by Mary Morgan
She frowned slightly, but then complied.
Magnar swept his gaze over her body. “You are a beauty.” One hand slid down her taut stomach to the swell of her hips and then across her thigh. “Open your legs for me, Elspeth.”
“Touch me there again,” she pleaded, reaching for his cock.
He nearly spilled his seed into her hand.
Grasping both her hands, he held them above her head. Raw, blinding possession and desire raged through him. Nudging her legs farther apart with his knee, he guided his swollen cock to her entrance. Relentlessly, he rubbed over her nub, stroking her passion. Her moans became tearful, and she begged him for more. Always more.
When he knew her to be near her release, his lustful beast drove fully inside her. When she let out a sob, he let go his hold on her hands and recaptured her lips. Magnar withdrew and sank deeper. With each thrust, the storm within him grew. He thought he’d died when he entered her, so tight and hot.
Magnar slid his hand under her bottom and squeezed. When she slipped her leg around him, he lost all sense of control. His mouth sought hers in a frenzy of kisses. He continued his loving assault on her body until she screamed his name as the swell of desire swept through her.
And with his name still on her lips, the liquid fire exploded forth from Magnar. A guttural roar tore from his throat, echoing off the stones, and he emptied his passion into the woman he had claimed. A woman who eased the loneliness and anguish from his soul.
While cradling her quaking body, Magnar rolled over, and she snuggled against him. He trailed a hand down her back.
“That was amazing, my husband,” she murmured, her breath warm on his chest.
When she lifted her head and searched his face, he became mute from the emotions swirling in a tempest within him. Magnar found he was unable to say anything in return for fear she might use it against him one day. Love was a weakness, not a defense.
Yet for the first time in his life, Magnar desired to profess his love for another.
Chapter Seventeen
“More wildflowers?” complained Magnar, stepping around her and yanking a fistful from the moist ground.
Elspeth approached by his side and held the basket toward her husband, doing her best not to scold him for damaging the delicate flowers. “Aye. And if you have nae wish to help, then I give you permission to find Erik for another lesson in the stream.”
He deposited the wildflowers inside. “Your chieftain is currently down by the water with Ivar and Bjorn. He nae longer requires my teaching. I desire to be with my wife. I have not seen you in eight days.”
Her mouth twitched in humor while she turned away from his stormy glare. Since Magnar was determined to take up the lead in searching for Halvard and his men, their time together had been brief. He’d return each week without any news, merely adding to his ire. Then they would spend one glorious night making love. Come dawn, he’d gather his men and depart. Though Elspeth kept busy with her tasks at restoring Steinn, she grew restless. Her nights were spent in fitful dreams of longing for her husband. He stirred emotions in her she had yet to fathom herself.
She yearned to learn more from this man who was now her husband. A man who had yet to show her his wolf. Have I not given you my trust and respect, Magnar?
“Are you leaving in the morn?” she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.
“Unsure.”
Fingering a delicate foxglove, Elspeth debated on pulling it free. “Surely the threat of Halvard is nae longer a concern.”
“Men like Halvard are not prone to retreating so easily,” he admitted.
“Then you will continue to search for him,” she stated flatly, reaching for a dainty flower. This will never end. Perchance your wish is simply to seek your pleasures in bed and then resume your duties. I mean nothing more.
“What would you suggest I do?” he asked, coming to stand in front of her.
Elspeth regarded him for several moments. There was no censure within his eyes. Merely a search for an answer.
Stunned, she blinked several times. She had to be certain. Dropping her basket, she asked, “You seek my counsel?”
He tilted his head to one side, a smile softening his rugged features. “Aye.”
The laughter bubbled up inside her. She fought to control its escape but failed. Her husband narrowed his eyes. A sure sign his behavior was reverting back to one of a caged wolf.
When she finished, Elspeth wiped a hand over her forehead. “Forgive me, Magnar. Not one man has ever asked for my counsel on anything.”
