The Viking Takes a Knight

by Sandra Hill

  And then…and then it came with a wild shattering. The scorching heat stemmed from the place where they were joined, but it was flaring out to all her extremities. She must have fainted, because when she came to consciousness, she was lying on her side in his arms, and he was making soothing sounds of comfort.

  “Did you peak?” she asked.

  He chuckled and kissed the top of her head. “Yea, I did.”

  “In the straw?”

  “Of course.”

  Ingrith might not know exactly what it was like to complete the sex act, but her woman instincts knew and missed having him spill himself inside her body. How much more incomplete it must feel for him. “Oh, John!” she started to say.

  At the same time, he started, “About what you said earlier…”

  She knew that he referred to her declaration of love, a revelation she should have kept to herself with a man who shunned such emotion.

  “Ahem!”

  They both jarred to attention, finding Hamr leaning over the stall rail. Dawn light was coming into the stable. She quickly grabbed for the blanket, almost knocking John over in her attempt to tug it out from under him. When she was covered, she ducked her head with embarrassment. How long had the rogue been standing there? She feared she knew the answer.

  John had already risen and was donning his braies. “How did you find me here? And what is so bloody urgent that you had to disturb me?”

  “I found you because all the stable hands were sleeping in the cow byre after you ordered them out of the stable last night. And, yea, it is urgent.”

  “Oh, my gods! Is it Henry?”

  “Nay,” Hamr assured her. “But Loncaster has struck.”

  She and John both stiffened with dread.

  “You know that rose garden you have on the south boundary of the estate?”

  She and John exchanged glances.

  “Yea, what of it?” John asked. He’d already pulled his tunic over his head and was fastening a braided belt around his waist.

  “Burnt to a crisp.”

  You could say he was the Marquis de Hawk…

  For the past three days, Ingrith had become a regular watering pot, leaking tears all over the place. All because of his ruined rose garden.

  “Ingrith, it was only flowers. It can be replaced. No one was injured. We must count our blessings.” He said this to her as she knelt in the burnt flower field along with two gardeners. They were pruning back the plants to see if any could be saved.

  Some could.

  Most could not.

  Actually, this reprehensible act of Loncaster’s enraged him. And there was no doubt in his mind that the Saxon commander had done the deed, or leastways his men had. How dare he destroy my personal property? Even worse, what or whom will the spineless cur target next? But he was a methodical man. He did not act impulsively…well, not usually, he thought, his one act of recklessness staring at him through beautiful blue eyes.

  “But you told me yourself that it took years to gather these roses, and that some of them are very rare. You must be devastated.”

  Bloody hell! She’s weeping for me. He shrugged. “’Tis not seemly for you to be digging in the dirt like a laborer.”

  “Pfff! You surely planted some of these yourself.”

  He would tell her that it was different for a man, but he’d lost that argument before. “Come back to the keep, Ingrith. A hundred of my men have arrived from Gravely, and your new cook is threatening a kitchen revolt.”

  “Oh,” she said brightly, standing and rubbing her dirty hands on her dirty apron. If there was anything to grab her attention, it was a challenge…better yet, a cooking challenge.

  She was a remarkable woman in so many ways. How could he have not seen that in the past? Her blonde hair hung in a single braid down her back. A few new freckles dotted her nose from being in the sun. Her skin glowed with good health. In essence, she looked comely beyond all reason to him, especially since he knew what was hidden underneath her garments.

  “I brought my own horse.” She pointed to a gentle mare tethered to a stake in the ground. Apparently, she’d been talking whilst he’d been only half attending.

  He went over and saddled the horse for her. Before helping her mount, though, he took her into his arms and inhaled her sweet scent. Even so, he said, “You smell like dirt.”

  “You smell like horse.”

  He pinched her rump playfully. Playfully? By thunder! When did I turn playful?

  She pinched him back…on his rump, independent wench that she was.

  They smiled at each other.

