Desire's Hostage: Viking Lore, Book 3 (16 page)

Tell me, Northman, why should I marry you?

Alaric didn’t answer for a long time, though he chewed on Elisead’s words relentlessly.

He waited as they wove their way deeper into the forest. With a little nod, he fell back, letting her take the lead. She’d begun walking in the direction of the camp, but then she seemed to reconsider. Turning west, she guided him silently through the trees.

Soon they were surrounded by hills that grew in size as they continued. Elisead skirted to the right around a rocky rise and led him along a babbling creek. The air was cooler under the denser cover of trees here. Though the ground was uneven, a blanket of moss coated everything.

He’d never ventured this far into the forest in this direction, even on his hunting trips with a few of his men. Yet Elisead seemed to know every rock, every bend in the creek. She placed her feet with the familiar ease of one who knew the land like it was an extension of her own body.

At last, she slowed in front of a large, jagged rock outcropping that rose sharply from the creek bed. Moss, ferns, and saplings clung to the top of the outcropping, despite its sheer sides. But its face was bare, exposed in the dim light trickling through the canopy of boughs overhead.

As Alaric drew to her side, he noticed shapes and patterns adorning the rock’s surface.

He traced a finger along the soaring wings of an eagle carved into the rock. Though his hand met stone, the animal looked alive, caught in motion and frozen forever.

“You did this.”

“Aye,” she said, watching his fingertips caress the stone. “Long ago.”

Alaric smiled softly at the designs. There were animals of all kinds. He recognized bears, wolves, more birds, deer, and even little squirrels. And the patterns—swirling lines, triangles, waves, and vines—were rudimentary versions of the ones he’d seen on the bride gift she’d been carving.

“You were quiet as a child,” he said, keeping his eyes on the stone. “You came here to escape the noise and activity of the fortress and village. You were small for your age and didn’t fit in with other children, but here, you lost yourself in the wilderness.”

Her amber eyes widened, and he couldn’t help feeling a swell of satisfaction at the apparent accuracy of his guesses.

“But I can’t parse it—did you always make etchings in stones, even before you were trained to do so? Or did carving become the funnel through which you poured the forest spirit that has lived within you since the beginning?”

She swallowed, and his gaze shifted to her slim, pale throat where it bobbed delicately. Another surge of satisfaction went through him, but this time it was tinged with a darker lust. He reveled in the effect he had on her, for it meant that he was not the only one who was held tight in desire’s bindings.

“I…I never carved before Una taught me. But I drew with bits of charcoal. Here.” She placed her hand next to his on the cool stone. “It all washed away long ago. But the same images and patterns came to me then as now. It is as if…”

He waited while she struggled for the words.

“It is as if the stone speaks to me. Or rather, the stone speaks
through
me—it speaks the forest’s voice, and I bring it forth.”

Elisead turned to him, searching his face with those wide, honey-colored eyes. “But what does this have to do with you asking my father if he’ll let you marry me?”

“That was a mistake.”

At her sharp intake of breath, he realized he’d erred.

“Nei, ’twas not a mistake that I told him I wish to wed you. Only, I shouldn’t have asked him the way I did—I shouldn’t have asked him at all. As I told him, where I come from, a woman gets to have a say in who she marries. I should have…I should have asked
you
.”

She shook her head in wonderment. A few auburn strands escaped her plait and fell around her face. “From all you have told me and all I have seen of your people, your land is a strange place indeed.”

“Perhaps in time you will not find it so strange. Perhaps I could…show you more of our ways.”

He stepped closer, forcing her to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact. Though they didn’t touch, only a hair’s breadth separated their bodies. If he inhaled deeply, his chest would brush against the swells of her breasts.

She shook her head again, but this time she seemed to be trying to clear her thoughts. “You still haven’t answered my question. Why would I ever consider wedding you?”

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. She was as stubborn as her father. “You tell me.”

Her brows drew together. “You seek an alliance. You wish to prove your seriousness about settling to my father, and you hope that by marrying me, you’ll secure his commitment to keeping the peace between our peoples.”

