Loki's Daughters (40 page)

"Nay, but there are things that must be done first."

"Vows at the church door? You have run out of excuses, Arienh. Now there is a church."

"There is the Beltane-"

"A time for lovers. You neglected to tell me that as well."

"And a time for marriages."

"A marriage may happen when it happens. And you have just given your vow, before your people and mine
 
The time is now."

Arienh gulped down her fear, and out of the corner spotted the coarse brown robes of Father Hewil. She would get no help there, for Ronan had thoroughly won over the priest. If she tried to stall, Ronan might regret his decision to free Elli. But if she went with him, his triumph would encourage the other men, and soon one of them would discover Birgit's weakness.

"Don't do it for me, Arienh," Elli pleaded. "You should have let me take my punishment."

But what was marriage compared to death? Nay, she could not risk Elli. And she had given her word.

Mildread's hand alit lightly on Arienh's shoulder. "Nay, you must, for you agreed. Don't worry, it will be all right. We will take care of them."

Arienh wasn't sure exactly what Mildread meant, but her solemn brown eyes held a softness in them that could be understood, all the way to the soul. Arienh nodded. She stepped forward and walked down the path as if to her execution.

Fear was her enemy, far more than the enigmatic Northman who was one moment tender and kind, and the next fierce. They vied for power here, and if she showed her fear, she might just as well hand it all over to him. Give up.

Never had she given up, and she could not now. And she was well-practiced in disguising her fear.

Then, she would give him what he asked for, but she would give it like a warrior. Strength she might not have, but she had the wit to win. Boldly, she strode toward him, faced him squarely. Silently, eye to eye.

Swift as an adder, his hot grip latched onto her arm. She met it, not with resistance, but with challenge in her eyes, her gaze raking from his hand to his eyes. He meant to possess her. He thought control of her body would give him dominion over her soul, but she was a Celt, descendant of Celtic women warriors, and she would teach him what dominion meant.

Abruptly, he released his hold, as if sensing her compliance. With haughty strides, jutting out her chin, Arienh trod the length of the path to the new timber church.

The path seemed interminable, but all too short. The beautiful Viking caught up to her in only two strides, and kept pace beside her. Arienh fixed her sight on the freshly limed walls and bright honey-colored thatch. She dared not look at his face, lest her resolve crumble.

As Father Hewil took her hand and laid it atop the Viking's, she focused on the tiny pits in the bronze Celtic cross that hung from a cord over the brown cassock. The priest's words of blessing seemed far away, vague and shapeless. Her awareness of the throng of Celts and Vikings surrounding them was nearly smothered by the intensity of the huge man beside her.

She shook off her stunned reverie when Ronan's strong hands turned her by her shoulders to face him, then held her face still as he leaned to touch his sensuous lips to hers. Neither hard nor gentle, a kiss of possession, not passion. But a hundred kinds of passion seethed in his eyes.

Before she could recover, he tossed her over his shoulder and stalked with huge strides down the path by the river to the Viking's cottage.

At the threshold, he paused and set her down.

"In," he said.

She met his demand, shoulders square, head held high, still focusing on the route ahead of her, and the door banged shut behind her. The latch slammed into its slot. It was an alien place now, this cottage, furnished in strange, Northman-like ways. The beds for his family were built along the walls, and covered with furs and plump blankets, which she guessed were filled with the precious down he had collected. The scent of mead mingled with stale smoke from the previous night's hearth fire.

She could not let him win this battle. She would give her body, yes, but would not let him take it, nor her soul. Arienh whirled suddenly to face the Viking, feeling the flare of fierce aggression rise in her.

Like a ravaging wolf, he closed in, eyes gleaming with his voracious thoughts as his garments shed away like water; jerkin, smock, breeches. He kicked away his short boots. Corded muscles rippled with tension in the yellow glow from the banked hearth fire. His huge male form loomed like a dark shadow, darker than the gloom, so that only its outline was clear. She hungered to run the pads of her fingers over his skin, to sense with her fingers the rugged male beauty her eyes saw.

Think.
Men did not like aggressive women. They sought to conquer, not be conquered. His weakness was his lust for her. Could she use her own lust to conquer him?

She became the wolf. In one motion, she grabbed the hem of her kirtle and jerked it over her head, to stand before him bare.

"Hel's frozen tits," he whispered hoarsely.

"Do not compare me to your heathen goddess, Viking."

"'Twould be like comparing plenty to starvation." He shifted closer.

Swift in her attack, she pounced to him, breast to chest, her hand clenched the prize of his masculinity, hard and solid with silken heat. Once, she had been in awe, wondered if the legends of Viking prowess were true, wondered how it could be possible for a woman to take something so huge into her body without pain. Then she had learned. It had not been pain he had brought her, but pleasure so intense it had left her reeling.

A groan ripped from deep in his chest as he clutched her to him, trapping her hand between them, until she pulled it free and left his magnificent organ to press against her belly. He forced his lips against hers, and with her sharp gasp, drove his tongue within. She retaliated, like swung swords, stroke for stroke, dueling, meeting, probing, parrying, eagerly seeking to learn every corner of him. Her freed hand rushed to join with his sleek skin, discovering all the hard male curves and ridges that formed his back, while the other hand combed the darkness of hair that flowed to his shoulders.

