Viking (14 page)
“Nay! How could you?”
“I did nothing, Fiona. ’Tis not what you think.”
She regarded him with silent condemnation. “Isn’t it? Did you summon Bretta to ease your lust when I refused to rut with you?”
“Nay, I did not summon Bretta. She is not the woman I want. The spell you have cast upon me is too potent, Fiona. I want no woman but you. Had
you arrived a moment later, you would have seen me sending Bretta away,” he explained.
He pulled her against him. Fiona struggled, pounding on his shoulders with her fists. Suddenly Thorne released her, staggering backward, pain contorting his face. When he turned to steady himself against the animal pen, Fiona saw blood dampening his tunic.
“Dear God, what have you done?”
“ ’Tis naught,” Thorne said dismissively.
“Your wound is bleeding again. What did you do to aggravate it?”
“I said ’twas naught,” he bit out.
“Come inside. I’ll need my medicine chest.”
Thorne didn’t move. He wasn’t a child to be ordered around. But when Fiona put her soft little hand into his callus-hardened one and pulled him toward the house, his belligerence fled. She led him to his chamber, pushed him onto the bed and turned to inspect the contents of her medicine chest.
“Take off your tunic,” she said brusquely.
When she found what she wanted and turned back to Thorne, he was sprawled on his stomach, naked. This time, she vowed, she wouldn’t allow herself to be beguiled by the sight of his nude body. She pulled a pelt over his legs and buttocks and let her eyes stray no further than his wound.
“You’ve opened your wound. ’Tis bleeding again, but it doesn’t look too serious. A layer of marigold salve and a fresh bandage should take care of it.”
“I told you ’twas naught,” Thorne said with a hint
of impatience. He started to turn over but she pushed him back down.
“Hold still.”
Thorne felt the slick coolness of salve touch his skin and then the slightly rough surface of the bandage as Fiona wound a strip of cloth around his chest to hold it in place.
“There,” she said, sitting back and inspecting her handiwork. She let out a startled yelp when Thorne turned abruptly and pulled her down on top of him.
“What are you doing?” Her voice rose on a note of panic. She was all too aware of her lack of control where Thorne was concerned. She couldn’t bear for him to touch her now, not after what she’d seen in his bed earlier.
He brought her beneath him with practiced ease. He was as solid as a rock and as unmovable as a mountain. “Don’t,” she whispered against his mouth moments before his lips claimed hers.
His kiss was wild and ravenous and so full of need, Fiona’s thought processes shut down completely. His hands were rough yet oddly gentle as he tore her clothing away, baring her body to the torment of his mouth and hands. He kissed her until she grew dizzy, until a trembling need began low in her belly and she could no longer remain still beneath him. Then his hands found her breasts, kneading and molding, teasing her nipples until they grew painfully erect. When his lips finally abandoned her mouth to claim her nipples, Fiona strained against him, riding the heavy, liquid waves of heat flowing through her.
With a hoarse curse, he nudged the hot cleft of her womanhood with his sex. Then his hard, thick length opened her, filled her.
A jolt of blinding pleasure broke free inside her, sending her arching upward into the rigid line of his body. She cried out his name, writhing beneath him as his powerful hands anchored her in place.
She gazed up into his fire-and-ice eyes, mesmerized by the vivid spheres of passion claiming her.
“If this is enchantment,” Thorne groaned against her mouth, “then I welcome it.”
His eyes closed as he sank deeper inside her, his body a thrusting blade moving in a primitive rhythm of power and invincible heat, teasing, withholding just enough to make Fiona mad with wanting.
“Thorne, please.” Her hands twisted in his long hair, wanting more of his hot, impaling length than he was giving her.
He arched his back and stiffened his flanks, driving her deeper into the soft fur pelts with each powerful thrust, effortlessly giving her everything he had, all she needed.
