Jerrik

by Felicity Brandon

  Brigid lifted her chin to find the intensity of his gaze, and a second later Jerrik’s face descended, his lips capturing hers for a lingering kiss. She was panting by the time he withdrew, more than aware of how wet her husband would find her when he was ready to possess her again. She hadn’t exactly had a great deal of experience with men, but she sensed an urgency about him. Last night, Jerrik had seemed content to take his time, but now it was as though the passion in him was about to spill over. The hardening organ between his legs throbbed like it was actually agreeing with her, but rather than intimidate Brigid, she found she wanted the thing. She wanted it inside her.

  “Jerrik.”

  Her voice sounded strained, imploring, and his lips claimed her mouth again, but this time Jerrik guided her body gently back against the wall of the chamber.

  “I want you,” he told her with a soft growl. “Like yesterday, but this time here instead.”

  Brigid widened her eyes at his assertion. Against the wall? She had never even contemplated such a thing, but all of a sudden, it sounded like the most glorious idea in the world.

  “Do you consent?” His voice was raspy now, more than demonstrating his need.

  Brigid’s gaze flitted to his face. “Yes, Jerrik,” she breathed. A thousand times, yes, though she didn’t vocalise that last part.

  Heat rushed to her core at the look in Jerrik’s eyes, and for a moment the tension between them in that small chamber was almost palpable. Then, without a word, he reached down to her, those large palms grabbing the underside of her bare behind before he lifted her body up the wall. Brigid gasped at his power. It seemed as though her weight was no effort to him at all, but that couldn’t be right, could it? She was a fully grown woman, after all, yet as she searched Jerrik’s face, there was no evidence of exertion.

  “Wrap your legs around me,” he instructed, his forehead pressing lightly into her temples while she shifted into position. “And your arms, beautiful. Put them around my neck.”

  Brigid complied at once, loving the feeling of surrender as her body slotted perfectly against his, as if she had been made for this very moment.

  “Can we?” she panted, her knees gripping at his strong body. “Like this, I mean?”

  “Oh, yes,” he assured her. “And you’re going to love how deep I can penetrate you from here, little Pict.”

  Her throat dried at that, yet it wasn’t only his words that stirred her needy sex, but the passion in his voice and his expression. Jerrik wanted her—really wanted her—in a way Bram’s father had never done. She was giddy at the realisation.

  A moment later, Jerrik shifted his weight and plunged the full length of his hard shaft into her wet channel. She had no choice but to cry out as he impaled her, the sheer intensity of that sensation muting everything else in the world at that moment.

  “Yes,” he grunted. “Take it, Brigid. Take what belongs to you.”

  Brigid parted her lips, but she had no idea what there was to say. There were no words sufficient to describe this. There were only actions, the sounds of their raspy breathing, and the exquisite noise his body made as it slammed back into her own. Nothing else existed.

  Nothing else mattered.

  He fucked her that way for some time, and now Brigid knew what the word really meant. She didn’t know how to best articulate the way Bram had been conceived, but it wasn’t this—it wasn’t anything like this. This was fucking at its rawest and most primal, and to think she had cringed at Jerrik’s language yesterday, but he’d been right all along.

  This.

  This was heaven.

  Brigid had no conception of how long he pinioned her there with his cock. Time meant nothing anymore, each quantity of it a measure only of his incredible possession of her sex. All she knew was the ferocity and the pleasure and, clawing at his strong shoulders, she fleetingly realised something else.

  She never wanted it to stop.

  She woke later to find them both in her bed. Her body was still wrapped around Jerrik’s, tangled in a knot of passion they had created together. One of her hands was trapped gently beneath the warmth of his palm, and her legs were still splayed around his hips. She drew in a breath, recalling the weight of the pleasure he’d bestowed upon her, not just that evening, but also the one before, and how much she’d welcomed his intrusion.

