The Warlord's Wife (5 page)

Installed between the mighty jarl and the lecherous bishop, Lida felt detached from her surroundings, like she was watching some other out-of-place Turku woman sitting at the head table. Her sisters-in-law waved with sardonic smiles. They had known all along that this was the inevitable outcome.

The jarl leaned across Lida to speak to the bishop, ignoring her and making her uncomfortably warm, invading her personal space with the scent and heat coming from his expansive chest. Her nose nearly touched his wavy, shoulder-length hair, forcing her to take in his scent of pine and a male musk.
Unbelievably inconsiderate.

Actually, he did not smell unpleasant, and appeared to be a frequent bather. Or perhaps his cleanliness was simply for the bishop’s benefit? On closer examination of his auburn hair, she noted streaks of gold from the summer sun. Dark whiskers sprouted along his strong, square jaw. His large hand lay siege to her armrest—it was massive in scale, to match the rest of him. On his right hand he wore a thick gold ring with an elaborately etched pattern of bear claws. A dark green stone the size of her thumbnail stood in the center.

Was that an emerald?

“More wine, Friherrinna Lida?” A young steward smoothly addressed Lida with her new title. Still stuck in her mute daze, she smiled her gratitude.

“Mikko,” the jarl said, startling her and the young steward. “Take Riku and a wagon to the Starkka farm. Master Svin will direct you. You are to pack the friherrinna’s goods and chattel and have them loaded directly onto my ship.” At this, the jarl returned his attention to his discussion with the bishop and his Turku hosts.

Lida could not abide by this. Recovering her tongue, she said, “My gratitude for this fine fare, your Excellency. If you will excuse me, Jarl Magnus, your excellency.” She bowed her head.

“By my word, Mikko is trustworthy. He will see to your chattel.” The jarl shook his head condescendingly, then dismissed her from his notice and returned to the political discussion.

“’Tis naught a question of trustworthiness.” Gripping her armrest, Lida pushed up from her seat. “He will not know what to pack. I will be at the port at first light as I have heard you instruct your other servants.”

“You will not be returning to your father’s farm this eve, wife. Enjoy your wine. You may instruct your family as to your requests, although you best leave what you will for them to make use of. You will require new garments and outerwear befitting your station. Tero will see to it.” Again, he effortlessly dismissed her from his notice. Lida sank back into the uncomfortable high-backed chair.

Not return home? But who would take care of her garden? “He will see to your chattel.”
What of her cat and horse—Katia!
“She may journey to you once my first son is born.”

She bolted straight back up. “I beg your pardon. I must—personal matters.” Lida did not wait for a response. She pushed the heavy chair back and darted around the table to the side doors.

Within a few brisk strides, Lida was breathing in the crisp autumn air, a surge of panic sweeping through her. She did not have much time. She sprinted to the stables, her heart pounding in her ears. Her father’s horse was saddled and tied to a post.

She leapt up, landing hard on her belly. “Ugh!” Her wind was gone, but she recovered enough to hoist herself onto the horse’s back, swinging her leg around. In seconds she would be at the gates of the compound, minutes later halfway home, free from—

Out from the shadows, a large, dark figure rushed toward her. She screamed, and Daisy reared. Holding on with all she had, she clamped her thighs and fisted the horse’s mane. The mare came down hard, launching her forward.

The menacing jarl snatched the horse’s bridle, locking it under in his control. “Personal matters?” he snarled. “I thought you meant the privy, not an awaiting paramour you thought to bid farewell.”

She gasped, “How dare you? I withdraw to my daughter. I must attend her and see after my mother. I will be prepared before your ship departs.”

Through his clenched teeth, he said, “Your father shall present the child to my ship at dawn. But fail to please me and he will not. Understood,
wife
?”

Perfectly, you barbaric, heartless lout!

“You will reside here this eve, with me,” he said . His heart was surely made of ice and steel.

“This eve—here—now—already?”

“Aye. ’Tis time to begin fulfilling the terms of your contract, wife
.”

Lida struggled to swallow down her anger.

Without hesitation, Magnus reached up and grabbed her around the waist, tugging her off the horse in a single swing. He held her, feet dangling off the ground, eye level with him.

“I would thank you to set me down, Jarl Magnus.” Lida was finding it difficult to breathe, the jarl’s stare dangerous and intense. In the moonlight, his dark blue eyes appeared a sinister black, the color of his soul, no doubt. Heaven help her, she had wed Lucifer.

“You will retire with me,” he said with the same amount of feeling he would haved used to direct a servant to empty a chamber pot.

Lida tried to rein in the sense of impending doom that had begun to rise from her belly. He intended to lay with her here, now, this eve, before they left Turku. Her legs wobbled, as a goose. At least with the iron fist locked around her upper arm, she had the support she needed to remain upright.