Pleasure raked her as she took all of him. When she thought there was no more, he proved her wrong. He drew out her pleasure, leaving her trembling on the edge, then he slowly cast her over the brink of forever. Blindly she wrapped her arms and legs around him, her hands clutching, urgent. She could not hold back the bursting climax rocketing through her. Thorne grabbed her hands, pinning
them on either side of her head as he shouted her name and poured himself inside her.
Thorne leaned on his elbow and brushed a dark strand away from the pale curve of Fiona’s cheek. Fiona felt his feather-light touch and her eyes blinked open in confusion. Her gaze roamed his stark features. “How could I let this happen? Isn’t Bretta enough for you?”
“I’ve never bedded Bretta and have no desire to do so. You’re the only woman I’ve bedded in longer than I care to remember.”
His deep voice wrapped itself warmly about her, making her almost believe he truly cared. She didn’t know what had happened in this chamber with Bretta, but she felt certain now that Thorne hadn’t initiated it. He was a strong man, but he was still recovering from a serious wound and she doubted he had sufficient strength to exert himself with two women. And he had certainly exerted himself with her, she recalled with a sigh.
“Are you all right?” Thorne asked when he heard her sigh. “Did I hurt the babe? He may not be mine, but I’d never willingly hurt him.”
“I’m fine. Why must you be so stubborn? Why is it so difficult to believe that Rolo never bedded me?”
“ ’Tis no secret Rolo wanted you. He offered to buy you more times than I can count. ’Tis inconceivable that a virile man like Rolo would leave you untouched. If you need more reasons, there’s Bretta and the servants. They all agree that Rolo bedded you regularly.”
“Does my word count for naught? If you believe I am a witch, why can’t you believe a witch would find a way to keep a man she did not want from bedding her?”
Thorne recoiled in confusion. “
Did
you find a way?”
“Aye.”
“What did you do to him? I recall how eager Rolo seemed to be rid of you. He said you practiced witchcraft on him.”
“I have knowledge of herbs and medicines. It didn’t take witchcraft to accomplish what I did to Rolo.”
“Odin help me,” Thorne muttered. “What is it you did to him?” His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Or is this another of your lies to convince me that the babe you carry is mine?”
“Pig-headed fool,” Fiona hissed. “If you make me angry enough, I’ll render you impotent, just as I did Rolo.”
Thorne went still. “You made Rolo impotent?” His lips twitched, his eyes crinkled at the corners. Moments later he burst into raucous laughter. “Rolo is impotent?” he repeated. “No wonder he was anxious to be rid of you. Odin’s balls, Fiona, what kind of witchcraft did you use to accomplish so great a feat?”
“I told you. I have knowledge of herbs. I merely mixed certain herbs in his mead. ’Tis not a permanent condition. Without the daily dose of herbs he soon returned to his former state of potency.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” Thorne demanded.
“You weren’t ready to hear it.”
“So you let me go on believing the babe you carry might not be mine.”
“Nay, ’tis you who believed it. I tried to tell you otherwise, but you were too stubborn to listen.”
“But Bretta—”
“—Hates me. Besides, she doesn’t know the truth. Rolo led her to believe he bedded me, and I was wise enough to realize he would do me serious harm had I denied it. He was too prideful to admit he’d lost his virility.”
Thorne flattened his hand on Fiona’s stomach. “The babe is mine.” His voice held a note of awe. Suddenly a frown worried his brow as he visibly measured the space between her hip bones. “You are not built like Viking women and I am a large man. Mayhap my babe will be too big for you.”
Fiona had had the same thought but tried not to dwell on it. “I will survive. Brann said I will bear many sons and daughters.”
“What else did Brann say?”
“He said our sons will become the future rulers of Man. He told me our meeting was fated, that we were meant to be together and to live a long and happy life. I’ve known this since I was a very small child. The day you arrived on Man, I knew you were the one who would fulfill the prophesy.”
“Only witches and wizards know such things,” he contended. “The first time I saw you, I thought you were a faerie spirit. You appeared to move like mist
through time and space, and I couldn’t forget you. The memory of you summoned me from across the sea. From the moment I first saw you, your image tormented me. I had to return to Man.”