  He leaned down then, meaning only to give her a quick kiss, but her softness drew him in, and he was soon tongue kissing her with fervor. And she was returning the favor, bless her Viking soul.

  It was only the awareness that they were being watched by the two gardeners that made him stop, finally. “I missed you,” he said, putting her away from him. And, Lord help him, she was staring back at him with glazed passion in her blue eyes. How he enjoyed her quick arousals!

  “How could you miss me? I just left your bed at dawn, and it is scarce noon now.”

  He put out cupped hands to help her mount her horse. She rode astride, with her gunna bunched between her legs. Never let it be said that Ingrith did things in the usual female way.

  “I cannot get enough of you, and you know it,” he replied. “Methinks you and I need a sennight or two in bed without disturbance.”

  “And then you will have enough of me and send me on my merry way?” He could tell she regretted blurting out that question even before she added, “Forget I asked that.”

  John saw the brief flash of pain on Ingrith’s face. She pretended that his resistance to marriage didn’t matter, but it must. He should let her go. Let her find a man who could offer marriage, give her children. But he could not. He just could not.

  On the other hand, Ingrith had said on more than one occasion that she was resigned to not having children, that at her age she no longer expected to marry. Mayhap they could come to an arrangement. Mayhap she could be content with her menagerie of orphans. Mayhap marriage was not impossible. Mayhap—

  “You’re looking very serious,” she said, riding alongside him.

  “I have a lot on my mind. Now that we have additional men here, I can feel secure in leaving.”

  “What will you do when you find Loncaster?”

  “I’d like to kill him outright, but he is the king’s man. In the best case, we would capture him and take him to the Witan for trial. If that doesn’t work, we will take matters into our own hands. Either way, he will be punished.”

  “I am divided in my thinking about Loncaster’s fate. On the one hand, being drawn and quartered seems a perfect punishment for him. On the other hand, I wish we could just let him go. I know he burnt the orphanage and your rose fields, but now that we know how dangerous he is, we can be better prepared. Defense is the best weapon betimes. Then again, a sword to his heart would not come amiss.”

  He noticed how often she used “we,” and oddly, he didn’t mind.

  “And I can always go to the Norselands with the children. Henry would be safe there.” She made this offer through quivering lips.

  It was his cue to say that he didn’t want her to leave, but once again guilt hammered at him, and his confused brain wavered.

  If Ingrith thought she was divided in her thinking, she ought to look inside his muddled head.

  Could a woman really accept the kind of marriage he could offer? He doubted it. Eventually it would wear thin. Or when contemplating a lifetime of lovemaking with one woman, especially one as responsive as Ingrith, there might be a time when he was so overwhelmed in the bedplay that he failed to pull out in time. Odds were not in his favor.

  He was so confused, but now was not the time for that particular matter. “Henry is going to be a problem that needs resolving,” he told her. “He is the king’s son, and a man has a right to his own blood. Don�
�t give me that angry look. I’m not suggesting that you turn the boy over to Loncaster, but ‘kidnapping’ is not an answer either, and believe you me, taking a royal child out of the country would be considered a crime.” Besides that, I do not want you to leave. Leastways, not yet.

  “What are you suggesting? I will not hand Henry over as long as there is any danger to him. I don’t care what you say. I won’t.”

  “Hold, Ingrith! I care about Henry, too. Did you know he has been helping me gather honeycombs? And he eats only half of what he harvests.”

  She nodded and smiled tremulously at him.

  “Trust me. We will resolve this situation. And Loncaster will pay.”

  “When will you leave?”

  “I await word from my stepfather. Hopefully within the next few days. He is attempting to set up an emergency meeting of the Witan. When I go, I’ll leave Bolthor and Ordulf here for your protection.”

  “But—”

  “You will stay,” he said emphatically, sensing her resistance.

  “The waiting is hard for me. My inclination was to chase after the buzzard and mow him down the instant the fire was discovered.”

