Loki's Daughters (21 page)

Enveloping them in the blanket against the biting cold, he took them to their knees, and with a hand to her back, eased her gently onto his pallet of furs. Her cheeks burned with the rasp of his beard, and she rubbed against it, memorizing the feel.

"Arienh, my Arienh. I've yearned for you so long." The words snuggled against her ear. His hot kisses trailed with his raspy words down her neck, nestling near the hand that cradled one breast. Teeth and tongue teased at her nipple, sending fire surging through her. She abandoned thought, letting sensation overwhelm her.

The skirt of her kirtle rose with the other hand that skimmed and caressed the untried flesh of her inner thighs and she gasped with the newness of it. At first tentatively, then with boldness, she foraged beneath his smock to find warm flesh taut over muscle and bone in the age-old pattern of all men, yet uniquely his. Ridge and valley, hard and firm, silken and smooth. A crinkle of curls ran in a narrow line down the center of his chest, tickling the tips of her fingers.

Before she understood the movement, he lifted her kirtle up, over her head, baring her beneath the blanket, and momentarily letting in a shaft of icy air. Just as rapidly, he closed the blanket about their shoulders, again capturing her lips in his kisses. She shivered. With a knee between her legs, he slid atop her, his warmth like a second, welcome blanket.

She took his probing tongue into her mouth and felt him stiffen and bend into her with a heavy moan. Whispered nonsense words, begging words, sounds of pleasure and pain flowed from him. She wanted everything from him, wanted the heat of flesh against flesh, the wrap of his hand around her breast, the sucking of his mouth on her nipple, the feeling that stars grew bright within her.

 
He lowered his body in position between her thighs, swept her legs upward over his shoulders, then slid back up to kiss her lips quickly. Poised over her, his organ at the juncture of her thighs, he waited, as if to wait was agony, as if expecting her to suddenly jump up and flee. She could not find words nor desire to deny him.

Then she felt him enter her, and stiffened, expecting some awful pain to engulf her. Instead, a sharp twinge, and the oddly pleasant sensation of being filled where she had not known emptiness existed. He lunged, suddenly fully within her, filling so that she could feel him all the way to his tip. She tightened her legs about him, wanting to make time stop and keep him there forever.

Passion looked like torment on his face. His love words came in wispy gasps. He began to withdraw. Perhaps it was pain she saw. Could it hurt him, if it felt so wonderful to her?

Then, as he began slowly stroking in, out, gradually deeper, harder, longer, faster, she began to understand the nature of his passion as it became like her own, growing stronger, compelling. Something wonderful. And his hand found an unexpected center of pleasure that rippled through her again and again, doubled to passion, to something beyond words.

She breathed his name, a sweet sound, melding with the flow of passion within her until she thought she couldn't breathe. And still it built, this nameless everything, with the stroke of his hand, the stroke of his body, ever deeper, stronger, harder, faster, and she could bear it no more.

Wave after wave of light and pleasure rippled through her, the sensation that seemed to lift them to the heavens together. He stiffened, cried out, and plunged deeply inside her, his strong body coursing with a rigid force that dissolved into trembling.

They floated together, like a feather caught in a light breeze. They were the universe, the stars, all of life from the beginning of time. Arienh closed her eyes, floated, letting the being of it fill her. The tickle of his breath against her cheek, the silken rasp of his finger pads cuddling the blanket snugly against her neck.

Sliding aside, his arms remaining about her, he whispered in her ear. "Told you."

She opened her eyes. Sharp, cold air stung one cheek while the warmth of his breath caressed the other. "What?"

"Told you. You're mine, love. It's done."

"Done?"

A contented smile draped across his face. Almost as if it took great effort, he raised his head to capture a nipping kiss from her lips. "I'll build you your own house. We're much too noisy, you and I, to share with anyone else. Wood, though. Stone would take too long."

The cold air slapped her."House? To live in? With you?"

"It is usually done that way." He gazed triumphantly at her, and he nipped her nose again. "I will always give you the best that I can."

With the suddenness of a plunge into icy water, reality returned. Flinging his arm away, she jerked to sitting. Blankets shed off her like water, leaving nothing between her bare skin and the dawn's early light.

Blessed saints, what had she done? She had lost her head, her body, her senses. Everything recklessly abandoned. Against all common sense and decency, against the safety of herself, her people, and most of all her sister, she had given herself to the Viking.

"But I can't live with you."

Ronan sat up abruptly, his brows knitted with confusion. "How else do you propose to conduct a marriage?"

"Marriage?" She scrambled to her feet. "You're a heathen, a Viking, a-a- I can't marry you!"

"You just did."

"I did nothing of the kind. This is not marriage."

He looked at her as if she had just slapped his face. Arienh snatched her discarded kirtle and tangled herself as she tried to pull it over her head.

 
"Nay!" she screeched as he reached to help. The armhole that had maliciously hid itself finally submitted. She wiggled the garment into place.