Jarl Magnus led her up a rear corridor to the principal chambers above stairs. The hard soles of his boots pounded the timber floorboards. He opened a door and, as callously as he had returned Daisy to the post, he tugged her inside.

A well-established fire warmed the grandiose chamber. Next to the hearth, a large copper bathtub glowed, light bouncing off its curves. Lida scanned the room, recognizing several of the motionless servants from the village, expressions of shock and fear plastered to their faces.

“Bathe. Prepare for my return,” he said to her. Without speaking a word, the jarl banished the servants with a sinister glare and flick of his wrist. They scurried out.

Lida surveyed her lavish confine. Rare furs lay across the velvet canopy bed, a stack of plush white linen pillows at the head. Braziers and scented oil lamps flooded the chamber with sweet-smelling spice and soft golden light.

Heaven help her.
She was alone, awaiting an unknown fate in a warlord’s private chamber.

How had she even gotten here?
The day had passed in a rapid blur of disjointed events. Nothing felt real.

Closing her eyes, shame and loathing washed over her. Lying with Urho before they wed, blinded by her love, had never felt wrong. Lawfully wed to the cold jarl, by the bishop no less, she felt soiled. She had no affection for the jarl, no feeling for him, no knowledge of this stranger she had meet only this morn. Husband or naught, she was selling her womb to him for a name for her daughter and a farm. Is that not the description of a whore, placing a price on carnal acts?

She drew in a deep breath. It mattered not what happened to her now.

Fragrant rose petals, surely acquired from a distant shore, floated on the surface of the bath. She ran her fingers through the warm, inviting water. She did not fear the act of mating. At times, coupling with her husband had been splendid.

Lida did not expect any of the same sensations with the jarl. He was a barbaric northern warrior with one intention for her, and it was not passion or love. She knew what must be done and how to do it, yet she lacked one key ingredient: desire.

He would deposit his seed in her—it was naught but farming, and she was the field, he the farmer. Her head dropped forward, and she shivered.

She stripped off her clothing, climbed into the steaming water and closed her eyes.

Could she borrow desire from a past remembrance of love? Could she fake her desire as she had heard Tina and Ulla speak of faking pleasure with their husbands? Lida had never allowed herself to dream of more children. The good men in Turku had no interest in taking on the burden of another man’s child, not when so many maidens were available to start fresh.

She slid her hand down the flat planes of her stomach. Another babe? Katia loved her infant cousins, treating them almost as dolls. She would be a most attentive sister. Lida smiled, envisioning her sweet girl protectively holding her cousin in her little tight grip.

Magnus stood at the doorway, silently inspecting his bride reclined in his bath. The small lines of her forehead were erased with the steaming water. She was . . . flawless. Her body was ideally curved, soft and feminine.

By Thor’s toes, this one might be a mistake.
He should have searched longer. Her feminine powers had the ability to lead him to more trouble than she was worth. Vixens should be stirring. Wives should be serviceable, nothing more. He had been distracted with winning his argument, with taking what she said he could not have. Now that he had her, he questioned if he had picked correctly.

As he idly disrobed while he gazed upon her nakedness, his male member thickened. Her jewel-toned eyes flashed open. Bath water splashed on the floor as his skittish bride sat up and covered herself, clutching her knees into her chest. He stepped one foot into the water and she flew up, preparing to leap out.

“You will remain.”

“I would prefer not,” she replied softly. “I am finished—”

“Sit, my errant bride.” His wife would require a considerable amount of training.

“There is not room for two. I am sure you will be more—”

“Sit.” He captured her hand, tugging her down into the warm water.

She reclaimed a corner of his oval travel tub, which in fact he had designed for two. He frequently bathed with his bedmates, ensuring that they were clean before partaking in their mutual enjoyment.

He stretched his legs out and was amused to see her stiffen as he tucked his feet under her soft rump. She no longer had the mettle to hold his stare.

Wiggling his toes to toy with her, he said, “Why bother with this virginal display? We both understand that producing a child requires that you have experience with a naked male. After seeing one, is it not all the same?” His bride snapped her eyes back up. He grinned with his small victory.

No, ’tis not the same at all!
Lida wanted to shout at him, but bit her tongue hard instead. This massive warrior in front of her looked nothing like Urho. Her husband had been but a boy compared to this man. The jarl had a chest the size of a mighty bear. His arms were longer, thicker, and harder, and he had the belly of a Roman shield. He was not slim and nimble as her husband had been. In contrast, the jarl was pure brawn, no doubt molded from his cursed Norrland steel. Muscular limbs wrapped in bronzed skin were covered with soft golden hair.

Embarrassed and determined to be done with it, Lida emboldened her heart. “May I await upon you in your”—she swallowed hard—“bed, Jarl Magnus?”