  He knew that good and well. And she would have been leading the charge with sword and soup ladle in hand. “A wise man once told me that in the most successful battle no blood is shed.”

  She frowned, perplexed.

  “More can be accomplished through diplomatic, lawful means,” he explained. “I would like to put a sword through Loncaster’s heart as much as you would, and I may still do so. But he is acting on the king’s orders. Let me work this with my stepfather and the Witan. The most important thing is defense right now. Protecting Hawk’s Lair, Gravely, and all within, including Henry.” And you.

  “There is honor in killing, too,” Ingrith persisted. “Mayhap it is my Norse blood speaking, but some men just need killing.”

  “Are you questioning my honor, Ingrith?” he said sharply.

  “Of course not. Just your methods.” Seeing his growing anger, she quickly added, “But I do trust you, and I am willing to accede to your wishes.” Unspoken but clearly apparent were the words for now.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yea,” she said hesitantly.

  Foolish maid! She should never make such an open offer to a man. Especially a man with a rising enthusiasm. He could not believe that this prim lady was the wanton who had been in his arms all night. Nor could be believe the pleasure of having intercourse with her, even with the less-than-perfect endings.

  Leaning forward he whispered in her ear, “My wish is that you go up to your bedchamber and take off all your clothes. Then lie on the bed with your arms raised over your head, and your one knee raised.”

  Her face bloomed a pretty rose color. “You cannot be serious. It is still daytime.”

  “I am willing to accede to your wishes,” he repeated her words back to her. “So soon you renege? Ah, well, mayhap sex play is too wild for a tame lady like you.”

  She raised her chin defiantly. “I can be as wild as you can.”

  Oh, God, I hope so. “One more thing. Bring a skein of heavy yarn with you.”

  “Huh? Are you planning to weave?”

  Only a net to lure you in. “Nay, I just had another idea involving bedsport.”

  “Seems to me you have an overabundance of bedsport ideas.”

  You have no idea. “Yea, I do. ’Tis one of my best traits.”

  John watched her walk away with what appeared to be an exaggerated sway to her hips. The witch! He smiled. Then he realized that Hamr, Bolthor, and Ordulf were gazing at him as if he’d grown two heads.

  “What?”

  “You’re smiling,” Hamr observed.

  “So?”

  “You hardly ever smile,” Ordulf added.

  “Methinks…” Bolthor started.

  John walked away before Bolthor could compose a poem about a sappy, smiling knight. Still, he was smiling as he went. He was happy, he realized. His rose fields were no more. He had an irksome woman and a herd of children in his keep. Loncaster was proving to be more than a nuisance. And him? He was bloody well happy.

  He was even happier when he got to Ingrith’s bedchamber and saw that she’d fulfilled his wishes…and then some. Somehow, she’d found an ell of his beekeeping veils and she’d managed to wrap it around her body like a sarong he’d once seen on a caliph’s houri, except that one had little bells on it. He wondered if…never mind.

  “Do you like it?”

  “Do dragons roar?”

  She did a little dance around him as he removed his clothing. All his motions were slowed down by the spectacle she was putting on for him.

  “I thought you were too shy to make love in the daytime,” he said, grabbing for her, but she managed to dance away.

  “I thought so, too. Surprise, surprise!”

  He would give her a surprise. A big surprise. Lunging for her, he took them both to the bed. “Now, are you going to pose for me, sweetling?”

  “Only if you will do the same for me later.”

  “Gladly.”

  He stood, very aware that his staff was already past the point of being enthusiastic and bordering on ecstatic. She was aware, too, if the seductive gleam in her blue eyes was any indication.

  She lay back with her hair loose, spread out on the pillow and over her shoulders. With her hands holding on to the posts of the headboard, she bent her knee, as he’d requested. Staring up at him, she licked her lips. And waited.

  Somehow, the transparent cloth was almost more erotic than bare skin. Almost.

