Branded By Etain (7 page)

Étaín’s stomach chose that breath of momentary quiet to grumble loudly.

“You have not broken your fast,” Brand declared frowning down at her. “And you ate little last eve. Where is your maid? Why has she not seen to your needs?”

“I was to break my fast with Da. But, ’tis obvious you men must make plans. I will leave you three to discuss our preparations, break my fast, and see to the counting of our stores of food and drink.”

Reluctant though she was to withdraw her hand from his, to leave the comfort of his presence, Étaín squared her shoulders, flashed him a broad smile, and pulled free of his grasp. “How many additional men do we accommodate this eve, my lord?”

“My warriors are equal in number to the population of Caul Cairlinne,” Brand answered.

Étaín’s eyes widened. ’Twas a considerable force for one claiming to be a simple trader and would require sending to the outlying farms and herders for more supplies. “’Tis much to be done then. I will take your leave.”

“Nay. Not yet.” He clasped her by the waist and faced her Da.

“King Mac Eiccnigh mac Dalagh, I wouldst have truth between us.”

Étaín stiffened. Mother Mary, pray he did not intend to tell Da of his Viking ancestry. Not now when he had Da beginning to trust him.

“I am Norse, and I know of Gunnar’s intentions because I fought alongside him in battle in the name of King Kenneth of the Scots and Harald Bluetooth of Denmark. ’Twas Gunnar who boasted when he was sotted of Caul Cairlinne being ripe for the picking. I have spies in Gunnar’s camp who warned me he would invade afore the moon wanes.”

Étaín held her breath, fisted one hand, and glanced from Da to Brand again and again.

The silence grated at her raw nerves.

Da and Brand stared at each other, oblivious to anyone else in the room.

She peeked at Nikolas and found him looking at her. He flashed her a reassuring grin and a quick wink.

“Think you I am old and my mind is addled, boy? None sets foot in this settlement without my approval. I know all that occurs. Cedilla warned me of you having your eye on my daughter the day the ice cleared and the first ships docked in the harbor. Long have I been aware that you are Viking. I have conferred with Kenneth, who vouchsafed for your honor.”

Nikolas’s jaw had dropped, but he snapped his mouth closed when Brand relaxed his wide-legged stance and declared, “Are we one then, my liege?”

“Aye. ’Tis no time to split hairs. Daughter, gather the women and check our supplies. Send Declan back to me.”

She wrinkled her nose at her father’s abrupt dismissal.

“I will escort you back to our room,” Brand bent and spoke in a low tone meant only for her. He spun her around and glanced over his shoulder. “Nikolas, bring the king up to date on our plans. I will be back in a while.”

“I would have your word you will not leave the castle this morn, wife.” Brand draped an arm around her shoulder, and he adjusted his long stride to her shorter one.

To Étaín’s surprise, Gavin and Larkin uttered no word of protest when Brand bid them follow at a distance.

“I cannot leave Cairlinne. ’Tis too much to do.”

Recognizing her words echoed his from last night, Étaín pursed her lips, and slid him a sidelong glance. He had known of the siege all along. What else did he know of her? A sharp pain stabbed across her ribs. She prayed he had not learned of her abduction.

“Darren the blacksmith gave his wife leave to spend the day here with you. They will both join us for the evening meal.” He signaled Gavin and Larkin to wait outside when they reached their chamber.

Étaín could scarce contain her delight at his consideration of her. How had he guessed she had a terrible need to speak with Margie? She tapped a foot while waiting for him to close the door and fair flew into his arms the second the door clicked shut.

“Is aught amiss?” He drew back, one arm loosely holding her by the waist, the other caressing her cheek.

“Nay. Naught.” She tilted her head back the better to savor his rugged male beauty. “I was so afeared Da would be angered when he found out you were Norse. ’Tis a great relief.”

“Your word, Étaín.” He brushed his lips to her temple, and her knees quaked at his gentle touch.

“I will not leave the keep this day, my lord.” Her cheeks ached from smiling. Happiness suffused her being. Her da and Brand would be allies, and mayhap, friends.

“Good. Has the tenderness abated?” He never took his focus off her and kneaded the small of her back.

She blew out a great big sigh, relaxed against him, and when her belly encountered a ridge of hardness, dropped her gaze to the bulge outlined by his navy tunic. “Why ’tis full again.”