Crossing his arms over his chest, he glared at her. “And you find humor in this?”
Elspeth placed her hands on his rough face. “Aye and nae. In truth, I am overjoyed you asked.” She bit her lower lip and quickly added, “You honor me, husband.”
Grasping her wrists, he brought them down to her sides. “Then give me your wisdom on this situation. ’Tis your home at Steinn.”
“Ours,” she corrected.
He shrugged. “Mainly, ’tis Erik’s.”
“Until he is of age, we are his guardians,” she clarified.
“Nevertheless, you have not answered my question.”
Elspeth moved away from him and wandered to a nearby tree. Leaning against its rough bark, she sought to give him a reply. “How many weeks have you searched for Halvard and his men?”
“Seven,” he acknowledged.
“And have you found any trace they have hidden nearby or in the caves along the hills?”
“Nae.”
She tapped a finger to her chin. “Did you not consider they might have fled north for the coast and back to their home?”
“Orkneyjar?”
Smiling, Elspeth arched a brow. “Aye. You did state north, so perchance they went there to gather more men.”
Magnar folded his arms over his chest. “Aye,” he responded slowly. “After the first skirmish in the hall they might have lost men—”
“And the fire,” interrupted Elspeth.
“Who is to say how many of Halvard’s men were injured or slain?”
“Aye!” She smacked her fist into her palm. “They have gone in search of more men. Or to threaten others for their cause.”
Magnar’s lips thinned, and he rubbed a thumb over his torc. “Which means they will surely return.”
Elspeth’s shoulders sagged, comprehending her husband’s journey across the lands would never end until he sought his own vengeance. This is not his home. Not for the leader of the elite guards. Your quests are varied, Magnar, and this is one in a hundred.
She watched him steadily approach. While Elspeth hated where her thoughts were leading, she spoke them out loud. “You must leave in the morn and go north to the coast.”
Her husband loomed over her. He placed a hand above her head on the bark of the tree, trapping her with his body. “This is your advice?”
Elspeth sighed, resigned to a life where her husband made short appearances. He would never be content here. Magnar was a warrior.
Lowering his head, he nipped along her neck. “Speak from your heart, kærr.”
He was too close. Too male. A tingling feeling danced along her skin, and she swallowed. How could she express what was in her heart, if he didn’t feel the same? Did he think to mock her? Did he not ask for her counsel, only to scold her by asking what was in her heart? Confusion battled within her like a storm on a summer day.
By pushing with all her might against his massive chest, Elspeth persuaded him to halt his movements. Attempting to dislodge her body from his hold was another matter entirely.
“I cannot breathe,” she lied. She managed a small, tentative smile.
Magnar took a step back. “Forgive me.” After giving her a curt nod, he turned and started for the path along the stream.
Elspeth thought she knew stubborn, boar-headed men. She was wrong. Her husband towered above them all.
She stomped her foot in protest. “Why does it matter wha
t is in my heart? The advice I gave you was sound.”
He halted his stride and gave her a scathing look over his shoulder.
Determined to match his stubbornness with her own, she lifted her chin and fisted her hands on her hips. “If I am to speak my heart, you must give me a reason.”
Lifting his head to the sky, he muttered words Elspeth did not understand.
“’Tis important,” she urged in a gentler tone.
Thunder rolled in the distance, causing Elspeth to flinch. Rain would soon follow. The conversation with her husband made her head ache. Dropping her hands, she turned to leave.
“Would you rather I stay for a while? Or do you desire to have me continue onward with my men?”
Elspeth clutched a hand to her chest and dared not look at him. “My heart wants you to stay, Magnar, but only if you desire it as well.”
Suddenly, she was lifted into his arms. On an indrawn breath, she clutched at his shoulders. Elspeth never heard his approach. “You move silently—”
“As a wolf?” After giving her a sly grin, he proceeded forward.
Studying his rugged profile, she asked, “Where are you taking me?”