“Ja, that is what I told him.”

The crease between her brows deepened slightly. “Was that not the truth?”

“Nei, it wasn’t.”

He lifted his hand slowly from the stone and extended it toward her. With gentle fingertips, he brushed a red lock that had come free of her braid. He tucked it behind her ear, letting his fingers linger there for a long moment.

She sucked in a breath but never exhaled it. Her eyelids fluttered for a moment as he traced her ear with the pad of his finger.

“I cannot deny that a marriage alliance is advantageous to my mission. But that is not the reason why I wish to wed you. The truth is, I want you.”

The silence that stretched was only broken by the soft bubbling of the creek behind them, but Alaric doubted he would have noticed if someone had blown a horn directly in his ear. He felt as if he were tumbling into those bottomless amber eyes.

“Where I am from, we do not deny pleasure when it is to be had, for life is too short and painful otherwise.”

“And that is what you want? Bodily pleasure?” Her eyes flared with the boldness of her words, but he sensed a deeper question in their depths.

“I want much more than that with you, Elisead. Neither of us can deny the pull we feel any longer. It is a pull toward pleasure, but also something far greater.”

Her breaths grew short and shallow as he spoke, but still he needed to say more to her.

“
I want you
,” he repeated, his voice low and ragged. “I have since the moment I saw you running like a wild forest spirit through these woods. I have wanted you even when it jeopardized my honor, my mission, and my people. I want you to be mine forever.”

His declaration seemed to stun her. She stared up at him, wide-eyed, her berry-pink lips parted slightly.

But her surprise couldn’t match his own. Ja, he knew he’d been drawn to her. What man wouldn’t be stirred by her vivid hair and eyes, her small but curved frame that was meant to be held, and the wildness within her that would never be tamed?

He’d wanted to claim her body, to taste her sweetness and unleash the spirit behind her delicate exterior. But as the words had tumbled forth from his tongue, he realized that possessing her body would never be enough.

The blinding rage he’d felt at Domnall’s treatment of her—and his own protectiveness—should have alerted him, yet only now was the deeper truth of his words hitting him. He wanted to bind himself to her for all eternity. The suddenly clarity was like a bolt of lightning from Thor’s own hammer.

“And now it is your turn to tell me the truth,” he said, his fingers curling around the back of her head and twining in her braid. “Tell me you want me, too.”

With his palm pressed alongside her throat and his fingers in her hair, he could feel her pulse pounding wildly. Delicate trembles stole over her.

“I…I know not.”

“Do not lie to me, Elisead, for I can see it in your eyes and feel it in your body.” His words came out harsher than he’d intended, but the thought of her denial tightened an aching knot in his chest.

“I…I
cannot
want you,” she breathed, her eyes clouding.

He felt his face darken. “What does that mean?”

“You are a Northman. Your people have murdered mine.”

“None of my men have—”

“Nay, not your men, but your kind. Seven years ago.”

Unshed tears shimmered in her eyes. Alaric had to grit his teeth against the stab of pain those tears triggered in him.

“I cannot change the past, nor can you. Only the future lies within our power to shape.”

She nodded, biting her lower lip.

His fingers reflexively tightened on her nape. “And you
do
want me, even though I am a Northman. Admit it.”

Something cracked in her resolve. “Aye, I want you, too.”

Pleasure surged through him. “Then let us change the fate of our peoples—together.”

She shook her head, but his hand in her hair held fast.

“Have I not proven the fact that I will never let harm befall you?” he asked. “Have I not proven that our interests in peace and prosperity for this land and its people are the same?”

Reluctantly, she answered. “Aye, you have.”

“Then why do you still hesitate?”

Her gaze slid from him to the rock. She bit her lower lip again as her eyes scanned the grooves she’d made years ago, clearly struggling to form words.

Alaric’s mind spun back to the night before, when Domnall had seen the stone she’d been carving for him—and the modification she’d made to it.

“What about the longship you carved on your bride gift? Why did you add it?”

