The Seducer (Viking Warriors) (2 page)

He let her go. She did indeed swim like a fish, slicing through the water with a languid, easy grace. Her rump flexed and bunched. By Odin, his blazing cock nigh warmed the pond to steaming.

Jarvik, engrossed in studying her arse, didn’t realized her predicament until she’d been treading water for some minutes a good distance from the bank. The Ferguson idiots stood between her and her garments. “See you to your camp, Fergusons! Can you not let Elaina retain her modesty?”

“And what of you, Viking?” The oldest Ferguson, Patrick, folded his arms. “We leave when you do.”

“Head you to
Laufsblað Fj
ë
llóttr
?” Jarvik knew well Patrick’s answer, for he had been dogging the brothers’ trail, biding his time, watching his betrothed, and planning his seduction. That the Fergusons and Elaina had managed to get ahead of him and take him by surprise spoke of his exhaustion.

“And what business of yours is that?” Patrick Ferguson made no secret of his dislike of Jarvik.

“’Tis my brother’s keep. I have the full run of the land. Bring you the healer for Deidra’s confinement?” Jarvik repressed a grin, for ’twas at his suggestion that his brother’s wife had sent for Elaina, her village healer.

“What of it? Set not your sights on Elaina, Jarvik. She has our protection.”

Elaina’s fate had been sealed from the moment she began her journey
to
Laufsblað
Fj
ë
llóttr.

“I am growing chilled, my lords.” Elaina slashed a palm across the pond’s surface splashing water in a wide arc. “And my temper grows none the sweeter. Lord Patrick, you and your brothers make haste to go back to camp. But first, chase that grinning preening boy to the far bank. And if an arrow pierces his thick hide, ’twould be pleasing indeed.”

Boy? Boy? He’d swive her so oft and so lustily she’d never refer to him as boy again. He ignored her taunt, and noticed that when she rose from the river to stride the three paces necessary to collect her discarded clothes, she never glanced his way. Witch. She knew he’d not take his eyes off her a-purpose. He waited, treading water, until she had retrieved her garments and padding, and ducked into the line of pines.

A low rumble bounced off the mountains enclosing the narrow valley. A stiff gust whipped the pond’s smooth surface into rippling arrow points. Dense, smoky clouds galloped across the sky. ’Twould be mere minutes before the storm erupted. Such was the fickle nature of weather along the border ’tween Scotland and Cumbria. The volatile alliances of the many kingdoms occupying the lands mirrored its climate.

Jarvik had no time to waste if he wanted to arrive before the Fergusons and Elaina. Haste had him casting aside the usual caution he observed with his stallion, Háski. The bad-tempered steed took advantage of an exposed arm to imprint his great teeth on Jarvik’s flesh. Muttering curses under his breath, he mounted the powerful horse, and spurred the obstinate animal into a gallop.

He knew the area like the back of his hand, and so headed for a treacherously steep shortcut that would take him to the next valley and his brother’s keep before midaft. Making better time than expected, he crested the second set of hills and halted. His steed pranced on the flat peak as he surveyed the wide valley below. Capricious as ever, the weather had once again changed, and the golden globe of the sun in mid-sky coated the ripening barley fields with a blinding brilliance.

When they reached the valley floor, Jarvik gave the destrier his head. Crouching low, Jarvik’s heels sank deep into the stirrups. He kept his attention on the far-off, whitewashed turrets of the castle, and did not slow his mount until the gates of Laufsblað
Fj
ë
llóttr loomed.

The melodious piping of a flute parried a local breeze carrying the odor of baked dirt and honeysuckle. In the distance, a large contingent of warriors had set up camp outside the castle’s inner walls.

Jarvik groaned. His brother, Magnus, allowed no warriors save his own within the walls of his keep. But rules did not apply to kings, and Jarvik well-recognized the crests the soldiers sported on their shoulders.

King Máel Coluim.