“To our chambers?”
“In the middle of the afternoon? I am not tired.”
His lips twitched. “You will be after I am done with you.”
Heat blossomed between her legs and rushed up her body to her face. She trailed a finger over the cool metal of his torc. “Do you ever take this off?”
“Nae.”
“And the markings on your back? You have never spoken about them.”
He chuckled low. “You have never asked me.”
He nuzzled her neck while keeping his stride across the landscape.
When the first drop of rain splattered against her cheek, Elspeth glanced upward. “My flowers. We must return and fetch the basket.”
“Do not fret. I shall help you gather more tomorrow.”
By the time they reached Steinn, the sky had opened, drenching the land along with them. In an attempt to move out of the way of a passing goat, Magnar slipped on the muddy path inside the bailey. With a resounding thud, they both landed in the murky mud-filled water. Magnar smacked his fists into the ground, uttering a string of curses. And Elspeth burst out in fits of laughter.
Clutching a hand to her stomach, she blurted out, “Does this mean our afternoon plans are cancelled?”
With one smoldering look, his eyes seemed to undress her.
Her husband swiftly got to his feet. Shouting an order for any of his men within hearing, he waited. Soon, all the men under his command—mostly wolves—appeared. He gave orders to them while thunder and lightning shattered the afternoon sky.
Rolling to her side, Elspeth attempted to stand in her sodden gown. Strong arms circled around her waist, bringing her to stand upright. She lifted her gaze to her husband. “Thank you. I believe I can manage on my own.”
Her words seem to amuse him. “Not without my help.”
Even with mud splattered on his face and in his hair, Magnar made her insides go weak. “Give me your plan.”
He held his palm outward to the rain. “We can stand here until we are cleansed from the mud.”
Water dripped from her hair down her cheeks, and Elspeth blinked.
He pressed her against his body. “Are you thinking? Again?”
“Now you are jesting with me,” she scolded, smacking at his wet tunic. “I found myself at a loss of words over your kind offer.”
Magnar’s laughter echoed all around her, drowning out the continual thunder. Without giving her time to react, he scooped her into his arms and marched across the bailey. When they entered the keep, he shouted, “You best have that tub filled and ready for my wife!”
Elspeth rolled her eyes at the thought of all his men doing a simple task for her. “You had your men filling my tub.”
“Our tub, my kærr.”
Her cheeks grew hot. “You…you are joining me?”
“Aye. My body needs tending to as well.”
Once inside their chambers, he placed her beside a chair near the hearth. Bjorn and Rorik had started the task of bringing in the hot buckets of water and filling the tub. She stood rooted to the floor in a drenched mess observing their swift movements. Other men soon followed with steaming buckets of water, and she almost swooned at the sight, anticipating her body sinking into the glorious heat. Several buckets remained near the fire, and she deemed these would be used to wash the grime from her hair.
Her fingers were numb as she tried to undo her braided mass of hair. After several failed attempts, she gave up.
Her husband came to her side and tugged on the braid. “Allow me…later.”
She nodded her consent.
“They are taking too long,” he grumbled. In his quest to see the task of filling the tub completed, Magnar took up a bucket and bestirred himself to aid his men. When the last bucket was emptied, she bid them all her thanks and watched while her husband closed and bolted the wooden door.
In two strides, he was at her side. Her legs trembled as she gripped his shoulders. With deft skill, he withdrew his sgian dubh from his boot.
“Nae,” she protested, understanding his intent with the blade. “Do you ken how many gowns you have ripped from my body?” Removing her pendant, she placed it on the wooden table by the tub.
“Do you prefer remaining in this wretched condition?”
She sighed in resignation and lifted her arms out to the side. “Do what you must. But Muir will not be happy tending to another torn garment in less than a month.”
Her husband ignored her complaints and sliced through the gown as if it were butter. He then peeled the soaked material from her skin, letting it pool at the bottom of her feet.