  He unwrapped her like a gift, taking a long time so he could savor all the good parts along the way. When he was done and lying on his side, leaning over her, her little nipples were pearled and she was breathing heavily. He would wager she was moist for him.

  “Now that I have had you, really had you, I cannot get enough,” he admitted in a husky voice he scarce recognized.

  “I feel the same. I am going to kill my sisters when next we meet for not telling me how good sex could be.”

  “Uh, I don’t think it’s a good idea to discuss what we have been doing.”

  “Why? I am not ashamed. Are you?”

  He was feeling guilty, but not enough to stop.

  “There are so many things I want to do with you. Hundreds of different ways of having sex. Ones I have tried, and many I have not. We will be sex virgins together.”

  She laughed. “Are they perverted?”

  “Some.”

  “Good.”

  He had to hug her with sheer joy at her lack of inhibitions. May she never change, he thought, but grimaced when he realized he probably would not be around to appreciate her evolution.

  “Now, did you bring the yarn, like I suggested?”

  She motioned over to the washstand.

  He got up, and using a small knife, cut the red yarn into four arm lengths. Approaching the bed, he twirled them in one hand. “This is called the rope game,” he told her.

  “That is not rope. It’s yarn.”

  “Same thing. How adventurous are you, Ingrith?”

  “I ne’er said I was adventurous.”

  “You are adventurous, all right. The question is to what extent? And whether you truly do trust me.”

  “Are we back to the trust issue again?”

  “We are. Do you trust me enough to play this game?”

  Turns out she did.

  Ingrith stared at John as he arranged her spread-eagled on the bed with the yarn tying her to the four bedposts. He had not been jesting when he said this would be perverted. As he was tying the knots, he caressed her along the way and spoke in a hushed voice of all the things he would like to do to her. She became aroused by his words alone.

  “Your breasts are so pretty. The nipples like tiny pearls.”

  “Does your fleece weep for me?”

  “Just looking at you makes me hard.”

  “Lick your lips, sw
eetling. Just so.”

  But he had more in store for her.

  She hadn’t realized that he had carried an ornate carved chest into the room with him, much like some highborn ladies used to store jewelry.

  “My Uncle Tykir gave this to me years ago, but I never had the opportunity to explore its contents.”

  “Frigg’s foot! Exploring again?”

  “Yea, but this will be a different kind of exploration.”

  “I imagine that is what all men say.”

  He swatted her playfully on the thigh as he sat on the edge of the bed next to her restrained body.

  “Have you any idea how depraved it feels to be carrying on a conversation with a naked man pointing his dangly part at me?”

  “Except my dangly part is no longer dangly.” He waggled his eyebrows at her. “Are you not curious about what is in the chest?”

  Oooh, I do not like that gleam in his eyes. “More like suspicious.”

  Using a tiny key, he unlocked the chest. To her amazement, inside was not jewelry, but feathers. Feathers of all kinds. Everything from stiff chicken-like feathers to swan down to peacock plumes.

  She was confused.

  “Torture implements,” he explained. “Erotic torture.”

  “Oh. Good. Gods!”

  “Would you like to be blindfolded, or not?”

  “Oh. Good. Gods!”

  “I take that as a nay. I am told it enhances the pleasure. Mayhap next time.”

  Ingrith might have protested all these perversions, except they did not seem perverted when John was smiling thus at her. Where was the brooding, sad man? If her “trusting” him could lighten his mood, how could she refuse? Besides, John had been right. She liked an adventure.

  Thus began what seemed like hours but was probably only half an hour of “exploration” by her torturer. He started with an extra-soft feather of indeterminate origin, its strands like a thousand silky threads. He used it to “fluff” her body. All over. Even her inner thighs and the bottoms of her feet.

  By the time he got to the more rigid feathers, she was a moaning, writhing mass of heightened nerves. He used the harder feather to flick at her engorged nipples and the aching bud betwixt her legs. She’d had no idea that her lips were an erotic area, but their pleasure points were surely sensitized by a tracing of the hard feather.