“To kill me,” Fiona reminded him.
“Aye. I was desperate to break the spell you cast upon me. You stole my heart and claimed it for your own. Healer you may be, but ’tis a witch’s soul you possess. I believe everything you’ve told me about Rolo, but nothing can convince me you’re not an enchantress. You bewitched and beguiled me. I no longer recognize the man I have become. ’Tis no wonder my brother fears you. He knows what you are capable of.”
Thorne’s words both thrilled and disconcerted Fiona. She drew upon her courage and asked, “Do you love me, Thorne?”
Thorne remained silent so long, Fiona feared he wasn’t going to answer. Finally he said, “I truly cannot say. My obsession with you may be the result of witchcraft.”
“Tell me how you feel,” she probed. Would the foolish man never say the words?
“I feel bereft without you,” he admitted somewhat hesitantly. “The need to make love to you is like a constant ache inside me. No other woman appeals to me. The thought of life without you torments me.” Another lengthy pause ensued. “If love is what you call this strange churning inside me, then perhaps I do love you.”
Fiona’s heart swelled with incredible joy. She was about to throw her arms around him when his next
words sent her plummeting back to earth.
“But this unnatural feeling could be the result of witchcraft. Remove your spell, Fiona, and let me become myself again. ’Tis the only way I will know for sure whether my feelings are pure and not the result of black magic.”
“Very well,” Fiona said, thoroughly exasperated. She waved her hand in the air. “ ’Tis done. The spell is removed. What do you feel?”
Thorne closed his eyes and breathed deeply. When he opened them, Fiona was startled by the depth of emotion visible in their brilliant blue centers. “I do not know what I feel. Confusion, certainly. I
want
to believe I’ve been released from your spell, but I still feel enchanted. I need to test my feelings.”
He turned on his back, grasped her waist and settled her on top of him. Her legs straddled him, bringing her heat in intimate contact with his loins.
“You shouldn’t be doing this again,” she gasped as his staff nudged her cleft. “Your wound—”
“ ’Tis naught,” Thorne murmured distractedly. “Open to me, Fiona. Perhaps my confusion will cease when I’m inside you again.”
He raised his hips, prodded between her legs with the hard tip of his sex, and found the slick opening. He slid inside easily, imbedding himself so deeply Fiona shuddered and bit back a moan of pleasure. Thorne was the only man with the power to move her emotionally and physically. Never before had she considered sexuality as something to be desired.
Now she gloried in the way Thorne made her feel, in the pleasure he brought her.
“You’re so tight,” Thorne groaned against her lips. “You make me wild. No woman has ever fit me like you do.”
He began to move, thrusting upward, retreating, slowly at first, then picking up the rhythm. Until Fiona couldn’t tell when one stroke ended and the next began. His big hands raised and lowered her hips to meet his strokes as he lifted his head to suckle her nipples.
Fiona felt her bones melting as Thorne drove her higher and higher. Then she lost her grip on reality and screamed his name.
Thorne stiffened as her contractions sent him careening over the edge. He thrust hard, then again, flooding her with his seed.
Fiona rested in Thorne’s arms, breathing erratically as she slowly regained her wits. She could tell by his harsh panting and the loud pounding of his heart that he was similarly affected. Neither she nor Thorne was aware that Bretta had been spying on them through a crack in the door. Nor did they see the look of uncontrolled fury on her face as she retreated in silence.
“What are you feeling now?” Fiona asked, recalling Thorne’s words shortly before his lips and hands had made her forget her own name. He’d said he could better explain his feelings after he’d made love to her again.
Thorne sent her an inquiring look. He knew Fiona was probing for a specific answer but he couldn’t recall what the question had been. Then he
remembered. She’d asked if he loved her. “I feel as though I’m still possessed,” he hedged. “As though you own me body and soul.”
