“Jerrik.”
The word escaped from her lips in a breathless sigh. The goading lips at her flesh ceased as her husband came back into view.
“What is it, little Pict?” he growled. “What do you need? Should I hold you, or is there something more you desire?”
Brigid drew in a deep breath. There was so much she needed—a way to keep clear-headed at his every hot touch, a cure for the burning that raged her behind, but at that moment, what she needed more thoroughly than either of those things was to be filled. Her womb ached with need for man in a way she’d never known since she’d come to maturity, and it was her husband who’d awoken that need. It was Jerrik who had brought her body to life, and she needed Jerrik to consume her now.
“I want you,” she almost panted, although there was a part of her that still protested such an admission.
Surely, it could not be right for a decent woman to claim such things? And yet, was Jerrik not her husband, both in the eyes of their people and of their gods, so perhaps it was not as wanton as it seemed? The goading urgency between her legs won out in the end, and she writhed over his lap, their hot gazes locking.
“You want me to fuck you?” he asked, pinioning her with the full intensity of his gaze.
Brigid looked into those ice-crystal-blue eyes. She had never seen any like them before. “Yes,” she breathed. “Yes, please, husband.”
He offered her an errant grin, but she only caught sight of it for a second before he rolled back against the covers and flipped her onto her back. Brigid winced as her tender behind made contact with the coarse wool.
“What is it, beautiful?” Jerrik murmured, crawling up the length of her body. “Is that wicked little bottom sore?”
She flushed at the way he’d said those words, as though she was just a small child in need of his loving guidance, and for some reason, the idea was stark, more moisture pooling between her thighs as it resonated.
“Yes,” she conceded. “But I do not mind it.”
Jerrik’s mouth closed around her left nipple, eliciting a low gasp from her.
“I think perhaps I deserved it,” she panted.
The suction at her teat vanished, and his face emerged in her eyeline. “You know you did,” he told her solemnly. “And remember this, Brigid, I will be here to punish you each and every time you defy me, but…”
He hesitated, lowering his mouth, which he grazed over Brigid’s parted lips.
“But?” She barely recognised the sound of her own voice anymore.
“But I shall also be here to love and honour you, as well,” he whispered, his hot breath tickling the sensitive skin of her neck.
His lips moved to capture her for a kiss at that moment, his tongue snaking into her mouth just as his cock edged in to her wet seam. Brigid was so ready for him to claim her, she groaned into Jerrik’s mouth, thrusting her hips forward to meet his manhood. He didn’t even break the sensual connection of the caress when he thrust, impaling his wife with one powerful lunge. Filled with him twice, Brigid was lost to the carnality. She splayed her legs as wide as she could, welcoming his sweet intrusion.
Their lips finally parted.
“Oh God!” she moaned.
This was true hedonism, and now it was all hers—gifted to her by her Viking. She didn’t even feel the rub of the blanket against her behind now, or, if she did, the irritation only provoked hotter arousal from her body.
It was scintillating.
“Do you forgive my defiance?” she gasped as he drove into her again.
All of a sudden, Brigid needed to know, because Jerrik was the one who’d introduced this pleasure to her life. Without him—without this marriage—she might never have known such desire. She’d meant what she’d said earlier—she was rueful to have upset him, and she hoped her surrender to his punishment had at least helped to appease him.
Jerrik stilled, his enormous erection lodged deep inside her. “Of course,” he murmured. “Of course you are forgiven. Once the penance has been delivered, you are always forgiven, little Pict.”
Brigid raised her hands to his hair, clutching at the blond braid. He moved again, his hard length claiming her over and over. It was the sweetest sensation, both carnal and sensual at the same time.
“Brigid!”
They both paused at the sound of a scream in the next room, their passion disappearing as the realisation washed over them—someone was in the house, in the main chamber! Jerrik’s gaze hardened in an instant, and he slid from her body, refastening his trousers before he made for the door.
“Who goes there?” he yelled, leaving Brigit scrambling from the bed to collect her gown.
“Where is Brigid?” It was a girl’s voice, although she couldn’t say she recognised it, the panicky tone hiding what resemblance of familiarity she may otherwise have known.
“She is next door,” Jerrik replied, his tone less fraught, presumably now he’d found the intruder to be a girl. “What is it? What troubles you?”
“Bram!” she shrieked, and Brigid swore her heart stopped beating for a second. “It’s Bram! He is out to sea! Lost to the waves!”
Forcing the dress over her head, Brigid ran to join her husband, finding Modwen’s daughter, Alpia, imploring him by the fire.
“The sea?” Brigid cried. “But he was helping with the livestock? I left him only a short time ago!”
“No, no,” Alpia puffed. “He was spotted, and word was sent.”
“Then I must go.” Brigid’s heart pounded as she made for the exit, but one large hand grabbed her shoulder, holding her back.
“We will both go,” Jerrik boomed. “I’ll wager I’m a better swimmer than you.”
“But he’s my son!” Brigid begged him. “It should be me. I should go!”
He threw her a warning look, and despite the cold dread that washed over her at the sight, Brigid could only think of Bram.
Bram.
