by Sandra Hill
Boldly, he took his hardened manhood in his hand and said in low, strangled voice, "Do you see how much I want you, wife? Do you want me half as much?"
Twice as much, Eadyth thought as she felt a hot liquid pool at her center. The tips of her breasts ruched and ached. And he had not even touched her yet.
Oh, Lord.
"Disrobe for me, Eadyth," he entreated in a low, throaty voice. "Take off your garments whilst I watch."
And Eadyth surprised herself by doing as he bid. Shyly, she moved away from the door a few steps and undid the belt of her gunna, letting it drop to the floor. With the edges of her toes, she removed her leather slippers, then removed her overtunic and chemise.
She should have been embarrassed to stand naked before a man, but she was not. Eirik was not just a man. He was her husband. And the pleasure she saw on his face as his eyes scanned her body gladdened her.
"You are beautiful, Eadyth," he whispered rawly. And Eadyth did feel beautiful then, for the first time in many, many years.
"Touch the tips of your breasts with your fingertips, Eadyth," he coaxed, still standing a short distance from her. "I want to see your pleasure as you imagine they are my hands on you."
"Oh," she said on a soft whisper, but did as he asked, and almost swooned with the intense yearning that radiated, almost painfully, from her nipples.
"Now leave one hand on your breast and place the other at your nether hair. And tell me what you feel."
Eadyth felt a hot flush sweep her face and shoulders. "Desire," she whispered in embarrassment.
" 'Tis your body readying itself for me, Eadyth," he barely choked out, and closed the distance between them.
She tried to put her arms around his neck and draw him into her embrace, but he would not allow it yet. "Nay, sweetling, we are going to go slowly this time... very slowly." He kissed her lips lightly and took her hand, leading her over to the window well. "Stand here," he directed. Then placing her against the wall, near the light of the window, he positioned her arms so that her fingers were clasped behind her neck.
"Oh, I do not know if I like this," she protested. "Let us lie on the bed, Eirik."
"Nay, not quite yet. We are going to play a game first."
"A game?" she choked out.
"Yea, the feather game."
"I do not understand."
"You will. You will."
"And what do I get if I win?"
"Me."
She laughed scoffingly. "And what do you get if you win?"
"You."
Her brow furrowed in puzzlement. " 'Tis the same thing, is it not?"
"Oh, nay, there is a vast difference. 'Tis all in playing the game. Now, first off, you must not remove your hands from behind your neck. Not even a bit. Or you lose. And I may not touch you with anything other than a feather, not my hands or lips, or I lose."
"And how will I know if I have won?"
"When you 'peak'." He smiled widely as if he were the most brilliant man in the world.
"Peak?" she squeaked out. "With feathers? Are you sure? Have you done this afore?"
"Never, but I am absolutely sure."
Then he picked up the feather which she had dropped on the floor and began to trace her eyebrows, the lines of her nose, her mole, the edges of her lips. She closed her eyes with a sigh as the delicious caresses progressed.
"Nay, you must keep your eyes open," he said. "That is another one of the rules."
"Oh," she said suspiciously. "Do the rules change as we go along?"
"Mayhap." He moved on to the undersides of her upraised arms, down her sides, circling her breast. She held her breath, waiting. The circles got smaller and smaller as he edged the feather closer to the center of her breast.
"Do you want me to touch you there?" he whispered seductively.
"I will die if you do not."
"Well, we cannot have a dead bride on a wedding night, now can we?" he chuckled, and flicked the feathery edges back and forth over her pebbled nipple. Her hands almost slipped from behind her neck with the overwhelming pleasure that flooded her.
"Tell me," he urged in a passion-thick voice as he began to do the same to her other breast. "Tell me how it feels."
"I ache. I throb. I yearn for..."
"For what, sweetling?"
"Your mouth on me... suckling, I think... oh, I do not know."
"Soon, Eadyth, soon. Nay, do not close your eyes. Remember the rules."
She forced her eyes open and looked downward where his feathery torture had moved to her belly and inner thighs. "Why are those blue veins standing out on your man-thing? Does it hurt?"