Fiona felt a sharp pang of disappointment. The stubborn man was impossible. Moments ago he had all but admitted he loved her. Now he attributed his feelings to witchcraft. Were she naught but a simple woman with no special skills, perhaps Thorne would accept her love and return it.
“I want you in my bed every night,” Thorne demanded. “I’ll have no more of this coldness between us.”
“What about Bretta?”
“What about her? She is nothing to me. If I wanted her in my bed, she would be in my arms now instead of you.”
“Soon I’ll grow large with child. Some men take a mistress when their wives are increasing.”
Thorne’s blue eyes settled on her stomach. She felt their scorching heat and tried to cover herself, but he would not let her. “It will take more than a bulging stomach to keep me from having you. There are ways to accomplish things without hurting you or the babe. I still find it difficult to believe the child is truly mine.”
“Believe it,” she returned tartly.
“I’ll want a son, Fiona,” Thorne said with typical male arrogance. “You may have a daughter after you’ve given me several sons.”
“You’ll take what you get.” Fiona bit back a smile. Thorne sounded like a man who intended to remain with his wife forever. The one thing that would
make everything perfect was Thorne’s unconditional love. But that would never happen until she could prove she wasn’t a witch and hadn’t used magic to enchant him.
Thorolf returned from the
althing
the next day. He was alone. Rolo hadn’t returned with him. Thorolf’s joy at seeing Thorne alive and well and jousting in the yard with one of his men was overwhelming. The brothers pounded one another’s backs in cheerful greeting.
“I thought I was returning to send my brother to Valhalla,” Thorolf said, choking on the words.
“We have Fiona to thank for my recovery,” Thorne answered.
Thorolf frowned. “I will thank the witch for naught. She has brought adversity upon us since her arrival. You owe your life to your own determination to live and your strong constitution. Her influence over you frightens me, Thorne. You should try harder to resist her magic.”
“Fiona is carrying my child. ’Tis not magic that put my seed in her belly.”
“Nay, ’tis Loki’s mischief,” Thorolf said sourly.
“What is Loki’s mischief?” Bretta asked as she strolled over to join them.
“Fiona carries Thorne’s child,” Thorolf repeated.
“Nay, she carries Rolo’s child,” Bretta said with firm conviction. “Where is my brother? Ask him. He will confirm my words.”
“Rolo did not return. He arranged a marriage for himself while attending the
althing
,” Thorolf said.
“He is to marry Rika, youngest daughter of Garm the Black. She is fourteen and ripe for marriage. Rolo traveled to Garm’s homestead to meet the girl. If she meets with his approval, he will marry her there. He said to tell you he will return before winter with his new wife.”
“What about me?” Bretta cried. “He was to find a husband for me at the
althing.
Did he succeed?”
Thorolf shrugged. “He tried, but word of your evil deed spread throughout the gathering. It wasn’t long before everyone knew that you had tried to kill Thorne. No man would even discuss a betrothal to you.”
“Who told them?” Bretta asked, sending Thorolf a look that suggested he was the guilty party.
“I suspect it came from my own household. Men talk. ’Tisn’t easy to suppress gossip about an act that nearly ended in tragedy.”
“What am I to do?” Bretta wailed. “I cannot live in my brother’s home forever. His new wife might object to having another woman underfoot.”
“You should have thought of that before you fed me poison,” Thorne said harshly. “Unless Rolo can find a man who has never heard of you, chances are you’ll remain a spinster.”
She turned on him, her eyes wild with rage. “
You
were to be my husband! I was blinded by jealousy. I knew not what I did. I vow you will still be mine, Thorne the Relentless,” she hissed. “When the babe Fiona carries turns out to resemble my brother, you will come to your senses.” Spinning on her heel, she marched away.
“I’d be careful of that one,” Thorolf warned. “Come home with me. I need your help. I have to build a new hall before the snow flies.”
“I will help, and gladly, Thorolf, but I won’t leave Fiona behind to bear the brunt of Bretta’s hatred.”
