able to pleasure you,’ he gritted out. He lowered the chain and dropped to his knees. Her sex was wet, her legs spread apart for him. With no warning at all, he placed his mouth upon her intimately, and her knees buckled.

  ‘Hold on to the post,’ he ordered. With his hands upon her bottom, he used his tongue upon her flesh, revelling in the salty taste of her arousal.

  Caragh was lost in sensation, drowning in him. Her hands moved to touch his hair, trying to guide him back up. She couldn’t stand the fierce pleasure that rocked her core, and when he entered her with his tongue, she couldn’t stop the tremors from sweeping over her.

  ‘Come for me,’ he demanded. ‘I won’t stop until you let go.’

  Oh God above, she couldn’t take this. Her body was on fire, her mind enslaved to him. She remembered the night he had forced her to touch herself, and the memory of that pleasure was returning.

  He seemed to recall it, too, for a moment later, he rose from between her thighs and guided her hand to the wetness between her legs. With his hand upon hers, he took her back to the searing rhythm, and that was all it took for her to crumple, a cry of ecstasy tearing forth. He leaned against the post, lifting her up with his chained hands beneath her bottom. His hips rocked against her, and she opened to him, trembling when the hard ridge of his manhood slid against her wet seam.

  Slowly, he settled her until she felt him entering. His arms tightened, but he did not fully penetrate. The sensation of his manhood filling her was so welcome, she cared nothing for the slight discomfort of losing her virginity. And when she was fully seated upon him, she wrapped her legs around him, feeling that it was right to have him inside her.

  Styr licked the underside of her breast, his warm breath sending chills of desire rippling through her skin. He remained sheathed within her, not moving at all, but using his mouth to draw out the heat and need.

  ‘What is your command?’ he asked her, his eyes burning with wickedness.

  She could hardly speak, much less give him orders. The cool length of the chain was against her bottom, his hands holding her steady.

  ‘I want you to find the same release I did,’ she said. ‘I want to please you.’

  Leaning in, she kissed his mouth. He responded with aggression, his tongue plundering her, while below, he lifted her gently. Every touch of his mouth and hands had aroused her to the point of desperate need. Her body no longer belonged to her; it was his conquest.

  ‘This pleases me more than all else,’ he answered.

  Caragh began to move against him, rising and sheathing herself while staring into his eyes. He helped her, his body thrusting inside hers as she rode him.

  Each time he filled her up, her body clenched. He was insatiable, his mouth moving over every part of her skin as he lifted her. With one arm, he held her bottom balanced, while he reached around, stretching the chain around her waist. He moved his fingers between them, finding the nodule that had brought her such pleasure before.

  ‘I wanted to do this from the first moment I saw you,’ he confessed. ‘You fascinated me. And the longer I was with you, the more I wanted you.’ He stopped thrusting, using his hand upon her instead. ‘You were forbidden to me, and I never thought we would have this.’

  She was fighting against the touch of his fingers, but could not sto
p the keening cries that escaped her. Styr kept up the pace, demanding, ‘I’m going to take you there again, Caragh. I’ll watch you come apart with me inside you.’

  He leaned her back slightly, and the angled pressure caused a delicious friction. She couldn’t stop herself from panting to the rhythm of his fingers.

  ‘I love you,’ she told him, locking his gaze with hers. ‘Stay with me. No matter what happens.’

  ‘I love you,’ he answered. When the words were spoken, it seemed to transform the intimacy between them. And with his hands, he pleasured her until she trembled violently against him, his body still buried inside her.

  ‘Please,’ she begged. ‘I can’t bear it any more.’ She was moving in counterpoint to him, her body crying out for release.

  Styr kept the same pace but impaled her deeply, his hard shaft embedded to the hilt. In and out he moved, every penetration swift and deep.

  Caragh couldn’t speak, she was trembling so hard. ‘I need your hands on me,’ she begged. And when she guided his fingers between them, he found the place she wanted. It took only a few strokes before the shattering sensations flooded through her, making her cry out with release. She clenched against his erection, and he went rigid, his expression fighting to maintain control.

  When the languid feelings spread over her, she wanted him to lose himself, to forget all about her and sate his own desires. ‘Let me touch you.’ Reaching down, she cupped his sac and he tensed at her actions.

  He let out a stream of words in his native language, and perspiration beaded across his brow.

  ‘Or should I take you in my mouth, the way you tasted me?’

  The very promise made him groan. Styr resumed his thrusts, his body so tense, she wondered when he would let go of his control. To urge him, she wrapped her legs around his waist, and he rewarded her by increasing the rhythm.

  It was primal and hard, their bodies so caught up, they were one. And when she felt herself trembling a third time on the brink, she pulled his mouth down to her bare breast, and he rewarded her with a deep pull against her nipple.