Eirik made an odd strangling sound deep in his throat and leaned an arm against the wall, closing his eyes for a moment, as if to gain strength. When he opened them again, Eadyth asked with a knowing smile, "Do the rules say you can close your eyes whilst I cannot?"
"Yea, you minx," he said with a shake of his head.
Eadyth had no mind to tease him after that when Eirik employed his feather on her woman hair. Kneeling before her, he asked her to separate her legs, and Eadyth complied, mindless with yearning now as all the boiling blood in her body seemed to lodge in one tiny nub of sensation. Using the feather, he separated her folds and told her how she looked to him.
As his game progressed, Eadyth began to whimper helplessly, especially when he set the feather to fluttering, like birds' wings. The ache in her breasts and her woman folds grew and grew, almost to bursting, and Eadyth arched her hips outward, her legs stiffening. Eirik increased the pace of the flickering feather, rapidly, rapidly.
Eadyth wrenched her hands from behind her neck and put them on Eirik's shoulder for support as her knees grew weak and tiny spasms of pleasure rippled outward from her core. Bright lights exploded behind her closed eyes, and she moaned, "No more, Eirik. No more. 'Tis too much."
He dropped the feather and put his face against her taut belly. When he finally stood, Eadyth saw through her passion-glazed eyes that his manhood had grown enormous and a small bead of his seed stood out on its end. His eyes raked her body hungrily and ragged breaths came from his parted lips.
He wanted her, Eadyth could see, and she was pleased.
"Did I lose?" she asked self-consciously as he moved closer.
He flashed her a dazzling smile and lifted her into his arms. "I would say that we both won, sweeding. But now it is my time for the prize."
He threw her onto the bed and followed immediately after her. Putting his hands on either of her ankles, he pushed upward and outward. He looked down at her appreciatively for one moment only, then plunged into her depths with one long stroke. Eadyth keened with the intense pleasure of being filled by her husband, as they melded together as one.
"You are so hot," Eirik ground out as he leaned over her on straightened arms, his neck arching with his painful control. "Your womanheat is burning me alive. I want to kiss you and suckle your breasts and whisper sweet words to you, but I cannot wait... I cannot wai..."
He pummeled her body then with long strokes that grew increasingly shorter and harder. She braced her upraised palms against the headboard and tried to match his strokes. When the quivering flutters began again in her woman parts, she spread her legs wider and arched her hips up off the bed. The flutters became spasms, then full-blown convulsions, as Eadyth flailed her head from side to side, reaching, reaching, reaching... When she reached her "peak" and splintered into a thousand shards of pleasure, Eirik arched his neck back and slammed into her one last time, crying out with a raw, masculine groan of triumph.
Eirik fell heavily across her, his chest heaving from his efforts, his ragged breaths tickling her neck. Eadyth felt a wetness between her legs—his seed and her woman's moisture. His limp man part still nestled inside her.
And a warmth like spring sunshine flowed through Eadyth. She brushed her fingertips lightly across his shoulders and down his back. In the aftermath of their fierce lovemaking, Eadyth felt peace and a sens
e of rightness.
"I love you, Eirik," she whispered, stroking his hair.
Silence reigned for a few moments. Then he raised his head, grinning. "I do have a talent for the bed sport, do I not?"
"I said I love you, Eirik," she said, shoving him affectionately. "I do not ask that you return the sentiment, but do not make light of my affections, either."
"I would not do that. Ah, Eadyth, I do not know if I believe in love anymore. It takes more trust than I have for womankind. I have grown fond of you, and I am pleased that we are wed, but I cannot promise more than that. For now."
Disappointment tugged at Eadyth's senses, but he was being honest with her, and that counted for much. "Well, then, I will just have to teach you to trust me." But what she really meant was love.
He smiled and kissed her mole. "Ever the managing woman, are you?" Then he slipped lower and blew against her breast. "What were you saying earlier about suckling?"
Eadyth could not "manage" a word right then.
Later, Eadyth asked Eirik if the feather game could be played with her wielding the "weapon," and he said, "Oh, for a certainty. 'Tis the best way."