He chucked her chin and she peeped up at him. “Still.”

“Still? I do not understand, my lord.” Étaín could not keep her glance from the evidence of his arousal. That she affected him so sent a quiver of excitement from scalp to toes.

“My pecker’s been full since last night.”

“Oh,” she said, her voice all squeaky. “We swive?”

Brand had spent the whole morning striving to banish the recurring errant images of his new wife’s pretty titties and the enticing soft curls covering her mound from his mind. In the middle of discussing how to defend the harbor with Nikolas and Thorkell, a tantalizing vision of the pouting swollen folds of her sex had had his mouth watering.

His erection would not subside no matter how many bloody battles he replayed in his head. Each stride across the wooden planks of the pier scraped the wool of his breeches over balls knotted so tight he nigh gave into the temptation to find a deserted alley and relieve himself.

But the dawn had blossomed into a cloudless azure sky, the sun shone so bright as to eradicate any hint of shadows, and the town packed to the rafters with too many people jostling and bartering to allow a modicum of privacy. ’Twould be no empty, dark corners to be found on such a busy day.

When they marched down Caul Cairlinne’s main street, the wind teased him with the delicious aroma of the baker’s pasty pies, and it occurred to him in mid-stride that he had yet to taste Étaín’s beguiling quim. On the excuse of conferring with the king, Brand had rode post haste to the castle.

’Twas time aplenty afore the noon meal to remedy his incredibly doltish omission. He had tasted her sweet woman’s honey in his waking dreams and now could not wait a moment longer to savor the reality. Brand hastened to his wife’s chamber, praying to Odin she was there awaiting him.

He barged into the open room and blew out a long, relieved sigh. For there she stood, her surprise writ in her widening eyes, and a bewildered but uncertain welcome reflected in the slight knitting of her tawny brows. He scanned the chamber. By Freya’s fortune, she was alone. A tidal wave of lust drowned his intentions of proceeding slowly.

She blushed aplenty when he kicked the door shut, nigh sprinted to her, and hauled her into his embrace.

“We have bedsport again, my—Brand?”

“Nay. Mayhap a wee taste, but the swiving will wait ’till the morrow. I would have you properly healed, Étaín, before loving you again.”

He marveled at the charming picture she painted in her chocolate gown and the matching ribbon threaded through her golden braid. He tugged at the tie holding her plait together and threaded his hands through her freed silken locks.

She remained pliant in his arms, her palm resting on his tunic, and he drank his fill of her delicate features and slight siren’s smile. His prick twitched and his balls hung heavy between his thighs. An overwhelming need to feel her skin against his had him working the laces in the back of her gown loose.

“I thought I had dreamt you when I awoke and found you gone,” she said, her voice timorous.

Was that a flash of fear that crossed her features or a shadow from the breeze lifting the leathers covering the windows? He caught her chin, and the alluring aroma of summer’s flowery bounty wafted to his nose. Never before had a scent so aroused him. His pecker ached and a leaked drop trickled down the crown. He tightened his pelvic muscles in the hopes of blunting his spiraling desire.

“I am no dream, wife.” He pressed his erection to her belly.

She stroked his chin and whispered, “Nay. You are solid and hot and bristly.”

He captured her wrist and rubbed the tips of her fingers over his stubble. “I had not the time to use a blade this morn.”

She licked her lips.

He groaned and buried his face in her neck. A fateful error on his part, for her nape demanded his attention. Loath to redden her creamy skin with his stiff whiskers, he brushed his lips over the irresistible crook between head and shoulder, and fought to regain control over his wayward prick.

Not since he had grown from boy to manhood had his cock refused to obey him.

“They tickle,” she said on a breathless sigh. “’Tis giddying.”

Frowning in puzzlement, he lifted to see her face, and their gazes met.

“Your beard. It tickles and makes me tingle all over. How is such possible?” Her lithe fingers swept up his throat and over his chin. But ’twas the astonishment in her innocent questions that ignited the smoldering craving he’d kept in check since early morn.

By Thor’s hammer, he could wait not a minute more. Brand swept her into his arms and stumbled to the bed. It took every remaining shred of his famed iron will to set her down gently on the bed and
not
rip the gown from her nubile form.