“I know not.”

He waited, his hand still buried in her hair and his body so close to hers that he feared he might lose his wits. But his silence demanded an answer.

At last, she sighed in defeat. “There is no sound explanation for it. I simply…felt the need to add it.”

“Because you wished me and my men to leave? Because you never wanted to see or be reminded of me again?” he asked incredulously.

“Nay,” she said on another sigh of exasperation.

“Then because you feared me so much? Because you thought we would destroy your people and leave only smoldering ruins before sailing to the Northlands once more?”

“Nay!”

“Then why?”

“Because I felt… I
knew
our futures were forever entwined,” she bit out, frustration pinching her brows.

“And how did you know?”

“The stone…demanded it. I could not turn away from its call.”

“But you would turn away from me, even in the face of what your spirit knows. Why?”

“Because…?”

“Why?” he demanded.

“Because I am afraid!” she blurted out. “I’m so afraid of the way you look at me, and the future. I’m afraid of what will happen to my people and yours, what will become of my father now that he has shunned Domnall and King Causantín.”

The tears welling in her eyes spilled over at last, making trails down her creamy cheeks. “And I am most afraid of the way I feel. You are a Northman, my people’s enemy, and yet I want you like I’ve never wanted aught before. I crave your touch, your very nearness. I need—”

Alaric could take no more. He dragged Elisead against his chest and bent his head. His hungry lips fell on hers.  

A torrent of sensation washed over Elisead at the contact of their lips. But it was naught compared to the storm that raged within.

It was as if a dam had broken in her heart. Hearing of Alaric’s desire for her had pushed her close to shattering, yet she’d held back. Like a coward, she’d hidden from the truth. Yet Alaric had stalked her even as she’d tried to flee, vanquishing all her foolish reasons for denying the powerful longing she had for him.

And then she’d truly broken. Her words had spilled forth, baring her to the very soul before him.

Alaric was a warrior. She’d never seen him cower from a challenge. But she was not so brave as he. She was afraid. Yet instead of turning in disgust at her fear, he’d claimed her with his embrace.

His lips scalded her to her core as he kissed her. Their mouths fused together hotly. Their first kiss, which still curled her toes to think of, seemed tame compared to the unbridled need they silently communicated with their bodies.

She could fight it no longer. Elisead gave herself over to the crashing waves of desire rocking her. She wanted him—needed him. Only Alaric. Forever.

She tilted her head back, giving him access to her mouth more fully. He instantly took what she offered. His tongue caressed hers, barely restrained in its demands.

The hand that was in her hair tightened reflexively. His other arm snaked around her, holding her flush against his body. The memory of Alaric rising from the river was burned into her mind, but to feel each rock-hard plane and chiseled ridge, as she had last night when she’d lain in his arms, was entirely different.

Her own body, so small and soft by comparison, melted into him, yielding like honey. But unlike the night before, there was naught gentle or hesitant about him now.

The heat—by all the gods, old and new, the heat of him. And the heat that was building within her—surely she would burn alive from the sensations coursing from her scalp to her lips, and shooting from where her breasts crushed against his chest to pool deep in her belly and between her legs.

Yet she was greedy for more. His touch was like the sweetest mead. Her head spun, drunk on Alaric’s scent, his lips, his hands.

Then she was actually spinning. Alaric turned, taking her effortlessly with him. He put his back to the creek and walked her toward the large stone she’d once sought for refuge and solace. With his hands cushioning her, she came flush with the stone. It was cool even through her tunic.

His hands encircled her waist, holding her in place. As he continued to claim her mouth, one hand slid low down her hip, then around to her bottom. Even though there was hardly a wisp of air between them, somehow he managed to pull her hips even more completely against his.

She could feel the rigid length of him straining against his trousers and knew what it meant. He lusted for her, hard and hot.

His other hand brushed along her ribcage until it reached the underside of one of her breasts. Suddenly she felt achy and needy there. As his hand closed around her breast, she gasped against his mouth. She never knew just how sensitive she was—and how much sensation could shoot from just one point of contact with Alaric’s warm hand.

