Branded By Etain (11 page)

She struggled and craned her neck to see him. “I would have your solace first.”

“Solace?” Was he not offering her comfort?

“Aye. ’Tis how Margie referred to it too. Solace, swiving, coupling, joining, bedsport.”

He threw his head back and laughed. Long, shuddering guffaws that tightened his belly and streamed moisture down his jaw.

“’Tis not how Margie says Darren responds when she asks for solace,” Étaín protested.

Arms akimbo, she jutted her jaw and pursed her lips. Miffed. ’Twas the only word to describe her petulant, irritated expression. Hard pressed not to burst into another round of chortling, Brand outlined her lush mouth with a finger. “And how does Darren respond to being asked to give solace?”

Brand stifled a wince when his wife wriggled her little arse and shifted so she straddled his thighs. She cocked her head to one side and am impish gleam lit her eyes, more gold than sable.

“Margie says when Darren is in the smith hut, he waves her away. But she waits for him to break for a drink of water or ale, and then she strokes him like so.”

Étaín rested her palm on his hard cock. She slid her hand down his pulsing length, giving his thickness a gentle squeeze when her fingers ringed the base of his prick.

Brand strangled a groan. He would not take her until the morrow, for once he shed his determination and restraint, Brand knew ’twould be nigh impossible to regain. He had a sinking notion that his hunger for Étaín would never abate, and that he was doomed to sniff after her for the rest of his days

Mesmerized by the sensual way her elegant fingers caressed him through the thick wool of his breeches, Brand could not drag his gaze from his lap. She pushed his long tunic up and to one side, and fumbled with his breech rope.

“Nay.” Brand covered her hands with his. “We cannot swive until the morrow. You must heal, sweetling.”

She tilted her head to one side and peeped at him. “Mayhap I can taste you the way you did me?”

His balls slammed into his groin. His heartbeat spiraled and the roaring thud-thudding muffled her words. The image of her ruby lips sucking his cock drained all the blood from his head. Drunk on the vision of her hands holding his pecker at the base, while her mouth suckled his prick with long, hard pulls, his vision hazed. His lust soared and inflamed his entire pelvis. Even the bones of his hips ached.

While she had him distracted, Étaín had worked the knot in the rope free, and now dragged his breeches down. The tip of his pecker poked over the wool, the crown bared and the leaking slit exposed.

She gave a little squeal and without a single beat of hesitation, swiped a finger over the oozing, sticky substance. Waving the finger below her nose, she sniffed, and then her pink tongue tasted before she suckled the wetness of his semen with audible enjoyment. “Hmmm, methinks you taste like fresh briny cockles. I love cockles and can eat a score in one sitting.”

Brand growled, fisted his hands, and bowed his head. He would not force her mouth to his cock. He would not. But by Freya, should she suck him of her own accord, then he would make an extravagant sacrifice to the goddess.

Étaín scrambled off of him.

So be it. ’Twas too much to hope that his innocent wife would be capable of such a carnal act.

She shoved at his chest.

He glanced up.

“Lie back on the bed cushions.” Her cheeks pinkened, those honey eyes flashing and dark with excitement, and she planted her hands on her waist. “Please.”

“Étaín, you do not have to do this.” He forced the words out over the silent, twitchy protests of his prick.

“You want me to halt?” She asked, her mouth canted down.

“Nay, but I do not want you to feel obliged to do it.”

“I feel no obligation whatsoever.” She pushed him down, arranged the bed cushions to prop his head, and then shifted to sit by his side. After loosening the rope, she tugged his breeches down.

Brand arched his hips and she dragged the fabric clear to right above his knees.

His pecker, freed of confinement, sprang up and back, and slapped the side of his groin.

“Methinks, it teases me to play catch me if you can,” she murmured, and reached over to grasp the middle of his cock with both hands. “Caught.”

She slid him a glance and a wicked twinkle lit her eyes. “What think you I should do now that I have captured my bounty?”

In answer to her own question, she dipped her head and slurped his weeping slit. The slight suction to the caress had him seeing black and scarlet spots. Every muscle in his buttocks, thighs, and belly contracted. Drawn tighter than a longbow about to be sprung, Brand recited the first stanzas of the saga of Sigrid in his head in an attempt to slow the release filling his balls to bursting.