Ronan broke away the kiss and swept her into his arms so quickly she almost thought she would fall. Two paces to the bed, and he had her down on her back atop the white bearskin, as he hovered over her, pinning her thighs against his knees. His eyes darkened to wolfish ferocity. "You think to end this quickly, do you?"

Her heart climbed into her throat. Whatever had made her think she could best him at his own game? She rolled to the side, trying to duck beneath his arm, but he caught her hands and pinned them down to the heavy fur.

"The idea was yours, remember?"

She could hardly deny that. It was just that fear had momentarily conquered her. She ceased her struggle. "Then get on with it, Viking."

Anger darkened the lust in his eyes. "I have a name."

"I do not care."

"You will, Arienh, you will." Ronan lowered the full weight of his body onto hers, encompassing her, as if he sought to capture all parts of her at once, his mouth taking hers, hands cupping breasts, thighs surrounding thighs. Callused pads of his thumbs rubbed across the hard tips of her nipples, sending sheets of fire blazing through her.

"Say my name, Arienh," he demanded hoarsely between the rough bite of kisses.

"Nay." It was a gasping cry.

He shifted lower, and took one urgently erect nipple into his mouth, suckling, flicking with his tongue. She thought she would scream. She bucked against the constraint of his hands holding hers, but when he released them, they wound into his hair, splayed to savor its silkiness, and sent it spilling over his shoulders.

"Say it." His hand explored that intimate place where he would enter her, and raw, ravenous fire engulfed her at his touch.

"Nay." And any moment, she would say anything, do anything he asked.

One large knee nudged its way between hers, then the other, and the immensity of his body spread her legs apart. Expectation loomed as she awaited his entry, wanting again that heated, sleek pressure that had imbedded itself in her memory.

Shock set in as he shifted again, lower, lifting her legs as he moved, and the tender explorations of his tongue took the place of his fingers. Her body flexed wildly, involuntarily, as she moaned. Passion wound through her like dark red smoke. She thought she would die if he continued. Would die if he stopped.

"Say it."

"Nay."

"Say my name, damn you."

She moaned, long, hard, plaintive. "Ronan." She moaned. She screamed, as the colored streamers of passion tangled with bursts of light, and her whole being turned inside out. "Ronan!"

He was above her once again. Passion looked angry, dark, and painful on his face as he lowered the weight of his body onto hers. She welcomed his entry as an aftermath to her spent desire, the last caresses. It would be easy from here on.

But he was not spent. And she had only thought she was. In her greediness, she had not realized his need continued. She felt his thrust within her still-heated body, still tightly enclosing him as he plunged deeply, and suddenly spent desire regained its loft. His mighty strength gathered, curled, and thrust, again and again to the rhythm of his hips, first slowly, withdrawing almost fully, and planting deeply, then faster, harder, deeper, wilder, wilder. Her mind spun with the frenetic, hungry, demanding sensation.

She thought again she could take no more. He stiffened with a ragged cry, and thrust deep and hard, his body shuddering. Once again, the world folded in on her and she felt him streaming over her, engulfing her, as if they melded into one.

A sated sigh escaped him as the tension eased from his body. He lay atop her, heedless of his weight, and she welcomed it, feeling the rightness of it. One gentle, big hand cradled her head and held it against his cheek. She could feel the touch of his lips on her scalp, and turned her face so those sensual lips would catch her forehead instead.

In the quiet, cool darkness of the cottage, Arienh lay in his arms, wishing the afternoon were night and they might lie together just like this. She didn't want to think about Elli or Birgit and Liam, only about stopping time and staying here with him forever.

Slowly he slid to her side, turning her with him as he rolled. No longer entrapped beneath him, she could have risen, but she yearned to prolong the quiet perfection of the moment. In the silence, she slid her arm over him, letting her fingers trail across the plains and valleys of his chest, and left it to rest there. She nestled herself into the snug cradle of his arm, and was not exactly sure how he managed to pull a soft, cloudy down blanket over them.

She closed her eyes. For now, she would not think of the disaster she had made, and let herself ease into a quiet, mindless serenity.

She was not aware of having slept, yet a stiffness filled her body that could only have come from lying still for a long time. And beside her, Ronan breathed the quiet, easy breaths of sleep.

She had lost. Well and truly lost. For he had not merely conquered her body, but her soul as well.

He was so handsome. Beautiful in body, magnificent in soul. She wanted to trace his dark brows and the straight length of his nose, the curve of his strong jaw. But she did not want to wake him. The down blanket had slipped below his chest, but she knew all of what was hidden beneath it. If she could, she would spend forever with him, eagerly touching him, welcoming him into her body.

She remembered the Viking boy, a thin wraith of a child with filthy, scraggly, sandy hair and wonderfully blue eyes. The boy she had prayed for, and even dreamed might come back to her someday. He had come back, far different from the memory she had cherished for so long. And though he had come back to take possession of her and all that was hers, somehow she had stopped minding about that. Somehow she could not be angry with him anymore. She had held up her anger as a shield to protect herself from him, but he had battered it down, leaving her weak, vulnerable. Frightened. Worst of all, he had reached within her and stolen her heart. Or had she simply handed it to him?