His thumb began to move slowly over the peak of her breast, and the new bolt of sensation made all the others pale. His touch was both the source and the relief of this exquisite torture. She needed more.

Suddenly his hands were behind her knees and she was boosted in the air. He lifted her, wrapping her legs around his hips and pinning her against the stone. Her long tunic hitched up her legs, exposing them to the forest air. His hardness settled between her legs, against that place which ached and burned with an urgency she’d never experienced before.

To her back was the stone, and pressing against her was Alaric’s solid strength. All she could do, all she wanted to do, was yield, take his hardness into herself, and make herself whole by binding them together.

“Take me,” she panted against his mouth.

He pulled back but kept her suspended between himself and the stone. “What?”

“Bind us together for all eternity,” she breathed.

A growl of pure pleasure rumbled in his chest. She felt the reverberations in her breasts, which sent a shiver through her.

“Nei, not like this,” he said, though it appeared to pain him.

She blinked at him through the fog of lust clouding her vision. “How, then? I have never…”

A string of rolling words in his Northland tongue erupted from him. He took a deep breath, visibly struggling to regain control. All the while, she could feel the hard length of him pulsing against her through his trousers, his hands nigh clawing at her.

“I only meant that for your first time, I do not want to behave like a beast,” he said at last, pinning her with those searing green eyes. “You deserve the finest feather mattress, the softest furs. You should have the sweetest mead poured over you and licked off. You should be worshipped like the god-made spirit you are.”

She felt a blush creep up her neck and into her cheeks. She knew the basics of what went on between a man and a woman, but the images he painted with his words sent hot yearning shooting through her whole body.

What would it feel like to be laid bare before Alaric on a downy mattress? To have the furs tickle her exposed skin? To feel his tongue lapping at every inch of her?

Could a person die of longing? Could she burn from the inside out with the desire that raged within her?

“I cannot wait,” she choked out. “I need to be one with you, now and forever.”

“Say you’ll marry me. Say you will be mine for all time in the eyes of my gods and yours.” His voice was low and edged with demanding. This was the golden Northman warrior she’d seen on the shores of the bay what felt like ages ago. This was the man to whom she already belonged, heart and soul.

“Aye. I will wed you.”

Suddenly Alaric released her legs and she came down onto wobbling feet. He yanked his scabbard and belt free, tossing them aside on the forest floor. Then in one deft move, he pulled his tunic over his head and spread it out over the moss.

As he pulled her down onto his tunic, her fingertips brushed over his arms. Every inch of him was warm golden skin, yet he was as hard as the stone that had just been at her back. Her gaze flitted to his shoulder, where stitches held together the skin along a wound as long as her forefinger.

“Are you sure you can—”

He growled, easing her backward onto the ground. The moss was soft beneath her, and his tunic kept the dampness that was ever-present this deep into the woods away from her back.

“No scratch will stop me from claiming you,” he breathed, his lips fluttering against hers. His hands found the hem of her tunic and slipped under.

As he drew his hands up the outsides of her legs, he let them pause for a moment behind her knees. His calluses tickled her there, and she squirmed against him.

In response, he ground his hips into hers, making her fully aware once more of his arousal. His lips found her throat, and he trailed kisses down it even as his hands continued upward again.

Even though he held his weight above her, she felt as though her chest was being crushed under the building anticipation. Her breaths came ragged and her legs trembled even before he reached their juncture.

And when he did, his touch was barely a brushing contact. She sucked in a gasp, her head falling back onto his tunic. His fingers fluttered past her most sensitive part once again. Unbidden, her knees fell open, beckoning him in.

She was already slick with desire. In opening her legs, the cool forest air caressed and teased her, even lighter than Alaric’s touch. But she burned, and somehow she knew that the only relief she would ever find lay with Alaric.

At last he touched her completely, his finger sliding down her slickness. She shuddered uncontrollably and a moan rose in her throat. He kissed the hollow in her neck, then nipped her ear.