“Hmm.” Her hum vibrated over the sensitive crown of his shaft. ’Twas sheer torture, the skin there stretched taut to rupturing. Brand crushed the soft down of the bed cushions and the feathers’ quills cracked with loud snaps and pops.

She licked the ridge of his cock’s head. Her pink tongue darted this way and that, and the tingling feeling of her furtive, quick swipes together with the lascivious image of her tasting him did him in.

The climax thundered up from his heels. With the last vestiges of his control, he sought to turn aside and spill his seed onto the sheets.

But she had him by the base and slowly sank her lips down his juddering cock.

He tried not to buck. Wrenched the cotton sheets between his fists. Gritted his teeth. Dug his heels into the mattress.

She drew on his prick’s head and dragged her tongue along the ridge of his glans.

Brand set his hands to her shoulders and thrust her to one side. Only then did he surrender to the shuddering spasms. The climax roared through him. His seed exploded from him in fiery spurts.

Wave after wave of pleasure rippled across his groin, testicles, and phallus. The orgasm intoxicated his heightened senses, and he grunted with each sharp burst of semen.

He strained to focus his blurred sight. Fixed his gaze on her glazed brown eyes and inspected her face for any sign of repulsion or fear.

She wore a smile worthy of an houri. “’Twas most exhilarating, Brand. Why did you push me aside? I wanted to taste you as you had me.”

“By Freya, you are a treasure, Étaín. The gods have showered me with the greatest of gifts, you.” He reached for her and hauled her up to lie on her side with their faces level with each other on the bed cushions.

She blushed hotly and ducked her chin for a brief moment before meeting his stare, chin firmed. “’Tis you who are the treasure, Brand. For you make me feel safe and cherished. I had ne’er thought to let anyone else into my heart. Not after Eachan.”

Her trust fractured the last of his defenses. She was his. But, he realized with a sinking feeling, he was hers. “I am honored, Étaín. Know this—none will e’er hurt you, not while I walk this earth.”

Grasping his hand she placed it to her breast and then rested her palm on the spot beneath which his heart beat. “I vow to you, Brand of Bärvik, none will hurt you while I walk this earth.”

His warriors would’ve roared with laughter to hear his wee wife vowing to protect him, but her words and the seriousness of her expression touched him deeply. “You honor me doubly, wife.”

Brand gathered her close. He combed her curls loose of the tangles gained during their fevered loving. “Did I not know better, I would swear that you are purring.”

She arched her back and burrowed closer. “To be cert, I feel as if my flesh is purring. ’Tis most exciting to know that
I
can pleasure you, husband. Howbeit the next time you must swear to allow me taste your seed.”

By Freya, ’twas not possible. He glared at his thickening shaft.

“Oh.” Étaín made as if to grab his foolish, wayward cock.

Brand hollowed his belly and jumped off the bed.

One brow raised, she grinned and pointed to his erection. “’Twould seem your pecker agrees with me.”

Brand snorted. “My pecker would be wise to cease and desist. ’Tis not bad enough that I now appear a besotted fool to your council. Nay, my errant sword refuses to obey a direct command.”

Étaín giggled and Brand thought it the most amazing carefree sound he had ever heard.

“’Tis called a sword too?” She tapped her nose. “Methinks I begin to understand some of the limericks men sing in taverns. You appear to be in a hurry.”

“I must meet with your father and offer to make amends for missing the council meeting. What does the council meet about?” He redressed quickly, but kept his focus on his wife’s flushed face.

One rosy nipple peeped out from under the white sheet when she arched and stretched, her graceful movements reminiscent of a kitten who had basked long and lazily under a summer’s sun. Brand grimaced at his erection. He had climaxed mere minutes ago. ’Twould be most uncomfortable to have to meet with the king while stiff and aching.

“’Permission to build a new cottage or enlarge one already standing. Who gets which spot on market day.” She yawned and cupped a hand over her mouth.

“Stay abed and sleep.” He finished lacing his boots, strode to the bed, and caught her up for a quick kiss.

“Nay. I cannot. Hilde will scold me for being late as it is.”

“I will call for Gavin. I do not want you wandering about the keep unescorted while Irvin is here.” Brand suspected Irvin’s reason for returning to Caul Cairlinne to be a complete falsehood.