By morning, they had torn the mattress in several places. The stool had a broken leg. Rushes were scattered in clumps all over the room.
Eirik's knees were brush-burned and his shoulders had teeth marks in them. Eadyth's face and breasts smarted from Eirik's whiskers.
She cracked one eye open to peer at Eirik where he stood drinking deeply from a goblet of mead. He winked at her and she saw an invitation there. Again!
"Nay, no more. I could not do it again. Not even if..." She yawned widely and closed her eyes sleepily.
"Ead-yth," Eirik called out a short time later in an odd tone of voice. When she ignored him, he cajoled, "Ead-yth, look here what I have for you."
She scrunched her eyes closed tighter. "I already know what you have for me and I have had enough."
"I know, I know, not even if I stand on my head bare-arsed naked. But have pity on me. You will not believe this. Truly."
And he was right.
Eadyth's mouth dropped open when she unshuttered her eyes, which grew increasingly wider with disbelief.
Eirik was standing on his head. And he was bare-arsed naked.
After she stopped laughing and he had dropped back to his feet, she said, holding out her arms to him, "Well, mayhap I have changed my mind. A little manly exercise deserves its reward."
Chapter Seventeen
They awakened later to a loud pounding on the door.
"Go away," Eirik growled and pulled Eadyth more closely into the cradle of his arms. Her head lay on his chest and one leg was thrown wantonly over both of his. Eirik shook his head in wonder at the implausible picture... and his good fortune.
"Not again, Eirik, I am too weary," Eadyth mumbled sleepily.
Eirik's lips turned up with immense satisfaction, knowing he had done a superior job of tiring her out.
"Eir-rik," Tykir whined, knocking on the door again, "open up. 'Tis past dawn, and I have four bothersome children in my bed making so much noise my head hurts. 'Tis time for you and Eadyth to take over."
"Begone, Tykir. And do not come back unless the keep is under attack."
Eirik heard Tykir mutter several swear words, then stomp off. He put a hand on Eadyth's satin-smooth buttock, relishing the idea that he had a husband's right to do so. New, wonderful feelings washed over him as he gazed at his wife, and he feared examining them too closely, lest they be ethereal and fade away, like dreams. He closed his eyes, preparing to fall asleep again.
But Eadyth had other plans, soon evident when she shifted and rubbed her breasts across his furred chest, then placed a hand possessively over his exhausted man part, purring, " 'Twould seem you need a bit of leavening in your life, dearling."
And it was Eirik then who protested with a groan, "Not now, Eadyth, I am too tired."
But he soon changed his mind when she asked saucily, "Not even if I stand on my head, bare—"
"You would not!" he said with shock, his eyes shooting open. "Would you?" He could not hide the gleam of interest in his eyes.
"Nay, you brute, I would not." But then she swung her body atop his, challenging, "Are you done 'peaking' so soon? You promised me twelve 'peaks,' and you are only up to six so far."
Eirik found he was no longer quite so tired.
An hour later, Tykir was back at their door, pounding insistently. "Eirik, you push the bounds of brotherly love. Get your arse out here and take these whelps off my hands. John has challenged me to a pissing contest. Larise has my feet aching from dancing so much. Dancing! For the love of Thor, who ever heard of a Norse warrior dancing? Emma has honey in her hair. Godric is shooting arrows into Bertha's butter churn. Abdul has begun to molt. And your damn dog shit on my bed."
Eirik and Eadyth exchanged looks of amusement before both exclaiming at the same time, "Go away!" and then they burst into laughter.
"Are you laughing at me?" Tykir demanded, affront turning his voice churlish.
"Why do you not teach the children some of your magic tricks?" Eirik finally choked out when Tykir continued to mutter loudly outside in the corridor. Tykir told him exactly what he could do with his "magic tricks" and stalked away.
Since they were already awake, Eirik decided to teach Eadyth a few "magic tricks."
"Have you ever heard of the famous Viking 'S' spot?" he asked his wife, grinning against the cleavage of her breasts, and moving lower with a trail of kisses.
"Nay. Is this another one of those caliph stories?"