His free hand came up to her breast and cupped her, sending a lightning-hot bolt of sensation from her nipple to where his finger stroked.

“I must do this right,” he panted against her neck.

She didn’t comprehend what he meant, for sensation was building and building upon itself within her. But then he lifted himself from her and cool air replaced his heated touches.

“What—”

Before she could speak her confusion, he yanked her belt off and tossed it aside with his. Then he was scooting her clothing, tunic and underdress together, up her body.

Suddenly she was exposed, laid bare before him on the forest floor. She shivered, but not from the cool air that lapped at her flushed skin. It was from the look in Alaric’s eyes as he gazed upon her.

Those emerald depths, normally so lively, were filled with a raw hunger that made her breath catch. He gazed at her as if he would devour her. His eyes traveled up her legs and across her waist to her breasts, which pebbled in the fresh air.

She sank her teeth into her lower lip, suddenly unsure of the sharpness in his eyes. She more than admired his form—in fact, it was hard not to stare at him as he crouched over her now, his chest bare and beckoning.

But then he caught her chin in one large hand, gently dislodging her lip from her teeth’s grasp.

“Freyja’s breath,” he whispered.

She shook her head in confusion.

“One of my gods,” he said, his gaze still darting over her. “The goddess of all beauty and pleasure.”

Her uncertainty dissipated in a flood of heated gratitude. He took her lips in a kiss once more, his hands seeking her breasts. She arched into him, eager for more of the delicious pleasure he had awoken within her.

“Remember this,” he breathed against her lips. “Remember how wild and free you are, my little spirit. I want you to feel like this always.”

His words emboldened her even more. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, careful of his stitches, and drew him down more fully on top of her. She spread her legs to accommodate him, loving the hardness barely contained by his trousers pushing against her.

Sensation was once again piling on top of itself. Elisead’s head spun dizzily as Alaric’s tongue caressed hers, his hands skimming over her breasts and her stomach. With each ragged breath, his touches grew more frantic. She suddenly realized that her fingers had turned into claws on his back as she urged him on.

One of his hands disappeared as he worked the ties on his trousers. He carelessly yanked them down and kicked them and his boots off, never taking his mouth from hers.

And then she felt his manhood, hot, hard, and yet velvety smooth as it brushed past her leg.

This was the moment she’d wanted. He positioned himself at her entrance but stilled, looking down at her.

“Aye?” It was the first time she’d heard him use the word in her tongue, even though he spoke the language well. He waited, jaw ticking and weight suspended over her on his elbows.

“Aye,” she breathed, holding his emerald gaze.

A look of possessive satisfaction flashed in his lust-filled eyes. Then he drove into her, slowly but steadily.

She arched to accept him, but even with her body damp and begging for him, pain shot through her.

A moan, somewhere between pleasure and pain, escaped her lips. Alaric froze, buried deep within her. Though she could feel his arms quivering under her fingertips with the effort to remain motionless, he waited.

At last, her body began to adjust to the sensation of him filling her. The breath came easier in her lungs, even though her whole being hummed as waves of sensation continued to crash within her.

With aching slowness, Alaric began to move, drawing away and easing back in. After several rocking thrusts, she started to meet his motion. The softness of her body melted against his hardness, and the pain faded, leaving only building ecstasy.

His shifted his weight onto one elbow and slipped his hand between them. His thumb found a spot of pure pleasure just above where their bodies joined. Lightning heat flashed through her, causing her breath to hitch.

There was no more room for sane thought. She yielded to instinct, letting the wild spirit within guide her. Sensation washed away everything but the ever-building pleasure until she thought she would forget how to draw breath into her lungs.

And then suddenly her whole body shattered into a thousand shards of light and heat. Distantly, she registered that she called out his name as she spiraled through paradise.

With one hard thrust, Alaric’s voice joined her own. He tensed above her as the same ecstasy that had claimed her conquered him, too.

“You are mine,” he panted, slumping over her. “And I am yours. Forever.”