Already he was on his feet, his garments fastened. He stepped toward her. She retreated.

"Arienh, you know it is enough, among your people or mine."

 
"Yours, maybe, but I have given you no promises."

"I have given you mine."

"Nay, there must be vows," she lied. "They must be said before others. At the church steps."

"Nay, there is no need, but if that is what you want, I will do it."

"Then you do it alone. I do not consent."

She turned to flee, but he caught her arm. His mouth quirked bitterly. "Then, what was this?"

Oh, what was it? She'd known perfectly well what she was doing. She just had not cared. She had wanted time to stand still and keep that moment forever. Something separate and apart from the life she must lead, which had no room for Viking lovers.

"Arienh?" Confused pain etched his face.

"Foolishness. That's all. Foolishness." She snatched up the cloak that had been discarded unnoticed in that time before, before everything inside her had been turned upside down. And she ran, throwing the cloak over her shoulders as she went.

And perhaps she was a little disappointed that he did not follow.

Oh, what had she done? She needed to think. Her head was too muddled to make any sense. He could force the issue. He had only to tell. Then Birgit would be stripped of the protection she needed, and she would be helpless alone. Egil might think her pretty enough now, but no man wanted a wife who could not see. And if he took Liam? Birgit would die inside. How could she have been so careless with Birgit's life? Nay, she could not betray her sister this way. She had to do something.

But she had no idea what that was.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

All right, so they didn't eat children. Of course, Arienh had never believed that one. It was too bad that Liam did.

And no matter how big their organs were, they weren't too big. She certainly was glad of that. Trouble was, she couldn't tell anybody.

As she fluttered about the small cottage doing useless tasks, Arienh was aware of Birgit’s eyes following her almost in rhythm with the quiet swishing of her shuttle. She dared not even look up to meet Birgit’s gaze. She needed to leave, yet Ronan could be out there, anywhere, and she couldn’t face him.

What if he told? And why wouldn't he? Surely he did not really believe her lie about saying vows at the church door. And not even the Celts would support her if they knew, for marriages had been made in just this way for as long as there had been Celts. They would see her as the traitor who gave in to the Vikings. Once he had her, all the others would simply fall into place. And where would that leave Birgit?

It was hard to tell what to believe about these Vikings. They were not filthy, but in fact very clean. At least, these Vikings were. Perhaps some of the other rumors had begun with frightened villagers, or passing tinkers with always a dramatic tale to tell. But which ones?

But one had come from Father Hewil himself, in a sermon about Christian duty. He had told a story about heathen Northmen who sent their invalids and elderly out into the freezing north storms to perish so that they didn't have to take care of them. She remembered it well.

On the other hand, there was Wynne's husband, Gunnar, father to Ronan and Egil, who was thin and bent, and had an unhealthy pallor. Did it apply only to certain people, perhaps those who were poor, or who had no relatives? Wynne seemed to feel Gunnar was exempt. Maybe they only did it to slaves. Or Celts, perhaps.

But she couldn't run a risk like that, not with Birgit's life. Poor Birgit had been through so much. Arienh must not fail Birgit again.

Really. And what had she just done?

Arienh dropped wooden bowl on the table, and porridge slopped onto the earthen floor. Birgit winced.

Nay. She had to find out. It was the only way to protect Birgit. But how? If only there were someone to ask.

His mother, Wynne.

Aye, she was a Celt, and she knew the Northmen. She would be the perfect one to talk about how the Northmen were different from other folk.

But how to go about it without giving away the secret?

***

When Ronan stomped into the cottage and threw his pile of blankets down on the low platform bed, Egil's eyebrows rose to pointed arches. Ronan hurried out of the cottage without saying a word. Nobody knew him the way Egil did, and at the moment, that was not a good thing.

He snatched up his adze and hacked at the new beam he was making for one of the cottages. That should take him all day. Good, hard work was what he needed now; sweat pouring over his body, draining every ounce of strength from him.

By Thor's beard, what was the matter with the girl? He hadn't done anything she hadn't welcomed and enjoyed. Why would she go that far if she didn't mean to marry him? That business about vows. That was nonsense. Wasn't it? Oh, he knew it was a common enough thing to say the words on the church steps, in front of the village. And the priest blessed the marriage bed, when there was a priest. But when there wasn't-ah, he knew better.

Ronan swung the adze with a fury, sending shavings flying. Maybe he'd better ask his mother. They might do things differently here.

"Enjoy the sunrise?"

Damn. Egil.

"You didn't go out there with all those blankets for nothing."

"It was fine." Ronan turned away, renewing his effort on the beam.

Egil let out a hearty laugh. "By Thor's hammer, you got some, didn't you?"

How did he do it? Sometimes he thought Egil could read his mind.

"You did, didn't you. Then why by Hel's frozen tits are you so mad?"

Ronan gritted his teeth and concentrated on his adze.