Harlequin Historical February 2014 - Bundle 1 of 2: The Major's Wife\To Tempt a Viking\Mistress Masquerade (37 page)

‘No,' she breathed. But his actions were so unexpected, she couldn't stop the thrill of desire that pushed through her. Needs pounded within her veins and she wanted him closer still, hoping he would slide inside.

Elena revelled in the turbulent desire that he'd kindled. It had been such a long time since she'd been with a man. And this forbidden lover brought out a side to her that she'd never known was there.

He was swollen and hard. A moment later, he lifted her to straddle him. His hands dug into the mattress, his eyes flaring. ‘I swear, I won't touch you. If this is what you want from me, you'll have to take it yourself.'

His fury held a violent edge that frightened her. He was trying to prove a point and though she ought to be ashamed, she'd never imagined it would go this far. She sat upon his lap, her skirts tangled in her knees. Likely he expected her to balk and refuse him.

He would never expect her to take the offering.

Elena reached for his erection. He was large and firm, his skin like heated silk. The moment she took his shaft in one hand, he nearly sat up, giving a sharp intake of breath.

Without speaking, she held him, fisting his length while she adjusted her skirts. He was trying to intimidate her, and it had nearly worked...except that she'd never felt such arousal before.

She wanted him inside her, despite the cold rage. He would hate her for this and she didn't care.

Gently, she pushed the rounded head of him into her moist entrance, a cry escaping her at the delicious friction. Ragnar sat up, his hands clenching her hips. There was a blend of lust and hatred in his eyes, as if he'd never expected her to obey him.

She began to move up and down against him and the act took on a more primal note. With both of them clothed, she could only lose herself in sensation, for she could not see his body entering hers. She could only feel.

It was like a steel dagger sheathed within her as she continued to move against him, thrusting gently.

‘You didn't think I would, did you?' she accused. She lifted his hands to the thin linen covering her breasts, needing his touch to push her harder.

But he let them fall back to his sides. ‘No. And I'll not help you in this, either.'

His words struck her cold and she understood, then, that he truly believed this was about using him. Her conscience cried out at how wrong it was, while her body continued to squeeze him, thrusting and withdrawing.

There was perspiration on his brow and a tightness on his features. He was trying not to take pleasure and the more he fought her, the more she decided that she
would
enjoy this.

She unfastened the brooches that held her apron against her gown, then loosened the laces until her bodice fell lower. With her own hands, she reached for her breasts, letting him see them as she rode him at her own pace.

The sight of her bare flesh
did
evoke a reaction, for she sensed him pressing back. With her hands, she caressed her own nipples, letting him look his fill. No longer did she care that he wasn't going to touch her. The heady sensation of being in command was something she'd never before experienced.

Always she'd been beneath her husband, accepting him into her body. Never had she taken him. Her breathing went unsteady and she bounced harder, pinching her own nipples as she rode him. Ragnar's eyes were closed, his face taut as he struggled against her.

He was an iron shaft within her, so rigid—she had never felt so filled.
She
had done this to him. And by the gods, she would bring him to such a release, he would regret what he'd said to her.

With one hand on her breast, she moved the other down her body to the place where they were joined. Her finger and thumb surrounded him as she sank upon his erection.

More. She wanted him writhing beneath her and she increased the pace. He closed his eyes, his face strained as she continued to thrust against him. The pressure against her sensitive nub was enough to make her come apart, shuddering as the pleasure crested within.

He was fighting to breathe and she squeezed him hard, demanding, ‘Did you feel the way you pleasured me, Ragnar?' She never ceased her motions and she saw how close he was to the edge. ‘It felt so good.'

Her words were what changed him. His hands came against her hips, jacking against her with violent thrusts as he filled her. A groan tore from him as he emptied himself, taking the release he needed.

Elena lay atop him, her heart thundering inside. She rested her cheek against him, her body still filled with his heat. Her thighs were slick with his essence and it suddenly occurred to her that this joining might result in a child. She'd not considered it before, but what if it was Styr who could not sire children? What if Ragnar could give her the gift that she wanted most?