  The wonderful sex was unexpected enough, but gazing down at the soundly sleeping Viking at her belly, she began to wonder. Perhaps this union could work, after all? If Jerrik was prepared to protect her and Bram, and do those things to her every night, then it seemed Eithne’s plan had been a good one.

  10

  Bram

  The little boy stirred at the rising of the sun, although he had no idea of the time inside his shadowy room. His limbs had grown cold despite the woollen blanket over his body, and now that he was awake, Bram knew sleep wouldn’t find him again this night. Yesterday had been a confusing one. The adults of the village had been preoccupied for most of the day, and to make matters worse, the sea had brought strangers to their village in the days before that. Bram hadn’t liked the look of them, recalling the warnings some of the older boys had told him about invaders from the north, and then to his disgust, there had been dull rituals to endure and feasting which seemed to go on for hours. Normally, Bram loved a feast, but this one had been full of the strangers, and his mother had seemed permanently attached to one particularly tall one. The thought had irritated him so much that he’d feigned exhaustion that evening just so she would depart early and take him back to their home. He loved the way she sat by his bedside smiling at him, and he loved how she sang to him until his eyes closed. Bram never wanted those things to change.

  Rising from his bed, he wrapped the blanket around his shoulders and wandered into the main chamber of the house. The fire had long burnt out, and the place was cold and dark without it. His gaze fell over his mother’s door. Perhaps if he was quiet, he could slide into bed with her and cuddle into her warmth before she rose for the day. Bram smiled at the thought, already padding over to the wooden door. He stopped just outside, his heart leaping at a curious sound from the other side of the door.

  A deep, throaty snore erupted from his mother’s bedroom, a noise he had never heard until that moment. He barely recalled the time his father had lived, but in all the years that had passed since, his mother had never made a sound like that! He eased the door open, despite the fact his heart raced on at the thought of what he might find. Maybe his mother was in trouble? Maybe one of those foreboding Vikings he’d seen the day before yesterday had come during the night and hurt her? Panic filled his mind as the idea resonated.

  What if she really was hurt?

  He was the man of the house now, so it was down to Bram to aid her!

  His gaze fell over the scene inside his mother’s chamber, lit only by a solitary candle by her bed, and it took a moment for the full horror of the image to fill his mind. She was there, but rather than wearing her usual nightgown, her body was apparently completely nude. Bram’s own body froze in recognition. He had barely ever seen his mother without her clothes and blankets.

  Worse still, she wasn’t alone!

  Although he couldn’t make out the identity of the intruder, it was clear from his size that it was one of the strangers who’d come to the village, and Bram wondered if it was the one his mother had exchanged vows with at the boring ritual the other day. The air was coming out in short pants as he edged closer. A part of Bram didn’t want to look, yet somehow, he was compelled, drawn towards the strange sight.

  His mother appeared to be sleeping soundly, one arm entwined around the brute’s bare back. It was him who was snoring so loudly, his face towards the wall and his cheek pressed against the skin of his mother’s belly.

  For a moment, Bram just stood there, shocked and motionless. Who was this man, and what had he done to her? She seemed to be alive, but he couldn’t know that for sure. Maybe she had been poisoned? Maybe she woul
d never sing him to sleep again? That thought filled his head, the idea growing until it became almost painful.

  His mother! He had to know if she was well.

  “Mother!”

  He hollered the word, although he hadn’t intended to, and recoiled as both of them woke with a start. The stranger leapt from the bed, lurching for a pile of clothes in the corner and thrusting a shiny blade in Bram’s direction. His mother looked horrified, initially pulling the blanket up over her chest, but when she caught sight of the Viking’s weapon, she fell forward, scrambling to throw herself in front of Bram.

  “Halt!” she shrieked. “Halt, Jerrik, put your blade away. This is my son!”

  The towering stranger, still standing without a stitch of clothing, blinked down at him and his mother with an icy gaze. “In the name of Thor,” he exhaled. “This is your son? He scared me half to death.”