Magnus ignored his bride’s request. With a simple tug, he pulled her into his lap, water splashing to the floor. She clenched her jaw, and he found her rising annoyance an improvement. He preferred vexation to timidity.

He tightened his grip at her knee, sliding his hand along her lean thigh, coming to a halt at her hip bone. Not a whisper of frailty—her taut muscles held strength. He kneaded her solid hip, pressing his thumb into her side, spanning his fingers around to her back. Indeed, she might be one of the most beautifully formed women he had ever inspected in his many years searching the known kingdoms.

He had no fear of breaking her. She had worked hard to earn her strength, and he would reward her by not requiring her to labor again, other than in his bedchamber.

As the jarl’s powerful hand cupped her breast, Lida tried to remember how to breathe. His thumb roamed across the center of her sensitive flesh, pebbling the skin under his touch.

When will this torturous examination end?
Her heart raced as her legs itched, begging for the freedom to do the same. She wanted to run a hundred miles from here, a hundred miles from this feeling. He continued to fondle her breasts, and her internal restraint snapped. She could bear this torture no longer. She decided to speed things along. After they—after
he
finished, she could return home, burrow into bed next her daughter, and scrub this eve clean from her mind.

Lida braved her first touch and placed her hand on the jarl’s stone-sculpted chest. His eyes were locked to her breasts, but he released his hold, allowing her to step out of the bath.

Magnus studied his bride as she seductively stroked the drying cloth down her flat abdomen, up between her succulent thighs, twisting to remove the water from her rounded backside. She moved with a refined grace, comparable to that of the courtesans of the southern kingdoms. Her open seduction was a welcome surprise.

The time had come to make his bride his wife. He rose from the water and stood proud.

Lida could not summon the courage to return the jarl’s burning gaze, so she thought to serve her new husband, and wiped the drying cloth over his chest, his arms, and down his legs to the floor. She fixed her eyes solely on her own hands, ignoring his nether region. Crouching before him while drying his feet, she mistakenly flicked her gaze up.

His member was practically the size of a battering ram.

His eyes narrowed. Some invisible thread of control seemed to break. Heedless to her distress, he reached down, shoved his hands under her armpits and jerked her high into the air, her feet not finding ground for the second time tonight. In three long strides, he crossed the room and tossed her to the bed.

Very well, at least this will be over quickly.

His chest heaved with carnal need, muscles flexed, ridged and hard. There was no mistaking his primal intent.

As he moved toward the bed, Lida flipped to her stomach. She could not look at him as he took her. Giving her body willingly to a man she had no affection for cheapened her, and she preferred to stare into the mattress rather than the jarl’s lust-fueled eyes.

He rubbed his hardened member against the curve of her backside, nuzzling her neck, inhaling deeply. A low rumbling radiated from deep in his throat into her spine, sending a quiver to her toes. He grabbed her by the shoulder and flipped her chest-up beneath him. He devoured her breasts, suckling and assaulting her skin with the prickly rub of his short whiskers.

She twisted, dug her heels into the mattress and arched, desperate to break free from his powerful hold. All the while her head chanted,
Submit. Must submit.

His hand traveled down the span of her chest to the planes of her stomach, holding her down. His mouth was still kissing, nipping along her neck, teeth dragging across her skin in a disturbingly pleasurable sort of way that she wished he would stop. She was not a roasted poultry bone to be picked clean.

His hands roamed, pressing up her sides, releasing her just long enough for her to squirm and momentarily break free from his dominance, allowing her to flip back to her belly and push up onto all fours.

Determined for the act to be finished swiftly, she arched her back, presenting herself to him. Forthwith, he accepted her invitation and impaled her. The air tore from her lungs. Her eyes widened. Her body had no time to adjust to his size.

Must not cry out, must not cry out.

Lida clawed at the corner of the soft linen pillow, pulling it to her face, shoving the corner in her mouth and biting down. She concentrated on breathing through her nose, keeping still and silent, forbidding herself to register the raw pain his size caused.

Thrusting deeper inside her, Magnus grabbed her hip bone, ceasing his movement. “Why are you dry?”

Lida held her breath. Her eyes pinched tight.

It will be over soon.

Urho had explained this position was very rousing to a man. Logic told her that if she maintained it, the jarl would be done with her in a shorter period of time. She hissed in a sharp breath through her teeth.

Why was he not moving?

“Why are you not prepared for me?” He withdrew and shoved her hip aside.

Flopping down hard on the bed, she said, “I am prepared. Why did you stop?” She tried to understand what was wrong.

“You are not prepared.” He descended down upon her again, this time to cover his mouth over hers.