He didn't embrace her or whisper words of love. Instead, he gently extricated himself from her body and adjusted his clothing, rising from the bed. Without a word, he left her there.

Leaving her to wonder what she'd just done.

Chapter Thirteen

R
agnar didn't see her for a full day. He avoided Elena, furious with himself for what he'd allowed to happen.

Last night had been his mistake, for thinking boldness would push her away. Never in his life had he imagined Elena would take him. The memory of her haunted him, of her pliant flesh and the way she'd taken her release from him.

He'd let her use him. His body had savoured the night of joining with her, feeling her body sheathing him. And yet, there had been no love in it. The act was empty, a means of easing physical desire, but nothing more.

It burned him that he'd sunk to those depths. And although he loved her still, the need to create distance was strong. He needed to separate from her, to start over.

He walked through the city, his hand resting upon his sword hilt as he wandered. He hardly knew where he was going, nor did he care. But no matter how he might try, he couldn't escape the guilt and frustration inside him.

He hungered for Elena in a way that bordered on madness. It strongly tempted him to take her, to claim her like a prize of war. But he knew better than to believe that she might care for him.

He walked towards the centre of the city, but before he made it there, he was stopped by his kinsman Hring. ‘Elena sent me to find you. She asked if you would escort her while she's searching the city.'

Ragnar frowned. What would she be searching for? ‘Why wouldn't she ask you?'

His friend shrugged. ‘I offered, but she said she wanted to speak with you. She told me if you wouldn't come, she would go alone.'

Ragnar had little desire to talk, but neither did he want Elena exploring dangerous parts of the city. As he walked back with his kinsman, he questioned whether she had told Hring the truth—or whether it was merely an excuse to see him.

His instincts warned him to stay away, but then, he knew how stubborn Elena could be. If she'd made up her mind to go into the city, then she would do it, with or without him.

* * *

He found her inside her home, scrubbing the interior from top to bottom. There was no speck of dirt, save on the hard earthen floor. The coverlet on her bed gave no evidence of the night they'd shared. When he closed the door behind him, she looked up from her work and nearly toppled the bucket of water.

‘You startled me.' She set down the cloth she'd been using and dried her hands on her apron. ‘But I am glad you're here. I wanted to ask for your help.'

He remained beside the door, waiting for her to speak. She seemed preoccupied, keeping her face turned away from him. No doubt she was having regrets about what had happened last night.

‘I started thinking about the Irish children,' she said, her gaze fixed upon the ground. ‘I know the Danes raided the city several weeks ago. Many people died in the fires, and I—I wondered about those who were orphaned.'

Already Ragnar could guess what she was proposing. He waited for her to continue and at last she met his gaze.

‘Not everyone has family,' she continued. ‘I saw a few who appeared half starving. Someone should take care of them.'

‘And you want my help in searching for any abandoned children,' he predicted.

‘Yes.' She faced him and in her eyes he saw the concern. ‘I have nothing to do right now. No one to take care of. No child of my own.'

‘Not yet,' he said quietly. Although it wasn't likely that she would bear a child after last night, the possibility was there.

Elena let out a slow breath, colour rising in her cheeks. ‘No. Not yet.' She rubbed her arms, as if she felt a sudden chill. ‘Are you angry about...what I did?'

Ragnar leaned against the wall and regarded her. ‘It won't happen again.' Although the night had brought him unspeakable pleasure, if they became lovers, it would only bring them closer. He didn't want her trying to replace Styr with him.

Then, too, around Elena, he could hardly control himself. The moment he'd been sheathed inside her, he'd lost sight of all else. The walls could have caught on fire, and he'd have been completely unaware of it. The physical release had been so powerful, he'd been lost in sensations that drowned out his sense of reason.

‘I wasn't using you,' she whispered. ‘And I spoke the truth when I said I care about what happens to you. We've endured too much.'

He didn't want her spinning off dreams of the two of them together. ‘I'm not the man you need, Elena.'