Her little boy. She hadn’t raised him from a babe to lose him in some ridiculous accident now. She had to get to him.
17
Jerrik
He ran as fast as he could, his heart pounding and his lungs fit to burst by the time the beach came back into view. Brigid was behind him somewhere, understandably aggrieved at the news of Bram, but Jerrik was faster and stronger. He needed to get there first. He needed to find Bram, and his gaze scanned the shore urgently upon his approach. Another boy waved him down as his boots hit the sand.
“Out there!” he screeched, pointing well beyond the longships of kin towards the far end of the beach.
Jerrik raced in the direction. The sea was calm at this time of the year, but he was not fooled. He knew from experience just how powerful its currents could be and how quickly the sand beneath a boy’s feet could disappear to reveal nothing but miles of open ocean. He ran for the water, splashing through the shallows in the direction the young boy had indicated. He was vaguely aware of Brigid’s voice back on the beach, her screams lost on the strength of the wind, but all of Jerrik’s focus was on the water ahead. And finding her son—their son. At first there was no sign of Bram, and Jerrik’s chest constricted at the thought he might be too late. The boy may already have passed to the gods. He was almost shoulder deep in the sea before he caught sight of a splash a few yards ahead, followed by a small hand that lurched north from the water.
Bram!
Jerrik’s heart quickened at the acknowledgement, and he dived into the depths in pursuit of him. The sea was cloudy under the surface, and it took a few seconds for the alarmed actions of Bram’s limbs to become visible, but as soon as Jerrik had them in his sights, he swam for them, hoisting the boy above the surface. The waves were insistent, but he collected Bram, hooking one strong arm around his middle and treading water while he gazed down at the bedraggled boy.
“Bram!” he called to him, checking that the boy still had all of his senses.
Wide brown eyes blinked up at him, his face red with the panic and effo
rt of the last few moments.
“All is well,” Jerrik called out, already using his powerful legs to begin their journey back to shore. “I have you, Bram. You’re safe.”
It took some effort to reach his goal, the weight of the drenched and frightened boy and the strength of the currents slowing Jerrik much more than would usually have been the case. By the time his feet met the sand and he dragged Bram from the water, a small group of villagers had assembled on the beach, although there were no faces he knew. He picked up the boy like an infant, cradling him as he hauled his giant frame from the sea. It was Brigid’s voice that hit him next, her desperate cries penetrating his dazed head.
“Bram!” she cried, running towards them. “Bram, are you well?”
The boy reached for her. He had little energy to speak, but it was clear from his face how much affection he held for his mother.
“He is alive,” huffed Jerrik. “Exhausted I should think, but he survived.”
“Thank God,” exclaimed his wife, stroking back the sodden hair at Bram’s face. “And thank you, Jerrik. You saved him.”
Despite his own weariness, Jerrik smiled at her sentiment. “I told you,” he replied, lowering his voice so that only the three of them could hear. “He is my responsibility now. You both are.”
Brigid smiled up at him, her eyes filled with tears. If she’d doubted his words before now, then Jerrik was clear on one thing: Brigid believed them now.
Brigid:
It took some hours to soothe her men. She had been worried to nausea about Bram, who had seemed lethargic and pale after the trauma at the beach, but he appeared better with a hot meal and his bed. Brigid checked on him regularly thereafter, but he was taking in sufficient air, and by the time she and her husband were ready to retire to their chamber, she was rather more reassured.
“All will be well,” Jerrik told her as she closed the door to Bram’s room. “Bram is strong, and he must be a fair swimmer to have lasted as long as he did before I arrived.”
She nodded, hurrying to his side. Jerrik was right. It was probably only Bram’s experience as a swimmer that had preserved him, although she was in no doubt her son would not be alive without the fast actions and strength of Jerrik. It was the man before her now by the fire—the one she had known for barely three days—who had saved him, racing into the water without a thought for his own welfare. She was humbled by his fortitude.
“I know I have said it before, but are you not cold?” she murmured as she approached his side.
Jerrik’s trousers were drying after the adventure, and he was yet to unpack the small amount of possessions he had brought with him on his travels south. Not that she was complaining—it meant his fine, muscular body was now on display for her hungry gaze to consume.
“Hmmm?” He lifted his chin from the dancing flames to meet her smile. “No, I am content. We Vikings are made of sterner stuff, and look—we have the warmth of the fire.”
Brigid turned her head towards it for a moment, revelling in the heat it produced.
“And I have you,” she mumbled, all of a sudden overwrought with emotion.
All in all, it had been quite a testing day.
“Yes, you do,” he assured her, snaking an arm around her middle and pulling her against his hard frame. “And you always will, little Pict.”
“Thank you again,” she whispered, standing on tiptoes to graze a kiss on his chin. “I do not know what I would have done without you today.”
Jerrik smiled down at her. “You would have gotten yourself drowned,” he told her flatly. “And that would have been a great shame, because you are too fair and too divine to lose.”
He threw her a salacious wink, and her belly leapt at the gesture.
“How’s that bottom now?” he asked, his gaze darkening.
Brigid reached for her cheeks instinctively, rubbing them. “A little tender,” she admitted, “but I have barely thought of the pain since all the worry about Bram.”