He tore at his tunic; his gaze locked on her peachy cheeks and the wild, tousled curls streaming over the black bear furs on the bed. He hacked at his boots, tossed them aside, glanced at his cock straining at the wool of his trews, and shook his head. Best leave his breeches on until he had pleasured her well and good.

Brand clambered onto the mattress, uncaring of the loud creaks protesting his weight.

Étaín gifted him with a brilliant smile, rose slightly, and slipped the slackened leine and her chemise down her arms.

He held his breath, relishing the baring of each glowing shoulder as the rich brown fabric fell away. A mighty greed drove him to drop wet, suckling kisses over every bit of flesh from elbow, up a toned arm, over a smooth cusp, and along the salacious curve leading to the delectable hollow in the center of her collarbone. He paused and rested his tongue on the frantic pulse beating there.

She slid her hands over his chest and trailed her fingers around his nipples.

Brand bit his tongue hard. The sharp sting collected a grain of his scattered discipline. Desire, scarlet and fiery, blurred his vision when she licked one flat male teat. He bucked and sucked in his belly before collapsing onto his back.

He sawed his jaw, rolled over and up onto his elbow, and gulped.

Lips parted, panting audibly, she struggled to sitting, and wrenched her dress and undergarments down to her waist.

Staring spellbound at her round, firm breasts swaying as she twisted this way and that, he grappled to contain the beast-lust urging him to take her hard and fast. Mesmerized by the way she gracefully wriggled the chocolate velvet around curvy hips, over slender thighs, and past shapely ankles, he could do naught but ogle. ’Twas only when her dainty feet kicked the gown off the bed that his swive-sotted head cleared enough to command his limbs into action.

No harem houri could match the alluring picture Étaín portrayed. Ringlets lit by a stream of sunlight, eyes downcast, naked save for enticing stockings topped by mocha garters, she stole his breath away. The combination of her beguiling bold act of shedding her clothes belied by her shy posture and the cascade of blushes ebbing and flowing over her throat and face, had his prick engorged and throbbing.

All remnants of willpower vaporized.

Brand lifted her by the waist, placed her knees to either side of his head, and pressed his lips to the slick folds of her sex.

Valhalla.

She tasted of paradise, of some magik elixir that drove him to a furious drinking of her honey.

He held her by the hips and buried his face in her pussy, coating his nose, mouth, and tongue with her exquisite flavor. She smelled better than his dreams, and he hunted each trace of the musk hidden between her swollen folds.

The little sounds she gasped enflamed his burning ardor. When she tangled her fingers in his hair and pulled, his stones twitched up against his cock into rock-hard, seething nuts.

Placing his mouth over her nub, he inhaled, and nigh spurted his load right there and then. Brand snarled, jerked his head from her iron grip on his hair, and his prickling scalp brought back some small measure of control.

Using his elbows, he nudged her thighs wide, and spread the swollen ruby lips of her sex. The reddened hood guarding her pleasure winked at him. He salivated.

She squirmed.

“Be still,” he growled and worked her woman’s pearl free of its armor. “Valhalla.”

He brushed his lips over the tiny nub and swirled his tongue around the base in a wide circle.

“Mercy,” she rasped. “Mercy.”

“Brand.” He licked her, a long lingering swipe over the engorged flesh.

“Brand,” she cried out and clutched his neck.

He grazed her nubbin and worked a finger into her narrow sheath.

She sank down onto it.

Her walls grabbed onto him. Her legs shook with the force of the climax that ripped through her. She squeezed his finger, her sheath clutching at his flesh in short, sharp contractions.

A surge of her honey drenched Brand’s nose and cheeks. He used his teeth on her woman’s flesh, tiny, gentle nips, and when she grew wetter, inserted another finger into her channel.

Her waning peak resumed three-fold when he began thrusting rhythmically.

Unable to hold off any longer, he surrendered to the lightning-flash peak churning his pelvis. Brand’s hips rose of their own accord. He bucked off the mattress in wild erratic thrusts. His blood heated to a glowing inferno.

The climax arrowed up from his flexed toes, galloped across his groin, and his seed spurted in red-hot jets from his cock. Brand shuddered through the waves of ecstasy battering at him. He clung to her and pressed his face into the delectable curve of her belly.