She studied him a moment. ‘I don't think you know what you need, Ragnar.'

‘And you do?' he prompted.

She reached for a basket, filling it with food and drink, before she hung it over one arm. With a shrug, she said, ‘I think you're trying to punish yourself. As though you don't believe you deserve to be happy.'

He ignored her words, but stood in her path, blocking her way to the door. ‘I'll guard you while you search, Elena. But nothing more.'

She held motionless for a long moment, searching his gaze. Then she took his hand in hers and raised up on tiptoe. ‘For now.'

The light kiss she pressed to his cheek was like a physical brand and he realised that she'd cast down a challenge of her own.

A challenge to resist her.

* * *

Elena watched Ragnar from the corner of her eye. He remained at her side and whenever they passed another Norseman, his hand came to rest upon her spine. He wore a chainmail corselet with a sword at his waist and another dagger in a hidden fold of his cloak.

‘Are you expecting to be attacked?' she asked, uncertain why he was so tense. The dark expression on his face held a hidden threat to others. Though she spoke in a lighter tone, she knew that he'd made enemies here.

‘Have you forgotten the Danes who tried to make us into slaves?' he said.

‘No.' But even so, one look at Ragnar would terrify any would-be assailant.

His grip tightened upon her palm as he guided her towards the outskirts of Dubh Linn. ‘It's been only one moon since the Danes attacked the city. I wouldn't put it past them to try again,' he told her.

They walked for a mile and his mood didn't lighten. He seemed to study every face, searching for the subtle signs of a person concealing a weapon they were about to wield.

Beneath the harsh scents lay the charred memory of the night the Danes had attacked. The remnants of ash and burned longhouses stood all around them. Several men were attempting to repair the damage, lifting logs into place, while others wielded an axe to notch the wood.

As they walked further, she leaned in closer to Ragnar. Though it was meant to seek his protection, he stiffened at her proximity.

She tried not to let it bother her, but it reminded her of the way Styr had not desired her. Of how she'd felt like a cold, unfeeling wife, never able to enjoy marital pleasures. At least, not until she'd shared a forbidden night with Ragnar.

Her mind was tangled up in confusion, not knowing what to think of him. He'd been there for her always, a friend she'd come to rely on. But now he was avoiding her and she didn't know how to mend the breach between them. It was as if he wanted nothing to do with her.

Words wouldn't mean anything to him. Ragnar was a man of action.

His eyes missed nothing, as they moved into the shadowed parts of the city. He kept his expression rigid, letting other men see that he would murder them where they stood if they dared to threaten her.

When they reached the outskirts of the market, they passed by the
thralls
who were being auctioned. There was a woman being led up to the block, her hands bound before her. She wore a shapeless dress and her eyes remained fixed upon the ground.

Elena winced at the sight and she could almost imagine herself in the woman's place. ‘Thank you for saving me from that fate.'

‘I would never have let them take you, that night on the ship.' Ragnar gripped her hand to emphasise his words. ‘Our men may have survived it...but it's harder for a woman.'

His words were underscored when the slavers stripped away the gown, baring the woman's naked body to those about to bid upon her.
May the gods have mercy
, she prayed. The female slave was heavily pregnant.

‘It's not right,' Elena argued. ‘
Thrall
or not, a newborn babe should not be born into a life of slavery.'

His grip upon her hand gentled and he inclined his head. ‘But we can't save her,' he said. ‘We haven't the silver for it. Perhaps one day her master will free her and her child.'

Elena couldn't stop staring at the woman's swollen womb. This woman would suffer, as well as her child. Her childbearing would be fraught with hardship.

Sadness weighed upon her as she turned away, reminded of her purpose. There were many children and she moved towards them to pass out the food she'd brought. One boy hung back from the others. He was tracing his hands along one of the walls and when she called out to him, he never looked back. His clothing hung upon him and he appeared frailer than the others.

Elena reached out to touch his shoulder. The moment her hand made contact, he jerked away and began to run. She stared at the street for a moment, wondering about him. When she handed another girl a piece of bread, she pointed in the direction the child had fled. ‘Who was that boy?'