Thorolf stared at him. “Bretta swears the child belongs to Rolo. You have only Fiona’s word that it is yours.”
“According to Fiona,” Thorne said, recalling Fiona’s explanation of how she had rendered Rolo impotent with herbs, “Rolo never bedded her.”
Thorolf’s face registered his disbelief. “And you believed her? Only Rolo knows the truth.”
“He will deny it, of course,” Thorne observed. “No virile man would willingly admit he had been rendered impotent by a woman.”
“Is that what Fiona told you? That Rolo was impotent with her?” Thorolf’s laughter was loud and raucous. “We both know that is a lie. We have seen him take women with the blood-lust of battle still upon him. He’s had several mistresses. The claim is ridiculous.”
Thorne frowned. His brother’s observations made sense. Fiona’s claim did not seem as reasonable as it had when she’d told him what she’d done. Could a few herbs render a powerful man like Rolo impotent? It certainly gave him pause for thought. Had he been too quick to believe Fiona?
“Well, brother, will you come back home with me?” Thorolf asked again. “Without Fiona, of course. I’ve not changed my mind about her. Babe or no, she is not welcome in my hall.”
“I’ll make no decisions until Rolo returns to either confirm or deny Fiona’s claim.”
“So be it,” Thorolf said. “If you need me, you know where to find me. I’m pleased there was no need to dispatch my brother to Valhalla to join our father. I must go now, Thorne. There is much work to accomplish.”
They clasped arms, and then Thorolf took his leave. Fiona watched the exchange from the edge of the forest near the house. She had gone to collect medicinal plants before frost withered the usable herbs that were available in this cold land. Her basket was full as she strode briskly toward Thorne.
“Where have you been?” Thorne asked as she joined him.
“Collecting herbs. Some are strange to me, but others I recognized immediately. Is Thorolf gone?”
“You heard?”
“Aye. I was surprised you didn’t go with him. It will take many hands to build a new hall before winter.”
“He will send for me if I’m needed.”
“I’m not comfortable staying in Bretta’s home. I sense danger. We must leave, Thorne.”
“There is nowhere else to go,” Thorne said. “I’ve already checked the village and no dwelling is available. We have no choice but to accept Rolo’s hospitality.”
Fiona shuddered. She did not like it. Danger surrounded her; she could feel it closing in on her.
* * *
Some of Thorne’s men elected to remain with him, sleeping in Rolo’s hall and taking their meals with Rolo’s household. It was apparent to all that Tyra and Aren were becoming closer. Fiona rejoiced that someone could find happiness amidst the turmoil. Despite their closeness in the privacy of their bed, Fiona still didn’t know where she stood with Thorne. He refused to let her sleep anywhere but in his bed. Yet there were times she caught him looking at her as if in judgment. In her heart she felt he wasn’t entirely convinced that the child she carried was his. But he was still concerned enough about her welfare to suggest that she take stock of her medicine chest each morning to make sure nothing was missing. Evidently he trusted Bretta even less than he trusted Fiona.
One day Bretta drove the pony cart to the village. Fiona watched her leave with relief. The odd sensation of impending doom continued to plague Fiona, but no vision appeared to reveal what or whom she had to fear.
Bretta returned from the village later that day wearing a smug expression. No one seemed to know the nature of her errand, but Fiona did not like it.
During the following days, Fiona concentrated on gathering herbs and hanging them from the ceiling to dry. The days had become extremely cold and nights were almost bitter. Sharing a bed and body warmth with Thorne these nights was comforting. Thorne continued to make love to her, but Fiona knew he still harbored grave doubts about the child
she carried. Though he hadn’t voiced them, the uncertainty was there, clearly visible in the icy blue depths of his eyes.
One bitterly cold night Thorne made love to her with the heat and passion of a Viking berserker. He bared her body to his hungry gaze, then kissed and teased his way down her belly to the soft nest between her legs. When he lowered his head and took her with his mouth, she shrieked and went rigid. He parted her with his fingers, then slid his tongue along the slick membranes to her heated passage. The guttural sounds that escaped her throat urged him on without words as he dipped a finger inside her and thrust it deeply.