Elspeth shivered but not from the cold or absence of clothing. Nae. It had to do with the searing heated glare Magnar gave her. The man didn’t even have to touch her to give her pleasure.
Swiftly, he rid himself of his boots, soiled tunic, and trews. His desire for her was evident, but before she could reach out and touch him, he lifted her into the tub. Warmth invaded her skin, and Elspeth sighed in pleasure.
Magnar reached for the soap and cloth from a side table and joined her in the tub.
Hugging her arms around her stomach, she protested, “I do not believe there is room for both of us. I cannot even sit with you inside the tub.”
When her husband smiled, he disarmed every thought and argument within her.
“There is plenty of room to clean and warm you,” he stated, dunking the cloth and soap in the water. “And by standing I can tend to every inch of your skin.”
She became mute as he started on her shoulders, lathering the soap in gentle motions across her skin and down to her breasts. Watching in a lust-filled haze, Elspeth became captivated with his attention to her body. When his hand delved farther down, he nudged her legs apart with his knee.
Her breathing became labored, complying to his unspoken demand, and Elspeth opened to him. His hand teased her around her intimate area, stroking ever so lightly. When one finger entered her, she let out a moan while watching him give her pleasure. “Need more,” she begged.
His hooded gaze never left her body as he grasped her waist and turned her around in the tub. “You are tormenting me, Magnar.”
He nibbled on her shoulder. “Torment can be pleasurable.”
The tight knot within her begged for release, especially when his hand traveled down to her bottom. Again, he nudged her legs apart and caressed her between her thighs. His movements were steady and driving her to the edge. She gave no care when water sloshed over the edge of the tub. After giving her bottom a smack, he dropped the soap into the water and placed the cloth on the side of the tub.
“Bloody hell,” she blurted out, frustrated, and aching for more.
Magnar twisted her braid around his fist and yanked hard. He pulled her head back toward him. “Cursing, are you?”
He bit the side of her neck—his breath hot against her skin.
“Your time shall come, Magnar MacAlpin,” she avowed. “I shall tease you without mercy.”
He smacked her bottom again, this time much harder. “I accept your challenge. Stay still while I undo your hair.”
She tried not to fidget as he tugged and loosened the hair from its braid.
“Now dunk your head into the water so I can wash your hair,” he ordered.
Pleasurable sensations danced up her spine, and she shivered. Her husband was driving her mad. Ideas swarmed in her mind, forming a plan of attack on her husband’s body.
Quickly kneeling down, she doused her locks in the water and then stood. He worked up a good head of suds with his hands. And with tender care, his fingers splayed throughout her hair, massaging her scalp, and she closed her eyes. Minutes ticked by and her body relaxed.
She heard the soap drop back into the water and realized what was coming next. Turning around, she lowered herself into the water and bent her head forward. Magnar poured the clean bucket of water slowly over her head.
Magnar kissed the top of her head. “My wife is now clean.”
“Ahh…wonderful,” she mumbled.
Opening her eyes, she gazed upon his enlarged manhood. A smiled curved her mouth as she reached for the cloth and soap. “My turn.”
His steady gaze bore into hers with silent expectation.
Elspeth took her time rubbing the soapy cloth around his upper thighs. Ignoring the main source of his desire, she stood. With the cloth, she traveled a path up his powerful body and across his chest. With purpose, she brushed her breasts against him and was rewarded with an indrawn hiss. Onward she continued to clean and study his body. Tapping him once on the shoulder, she motioned for him to turn around. The crisscross of small scars and markings on his back fascinated her. She lowered her hand down to his bottom—taut and firm.
He clenched his fist, and she watched him unfurl the hand slowly.
Standing on her tiptoes, she traced a finger along the side of his neck. “Dunk your head, husband.”
She smiled as he swiftly did as ordered. Elspeth took her time in washing and kneading his head and scalp with the soap. When she judged she had made him wait long enough, she reached for the other bucket.