‘Matheus,' the girl answered. She pulled the centre of the bread out, eating it first.

‘And does he have a family to take care of him?' Elena prompted.

She expected the girl to answer no, but she shrugged. ‘He lives with his parents.' When she said nothing else, Elena turned back to Ragnar. He beckoned for her to return with him, now that the food was gone.

‘We should go,' he told her. ‘I'll have our kinsmen ask if there are any others who need help.'

It seemed that his earlier anger had diminished and she was glad of it. ‘Thank you.'

But instead of leading her back the way they had come, Ragnar took her in a different direction, towards the water's edge.

‘There's something I want to show you.' He led her past all of the boats to a small outbuilding where several men were bringing long planks. Curious, she followed him, wondering why he had brought her here.

‘I spoke to a shipbuilder a few days ago,' he said. ‘After I win a few more fights, I'll have enough for a boat.'

She tried to keep the reaction from her face, but all she could think was:
He's leaving.

Though Ragnar was free to come and go as he pleased, the thought of not seeing him again brought an empty ache to her stomach.

Two
thralls
were spreading pine tar upon the new wood of a ship they were building for their master. Another mixed yellow ochre with boiled linseed oil to form paint. Elena feigned interest, but she kept wondering why he had brought her here.

They hung back to observe and Ragnar motioned for them to continue their work. ‘It's fascinating to watch them,' she marvelled, pointing to the wood that had been steamed to reshape it. ‘And the colours are so bright.' Inwardly, she was uneasy not only about why he wanted a ship, but also the means to gain the silver. The more he fought, the greater the risk.

She turned to him and asked, ‘Why do you want a ship?'

Ragnar leaned in. ‘I thought you might want to go back to Hordafylke and your family. I could take you there.'

‘I've no wish to set foot on a ship again,' she admitted. And returning home was the last place she wanted to go. She had no desire to see the pitying looks on the women's faces when they learned of her divorce. No doubt they would believe Styr had cast her aside for her barrenness.

‘Where were you planning to go?' she asked.

‘Wherever the wind carries me.' He guided her away from the
thralls
and they walked along the water's edge, continuing until they were past most of the ships.

The hollowness in the pit of her stomach ached, though she tried to ignore it. What did it matter if Ragnar sailed to the other side of the world? He was free to make his own choices. And though he'd sworn to guard her, she was beginning to think that he no longer wanted her at all. They had shared a stolen night and the memory of it warmed her body from deep inside.

Yet now he couldn't get away from her fast enough.

Just like it was with Styr. She hadn't known what to do to kindle her husband's desire and while she'd been obedient, lying beneath him, she'd always felt awkward.

Perhaps she'd been wrong about seducing Ragnar. He'd wanted her before, when she'd been forbidden to him. But now that she'd shared his bed, he no longer desired her.

* * *

All along the walk home, she berated herself for succumbing to her own urges. Ragnar had claimed it would never happen again and it humiliated her to think that she'd destroyed their friendship on the night they'd shared together.

He led her back home again and she murmured her thanks that he'd escorted her. Before he left, she ventured, ‘Are you going back to fight again?'

His hardened gaze fixed upon her. ‘I am.'

‘I wish you wouldn't,' she confessed.

Dark green eyes fastened upon her with the iron resolution of a man who would not be swayed. Of a man who hardly cared about the risk to his own life.

‘Your life is worth more to me than a pouch of silver,' she said, reaching out to touch his heart.

He gripped her fingers for a moment, squeezing her palm before he released her hand. ‘It isn't to me.'

* * *

Ragnar lunged against his opponent, his sword cutting into the man's shield. He struck over and over, circling the enemy while all around him voices shouted for blood.

Your life is worth more to me than a pouch of silver.

He tasted the bitterness of regret as he avoided a blow, Elena's words ringing in his mind. He wanted to believe them. But he was torn by physical frustration and honour. The joining with Elena haunted him, as he remembered her pliant flesh and the way she'd taken her release from him.