  His mother rose to her knees, wrapping her arms around Bram with relief, but he shrugged out of her embrace.

  “Mother?”

  His tone was quiet now that he was no longer scared. He could tell she was alive and well, but the question remained: Who was this intruder, and why in God’s name was he wrapped around his naked mother?

  “What is happening? Who is he?”

  “Bram,” she replied with a small sigh. “I need to talk to you about this, but not here. Why don’t you go and fetch some wood and help me make a fire?”

  She reached for him again, but he retreated at her plaintive tone. Make a fire? Why was she talking about making a fire? There was a complete stranger standing naked in the corner of her room, who even now was making his way over to them. Bram didn’t want a fire! He wanted to know what was going on.

  And he wanted to know now.

  “No!” he snapped in a petulant tone. “I don’t want to fetch wood.”

  The giant beside him sighed, throwing his weapon out of reach on the bed. “Do as your mother tells you, boy. Fetch the wood.”

  Bram’s neck strained as he lifted his chin to take in the face of the intruder. He had a mean-looking expression, and a big, blond beard that seemed to fall from his chin.

  “I will not,” Bram countered, stamping his foot in disgust. “I don’t know who you are, but I don’t know you. You can’t tell me what to do!”

  “Bram, please,” his mother implored, trying once again to reach for her only child. “Be a good boy.”

  “Leave me alone!” Bram was shrieking by this point, shaking off his mother’s hand as he retreated towards the doorway.

  The giant arched one blond eyebrow in his direction. “It seems your son needs some discipline, little Pict.”

  His mother shook her head. “No,” she assured him, rising to her feet, her gaze darting between the two of them. “Bram is a good boy, he just knows nothing about our union, and—”

  “You didn’t tell him about our union either?” the Viking probed in a quieter tone that Bram didn’t understand.

  “Tell me what?” Bram quipped.

  He wasn’t sure why he was so upset about the presence of the intruder—he could tell his mother was safe—but still, he was. He could actually feel the anger raging around his body, and he watched his shaking arms.

  The intruder laughed in response. Bram recoiled at the sound, wrapping the blanket tighter around his shoulders.

  “Your mother is mine now, boy,” he told him with a chuckle. “I am her husband, and that makes me your father.”

  Father? Did the giant just say father? But Bram’s father was dead. His mother had told him that for years now.

  “No!” he called out in protest, but his small tone was softer than before. More hesitant and unsure. “Mother, that’s not true. Tell him it isn’t true!”

  “Bram, I…”

  Her voice trailed away, and the sad look in her eyes told Bram that his worst fears were realised. Apparently, the Viking was right. Fear and hurt pinballed around his young mind.

  How? he demanded silently. How had this happened, and why had she let this happen? Hadn’t they been happy together, just the two of them? Why did they need another man to share their lives?

  “Come here, boy.”

  The Viking’s voice was firm, and he pointed to a spot between the place he and Bram’s mother stood. Bram eyed the stranger with suspicion. There was no way. No way he was going to stand where the giant indicated, and no way he needed a new father.

  “Bram.”

  His mother sounded desperate, but he flashed her a hurt look. She had no right to be mad at him. She was the one who’d started this. She was the one who’d allowed the giant in!

  “I won’t say it again,” the Viking warned him. “Come here now, or I will make a birch especially for punishing you, Bram.”

  Bram swallowed hard at his words, his heart thundering with fear. He wanted to birch him? So it was true then—all the things he had heard about the Norse invaders—they really were monsters.

  “No,” his mother sobbed, turning back to the Viking. “Do not hurt him, he just doesn’t understand what is happening. He’s only—”

  But Bram didn’t stick around to hear any more. His feet were already moving, and he was out into the main chamber before his mother had even hesitated at his departure. Pulling the large door in the direction of his body, Bram ran out into the cool morning air, his feet bare as they pounded against the damp grass, but he didn’t care. Behind him, his mother’s cries rang out. She was calling his name—calling for him to return—but Bram wasn’t going to return. Not whilst there was another man in his house.