Fiona was shaking violently. His finger was driving her wild. When he placed his mouth where his finger had been, she shattered, crying out his name as she climaxed violently. Thorne waited until she calmed before bringing her on top of him and sliding inside her. Fiona thought he had taken all she had to give but Thorne proved her wrong. He deliberately withheld his own pleasure, thrusting and withdrawing until she began to respond. Together they strove for the top, reaching for the splendor and clinging to it in breathless ecstasy.
Thorne held Fiona close as sleep claimed her, his thoughts diverse and complex. He was known as Thorne the Relentless, a title he’d earned honestly. And relentless he’d been in his determination to make Fiona his own, and to keep her with him despite his grave reservations. Call it witchcraft, call it obsession, call it anything but what he dared not
name, the fact remained that there was magic in their loving. The kind of magic Thorne wanted to experience forever.
Rolo returned with his new bride on a gray, dismal October day, appalled to learn that Fiona was still present in his hall. He hadn’t consummated his marriage to Rika yet and feared that Fiona would work her evil on him again and render him impotent with his new wife. He gave Fiona a wide berth as he greeted Thorne.
“I never expected to see you again in this life, Thorne. Apparently Valhalla was not yet prepared to receive you.”
“I owe my life to Fiona’s skill,” Thorne replied. “We are both grateful for your hospitality. Currently I have no home and nowhere to go. In early summer I will take Fiona to her home on Man. I hope your wife does not object to guests.”
Rolo shrugged. “Rika will do as I say. She is very young and uncertain of her duties. I have waited to consummate our marriage tonight in my own home. Tell Fiona to stay away from Rika. I do not trust your leman. My hospitality extends only so far. You may remain in my home until weather permits you to begin your journey.” His eyes narrowed as he sent a furtive glance in Fiona’s direction. “Take heed, friend. If I suspect your woman is practicing witchcraft, I will turn her out into the cold to fend for herself.”
From where she stood a short distance away, Fiona could not tell what they were saying. They
were speaking in their own language, and though she had learned enough to understand and reply simply in their tongue, she couldn’t follow their exchange. Rolo spoke at length and Thorne’s answers were short and angry, but somehow she knew they were talking about her.
Fiona’s gaze shifted to Rika. The girl appeared frightened of Rolo, and with good reason, Fiona supposed. Rolo was not a gentle man, and Rika was too young and inexperienced to stand up to him. Fiona bit back a grin. Perhaps she should give Rika instructions on how to handle Rolo. Fiona’s heart went out to Rika, but there was little she could do at the present time to ease the girl’s lot in life …
Unless Rika sought her help.
Rolo’s return brought an end to the privacy Thorne and Fiona had enjoyed in their own bedchamber. With only two private bedchambers available, Rolo had reclaimed the room for himself and his bride. Fiona was obliged to stretch out on a bench and pull a fur pelt over her while Thorne curled up in his cloak before the fire.
The first night of Rolo’s return was a nightmare. Fiona tried to close her ears to Rika’s pitiful cries but she could not. The following morning the girl was subdued and visibly hurting. Fiona vowed to wait until Rolo left on some errand or other and then offer Rika medication to ease her discomfort. Her opportunity came later, when both Rolo and Thorne went outside to tend to the animals. She found what she needed in her medicine chest and approached the girl.
“I’d like to help you, Rika,” Fiona said, speaking slowly in Rika’s language. “I know you’re hurting. I’m a healer. I can give you a special salve to ease your pain.”
Rika, a stately blonde whose beauty and body had not yet attained their full potential, drew back in alarm. “Rolo said you’re a witch.”
“Nay, I am a healer. Here,” she said, holding out a small jar of yellow salve. “Use this on your tender parts. I swear ’twill not harm you. If you’d like to keep Rolo from bedding you for a few days, I can give you something to bring on your woman’s time.”