Her voice dried as she once again contemplated what might have happened if Jerrik had not been there to rescue Bram.
“Don’t,” he warned her, lowering one of those enormous palms and slapping her backside playfully. “There’s no good that will come from dwelling on what might have been. The gods were with us today—let’s just be thankful.”
She nodded, drawing in a deep breath, as she fought to compose herself. “Yes,” she whispered. “I will pay homage to them all.”
Jerrik gazed down at her. “And now to the matter of my conjugal rights, wife,” he murmured in a teasing tone. “I believe we were rather interrupted earlier?”
Brigid swallowed at the recollection. “Ah, yes, perhaps it is time my husband took me to bed?”
18
Jerrik
Brigid was exhausted. Jerrik could tell just by looking at her, but he wanted her all the same.
“Come then, little Pict,” he whispered, and then in one smooth motion, he hoisted her up and over his right shoulder.
She went with a small yelp, slapping his back playfully when she fell into position.
“Put me down!”
Evidently, she did not want to wake Bram, and Jerrik more than shared her sentiments. “Not a chance,” he replied with a chuckle. “I am just a husband taking what belongs to him.”
Brigid giggled as he carried her directly into the bedchamber, closing the door behind them with care. She had been there earlier, lighting as many candles as she could afford, and now the small room was both warm and inviting. Jerrik lowered her gently to the bed before kneeling over her body and helping her to strip. He threw the gown into an unlit corner, turning his gaze upon the beautiful, shapely body of Brigid. As if her long, dark locks and fascinating hazel eyes were not enough, she had one of the most alluring figures he’d ever laid eyes on. And he had laid eyes on a fair few.
“I want to do something for you,” she murmured, meeting his gaze. “To thank you for saving Bram.”
Jerrik laughed away the notion. “Nonsense, woman,” he replied dismissively. “You do not need to thank me for saving Bram. Is he not my son now also?”
She swallowed at that. “I would like to think so,” she responded. “Or, at least, I hope he will be with time.”
He smiled as he pressed her perfect little body into the woollen cover below. “He is already,” he assured her, “and by the gods, I hope we will bear children of our own in the seasons to come, too.”
Jerrik could barely believe the words that were coming from his lips. Was he really articulating a desire for his own family? Never in his life had he wanted such a bind—never that was, until he’d met Brigid. It was true then, this notion of fate that his mother had always bandied around? Jerrik had thought it a crazy idea, but perhaps she had been right. Maybe the gods did have a plan for each of them, and Jerrik’s fate had been destined for this time with Brigid? He shook his head at his private musings.
“What is it?” she mumbled, her tone inquisitive. “What have you remembered?”
He grinned at her intuition. “Only that I have always sworn to never rear children of my own, and now look at me!”
Jerrik chortled again at his incredible change of heart. “See what you have done to me?”
Brigid met his smile. “I’d like to do more,” she whispered seductively. “I want to be a good wife to you.”
Her stunned expression suggested she was also surprised at her sudden gratitude for the marriage. Jerrik brushed his lips over her hot mouth. He was more than aware of his cock swelling at the heat and passion that was burgeoning between them, and he wondered if his wife had noticed, too. Shifting his weight, he used one hand to trail an invisible line down the length of her body. His fingers started at her collarbone, lingering at the curve of her breasts before they slowly descended down her midriff, en route to the dark thatch of hair between her legs.
“You are a good wife,” he replied after a moment, “and you will learn how to do better—we both wil
l. At least you have some experience in such unions.”
She snorted at that, but his meandering fingers soon caught her attention as he pressed them at the apex of her thighs.
“Is my wife still wet for me?”
After everything that had transpired that afternoon, he could hardly blame her for not being particularly amorous, but he was beyond gleeful to find her pussy almost as moist as his cock had left it earlier. She moaned softly at his touch, her legs splaying naturally, as though they wanted to invite him in on their own.
“I think you shall always find me wet,” she conceded in a breathy tone. “At least while you insist upon remaining naked throughout supper and carrying me to bed like—”
“A Viking?” he interjected with a low laugh.
“Exactly.”
There was silence as two sets of smiling eyes locked again, and in that moment Jerrik witnessed the full myriad of her emotions. She was weary, that was for sure, but also grateful and happy. But burning deep within that hazel gaze was something else. A need that only he could satisfy.
He slipped his fingers into her sex, eliciting a guttural groan from her mouth. By gods, if this was marriage, then at this moment, Jerrik wasn’t sure why he’d resisted the notion for so many years. Yes, he had fucked as many women as he could in the past, but this was different—she was different—and being with her changed his perspective, too. He still wanted to fuck just as much as before, but now, he seemed to only have eyes for Brigid. He wanted to explore every inch of her body, really get to know what aroused her, and discover if she truly relished receiving a punishment as she’d appeared to earlier. Her response then had been magnificent, and fleetingly, he imagined all of the other sordid things he could do with his little Pict.
“Please,” she murmured, grinding her hips forward to accept more of his digits.
“What, Brigid?” he demanded sensually. “Tell your Viking what you need.”
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