“No need to call for Gavin. He or one of the others will be in the alcove awaiting me.” She darted off the bed and snatched her leine and chemise from the floor.

He grinned when she colored from brow to wriggling toes and ducked behind a screen positioned to the side of the bed. “What alcove?”

“’Tis concealed by the tapestry of Mother Mary and the lord Jesus.”

Frowning when he could not recall the wall hanging she described, Brand hurried out of the chamber. He scanned the long hallway and spied the tapestry at the very end, adjacent to a pair of shuttered windows.

Before he reached the spot, Gavin’s head poked out from under the embroidered fabric. He glanced at Brand, emerged into the corridor, and straightened. “I heard the door creak.”

Cocking his head, Brand smirked. “Methinks it has not been oiled for a reason. Does my wife know of the squeak?”

Gavin reddened. “Nay. She is wont to try to avoid giving us worry and sneaks away oft. It took Larkin and I several days to get that blasted slab of oak to list enough to groan.”

“What occurred to make you resort to a squeak?” Brand tapped a booted foot and studied the warrior.

“Lady Étaín decided to watch o’er the blacksmith’s hut the night Margie and Darren wed. She had some notion Darren might injure Margie unintentionally. The captain of a trading ship docked in the harbor mistook her for a tavern wench. ’Twas a close call.” Gavin grimaced and locked one hand around his sword’s hilt.

“Did her father not take her to task for being so foolish?” He would not allow Étaín to get away with deliberately putting herself in danger.

Gavin averted his eyes. “Nay.”

“I will speak with him on this. He is too lenient with her.”

Gavin rocked on his heels. He opened and closed his mouth, but then blurted, “My lord, if I may speak freely?”

“I will not take offense and prefer plain speaking. I am more apt to punish omissions than a statement I do not agree with.” Brand stated, letting his words give Gavin the measure of him as a leader of men.

“When the king rescued Lady Étaín from Eachan, she did not speak for an entire season. She was so timid that if anyone frowned at her, she trembled, and would not eat or drink for the day. I know not the details of what Eachan did to her, but it broke her spirit completely. We are all under the king’s orders. She is not to be admonished.”

‘You have been her guard since then?” Brand studied the man closer. He judged him to have seen a score and five summers. Built like fortified pillar, Gavin had a solid chest of immense girth and the hardened arms of one who practiced swordplay daily.

“Aye.”

“What caused her to begin speaking?”

“She came across a laborer beating a young lad.” Gavin’s grip on his sword tightened, and his knuckles whitened.

Brand decided to spend an hour or two with the warrior in a tavern on the morrow and coax the tale of Étaín, the young lad, and the laborer out of him. “Stick to her side. I am leery of her cousin. What know you of him?”

“Lord Irvin covets Caul Cairlinne. I set Larkin to trail him while he is here. Larkin will report his movements to me before the evening meal.”

“A wise move. I will attend this meeting. Come and get me. I will be in the chamber where the king greets visitors.”

Brand mused on Gavin’s words as he wound his way to the king’s room on the ground floor of the castle. Unlike other keeps, Castle Cairlinne did not have an underground level that ran the entire length and width of the building. The keep had been constructed half on-half off a mound the height of three grown men standing on each other’s shoulder.

The front of the dwelling, which was on the mound, faced the ocean. The River Chance flowed along the back of the castle. At full tide, fishing boats could sail directly from the sea and up the river to ply their catch to the kitchens’ cooks. Brand had explored the castle and unearthed its weaknesses by feigning to be a fisherman.

When he had met with the king this morn, Brand had not only detailed where Castle Cairlinne could be breeched, but how. Mac Eiccnigh’s reaction to Brand’s analysis had been total disinterest. At first, he had been too shocked and puzzled to push the issue. The monarch yawned repeatedly through Brand’s outlining of his plans to shore up the castle’s defenses.

Brand’s footsteps quickened as he recalled Mac Eiccnigh’s careless dismissal of Brand’s concern. If he and Nikolas did not take charge of the keep immediately, none would survive the imminent threat posed by Gunnar the Godless, Fagan the Fire-eater, and Irvin and their alliance. Jaw set, Brand did not bother knocking on the door to the king’s meeting room, but threw it open and marched inside.