  11

  Jerrik

  Jerrik had been stirred by a great many things in his time. The soft curve of a hot woman, or the battle-ready cries of his enemies had both roused his interest on countless occasions, but never in all his days had he woken to the scream of a child. He’d jumped from Brigid’s body, convinced they were under attack until he’d finally laid eyes on the child in the room with them. Only the sight of Bram’s wild eyes had prompted him to him throw his dagger aside.

  And then the petulance of the boy had astounded him! He had flatly refused to obey his mother’s simple instructions, and when Jerrik himself had demanded his focus, the little imp had only turned and fled! He shook his head as he watched Bram’s escape, even more unimpressed with the way his wife had scrambled after him, shouting for Bram to return.

  A few short strides had brought him back to the main entrance of the dwelling, where he caught up with Brigid, still wrapped only in the coarse wool blanket.

  “Stop yelling,” he told her in a stern tone.

  She turned, her eyes wild with worry. “But he’s gone!”

  Brigid’s expression conveyed a frenzied combination of concern and exasperation, as though she could barely comprehend Jerrik’s words.

  “I will fetch him back,” he explained in a matter-of-fact tone. “But not like this!”

  He gestured down towards his naked body, and she nodded, finally understanding his words.

  “Then let me go,” she implored him. “I should go anyway. I am his mother.”

  Jerrik gazed down at the small Pict beside him. She was naked, too, save for the blanket, which had already fallen to reveal one of her luscious breasts. By Thor, Jerrik couldn’t wait to get better acquainted with those.

  “You’re my wife,” he reminded her firmly. “And I’m not having you running around the village naked.”

  Jerrik pulled her away by the edge of the wool, kicking the door with his bare foot so it shielded them from some of the cold air. There was still enough light to make out the fierce look in Brigid’s eyes, but the room already seemed warmer. “Now go and get dressed and start the fire. I will find Bram and bring him home. It seems he has been allowed to run amok without a father, but that will soon change.”

  Brigid ran a small hand through her dishevelled mane of dark hair. “Please do not be hard on him,” she replied with passion. “He has been through so much and he is still so young.”


  He snorted at that. “The boy has seen eight summers. He is no baby. I was making my own weapons and learning how to shoot them by his age.”

  She shook her head, parting her lips as though she meant to protest, but one glare from Jerrik seemed to silence her.

  Good, he mused, intentionally looming over her much more delicate frame. “Did you not hear my instructions?”

  Brigid gulped in response, yet tentatively, she nodded. “But what about Bram?” she whispered, gazing up at him with those large hazel eyes.

  They looked even more beautiful in the light of the morning sun.

  “If you allow me to dress and do as you’re told, then I will retrieve him.” Jerrik glowered down at her as he made the statement. “But while we are standing here discussing it, Bram is getting farther and farther away.”

  She pulled her lip between her teeth, but her feet moved, and slowly, Brigid complied. With a sigh, Jerrik followed her back to their bed chamber. He had hoped they could utilise this time for some more carnal pleasures, but apparently, it was not meant to be. He pulled on his trousers quickly, retrieving his weapons after he’d yanked the leather tunic back over his head. Brigid had dressed in a pale gown, the colour almost matching her face. Their eyes locked again.

  “Please find him,” she whispered, her dread more than evident from her tone.

  “I will,” Jerrik assured her, striding back towards her body. “I will find him. You have my word.”

  He lifted his hand to the side of her face and was pleased when she didn’t flinch. Instead, Brigid’s eyes fluttered closed at the contact.

  “Thank you.”

  “Don’t forget what I told you,” he purred. “Stay here and light the fire. Do not, under any circumstances, go looking for him yourself. I am here, and I will deal with it.”

  Those hazel eyes met his once more. “But I could help?” she mumbled.