Lida wrenched her face away. Having to allow him to put his seed inside of her was bad enough, but kissing him was out of the question—it was not a requirement in the contract, as she recalled.

The jarl squeezed her chin in the palm of his hand, forcing his mouth to cover hers, pinning her in place under his heavy frame. He pressed his thigh between hers, prying her legs wide apart as his hand claimed the apex between them. She squeezed her eyes shut tighter, her humiliation complete. She knew she was not moist, but why would that matter to him?

After failing to gain access to her mouth, the jarl sat back on his heels, scooped both hands under her bottom, and shoved her up toward the headboard. He kissed the soft skin on the inside of her thigh, and his tongue began to explore where his fingers had previously been. He ignored her, speaking only to her female parts.

Grinding her teeth, Lida jerked, struggling to be free. His dominating hand pressed harder on her stomach, pinning her to the bed. His other hand clawed her bottom, his elbows spreading her legs shamefully wide apart. His body and his hands offered no gentleness, but his mouth did.

A flash flood of pulsing pleasure sent her head snapping back into the headboard with a thud. Her heels dug into his back, climbing him, not able to remain still. He was coercing her body to respond to him, demanding her sensual surrender. “Why—what?” She pushed at his head, trying to pry him away. His tongue should not be there, doing such things, tasting her, teasing her.

This was not normal. This was not right, not moral. This was . . . sending her off the cliff. Her body seized, arching her back off the bed with a crippling pleasure that took her to long-forgotten heights. Stars burst behind her eyelids, floating her down into a blissful oblivion, leaving her gasping for air.

Indeed, Magnus realized, his choice of wife would be a problem—her intoxicating scent as well as her potent form would be distracting until he became immune to her appeal. He was mesmerized at the sight of her release, her core softening, pliable, fully prepared to accommodate his length without causing her undue pain. He held her limp leg up on his hip and eased inside her. Faintly purring from the aftermath of her release, his wife was the portrait of sensual perfection. She should have made mention earlier that she had not dew, and he would have seen to her first. She was mouthwatering, and had she not found her release so quickly, he would have been satisfied to continue the entire night, learning every aspect of her, every secret her body held.

Her eyes opened and she gasped softly as he sheathed himself deeper inside her. He enjoyed the glassy look in her sapphire eyes. He had won complete victory over her.

He increased his speed, drawing a stifled moan from her with each plunge.

He neither slowed nor tired, but stroked deeper into her until her toes dug into the backs of his legs, her small hands clutching tight to his shoulders and lower back, her pleasure seizing control over her body once more.

With the sight of the lustful creature below him being swept away, clamping down on him from deep within, he could not have held out a moment longer. Thrusting deeper into her, he planted his seed. He bent his head low to capture her plump bottom lip. Biting her lightly, he rocked, grinding out the remaining aftershocks of his release.

“You are beautiful lying here under me.” He could not resist tasting the tender flesh of her neck. She quivered. “You pleased me well, wife. Take your rest.” He kissed her temple and gazed at her swollen ruby lips, seeing with pride that they now held his mark. Rarely had he been stirred to compliment his women after mating, or felt the desire to converse with them, yet this creature mesmerized him. Her eyes remained closed and her mouth and brow were clenched. She barely breathed, and was clearly far from relaxed. He was intensely curious as to what she was thinking, and desired her to open her eyes so that he could attempt to read her heart—heart? What care did he have for her heart? He would need to keep himself on guard to such a weakness in the future.

Not ready to remove himself from her tight, warm core, he continued to examine her face. He stroked the stray strands of hair that had escaped her collapsing braids. The sudden urge to see her hair unbound came over him. He would inform her next time they mated that he would prefer her hair down.

With the jarl gently stroking her face, Lida tried drawing on the memory of her loved ones for support, not permitting herself to weep. She was trying to deceive herself into thinking she had taken no pleasure from this consummation. But his intoxicating male musk penetrated her lungs, and the hard, muscular weight of his hips pressed into hers, his long and thick male member was still buried deep inside her. It was not an unpleasant feeling.

Her body trembled with the overwhelming reality of what had just happened. Fine. She would force herself to sleep to escape from these torturous, conflicting emotions.

***

Lida woke to a pitch-black chamber, quickly remembering where she was and what had happened. She had fulfilled her primary obligation to Magnus in receiving his seed—mayhap a child grew in her now? Nay, she could not think of an imagined child while her real-life daughter lay alone in a bed so far from her reach and protection.

The jarl was a conquering warlord, a stranger—how could she trust his word that he would allow Katia to depart with her, since his initial plan was for her daughter to remain in Turku? She must secure her child in her arms.

She stared over at the profile of the large warrior sleeping. He breathed slow and deeply. What would the jarl’s reaction to her absence be? Was he the sort of man who beat his lessers? She supposed she would soon find out.