"Of course not," he said, affronted. "My 'Uncle' Selik told me about the 'S' spot. The tricky thing about it is that it can only be found with—"
"With what?" Eadyth asked with a gasp as Eirik knelt between her legs and raised her knees over his shoulders.
"—the tongue," he answered smoothly, with a wink.
And Eadyth told him later, much later, that he could practice his magic tricks on her anytime he wanted.
The third time Tykir came banging on their door, about mid-day, he demanded, "Eirik, come quickly. Britta is missing, and we fear Steven may have her."
* * *
Eadyth gathered the frightened children about her while she watched Eirik and his men ride off in full battle gear to search for the missing maid. She tried to hide her terror, both for Eirik and Tykir, and especially for the helpless Britta, who had been pulled into their battle with Steven.
Before he had mounted his horse, Eirik had drawn Eadyth into his arms and whispered against her lips, "I am well pleased with you, wife. I had hoped to have more time to show you my joy."
"I, too, am happy in this marriage," she had admitted huskily as she ran her fingertips caressingly across his cheek. "Take care, my husband. Take care."
She and Bertha took the children in hand, forcing them to wash all the grim from their bodies, then seating them around the kitchen table where Eadyth proceeded to teach them their lessons. Though they shifted restlessly from time to time, they were all eager students, even Godric, and much was accomplished in the three hours before they heard the horses returning in the bailey. Eadyth ordered the children to stay with Bertha, then rushed through the hall with foreboding.
Wilfrid was carrying Britta's limp and battered body up the steps when Eadyth opened the door. Eirik and his men were already riding off again in search of the evil Gravely and his conspirators in crime.
"Is she alive?" Eadyth asked Wilfrid.
"Just barely," he said through gritted teeth.
"Bring her to the guest chamber," she said, leading the way, and called out to Girta, "Tell Bertha to send hot water and cloths."
When Britta lay on the bed, and they had removed her shredded garments, Eadyth and Wilfrid both cried out with alarm at the horrendous cuts and bruises which marred almost all her skin from forehead to feet. Blood and man-seed had dried on her thighs. Her one eye was already swollen shut and her bottom lip cracke
d open. Her left arm appeared broken at the wrist.
Wilfrid exclaimed, "The bloody bastard. I will kill him for this, I swear."
"Leave, Wilfrid," Eadyth pleaded finally, putting a gentle hand on his arm. " 'Twould be best to let me cleanse her body in private. Find the herbal woman in the village, if you will, and send her to me with healing draughts."
"Will she live?" he asked brokenly.
Eadyth shrugged. "I hope so. I will do my best. 'Tis all I can promise."
By the time she was done cleaning Britta, the maid had gained consciousness, moaning, "Oh, mistress, the beasts... the things they did to me... I hurt so bad..."
"Hush, Britta, you are safe now." But she had to ask, "Was it Steven of Gravely?"
Britta looked up at her, wide-eyed with horror. "Yea. He and five of his men took turns... oh, the perversions... the horrid things they made me do... I will never forget... and he gave me a message for you."
Eadyth stiffened with apprehension.
"He said... he said... to tell you that you are next. And he said he would not be so gentle with you."
Eadyth brushed Britta's lank red hair, once as lustrous as spun gold, off her battered face. Then she took the young servant in her arms and rocked her like a child, knowing full well that Britta had lost any remnant of innocence she still held that day. And her tears blended with the sweet maid's.
By the time Eirik and his retinue returned that evening, Britta was sleeping restlessly, thanks to the herbs the village woman had brought. Eadyth was optimistic that the maid would recover, in time—at least in body, if not in spirit.
Her first glance at Eirik's stormy features told her he had not found Steven. Once again, the devilish earl had eluded capture.
Quickly, she ordered servants to prepare baths for Tykir and her husband and to begin setting the tables for the evening meal. "And bring out several tuns of mead," she told Lambert. "Methinks the men will have a mighty thirst."
By the time Eadyth finally got upstairs, Eirik and Tykir had both completed their baths and were sitting in Eirik's bedchamber, discussing the day's events. She told them of Britta's injuries and her hopes for recovery.