By pure happenchance, this spring Jarvik had discovered Elaina’s whereabouts, and set in motion her journey, and their vow saying. He had planned a wedding, a bedding, and a babe in Elaina’s womb before he confronted Scotland’s king.

For Máel Coluim intended to sign a treaty with the new King of Strathclyde, Eógan, and that could undo all Jarvik’s schemes. He clenched his jaw, drew the reins tight, and dug his heels into his horse’s flanks.

* * *

Elaina clamped her lips together.

The castle’s walls were full to bursting. Fires spewed smoke in ribbons. Men, women, and children darted between tents, horses, and stacks of gleaming shields. Noise assaulted her ears: wailing babes, shrieking women, and bellowing warriors, all rolled into a deafening din. The scent of burnt fowl feathers and seared meat spurred unexpected bile. She pinched her nostrils against the foul odor and instead took shallow breaths through her mouth. The smell and sounds of a bustling keep, once familiar and welcome, churned nausea from her coiling belly to her throat.

Dread had Elaina’s fingers trembling, and she had to grip the leather reins till they bit her palms. Sensing her fear, the mare snorted and kicked her hind legs. She should not have come, despite the refuge Deidra had provided. Elaina’s attention was drawn to the cart alongside her mount and she let out a long, relieved sigh. Kateri and Kitti, wrapped in blankets, lay wrapped around each other snuggled into one corner deep in slumber, oblivious to their surroundings.

Pray the lord she had not brought the babes into danger, but the sense of doom weighting her shoulders and the prickles at the back of her neck said otherwise.

“Elaina, Deidra has sent this woman to take you and your babes to her. Allow me to help you down.”

She had not noticed Lord Patrick dismounting nor had she realized they had arrived in the bailey. “Thank you, my lord.”

Her legs wobbled when her half-boots hit the packed dirt. Elaina locked her knees and turned to greet the cherubic girl standing in front of the steps to the keep.

“I will be your maid while you are here, my lady. I am called Frieda. May I help you with the babes?”

“I would be grateful, Frieda.” Weary to the bones, Elaina wanted only to get the girls settled down for the evening, then collapse onto a pallet. “My thanks.”

Night had settled over the valley before Elaina and Frieda had the girls fed, washed, and tucked under a wool blanket on a straw mattress. It never failed to amaze Elaina how quickly they went from babbling non-stop to tiny snores and eyelid flutters. She had not fallen asleep easily or slumbered deeply for a long time. And that would not change this eve.

“We must get you ready, my lady. The evening meal will start soon and you must be in the hall afore the king arrives. I have unpacked your trunk. Your cyrtels are in adjoining chamber on your bed. Pray, let me assist you into the tub.” Frieda gestured at the small alcove to the right.

Elaina had made every excuse not to attend the evening meal to no avail. For ’twould seem that all, including maids, pages, even kitchen spit-boys, must attend the banquet for King Máel Coluim. Frieda had even insisted that the girls be there as well, but Elaina would not hear of it.

Praying the meal would soon be dispensed with, Elaina said, “I need no bath, but I will wash. Many thanks for your assistance, Frieda. You are released from further duty this eve.”

“Nay, my lady. I must escort you to the hall.” Frieda seemed to take no offence and left Elaina alone.

Minutes later, Elaina followed Frieda through the many passages and stairwells to the hall and to Lord Patrick. The maid bade Elaina good eve and left.

“My sister would have you at the high table this eve.” Lord Patrick offered Elaina his arm.

Her stomach sank to the floor. The high table. She took in the massive stone fireplace in the center of the chamber and the dais that ran half the length of the room. Mayhap she would be seated at the end and blocked by large warriors.

After her escape, Elaina had padded her cyrtel, stuffed her cheeks to bursting, and hid her hair with a long, drab wimple that obscured most of her face. She had thickened her brows with a darkening sooty paste. Ground limestone mixed with lard paled her ruby lips to a dismal walnut. No one, save Deidra, had seen her true features or form in many seasons.

None save the knave Lord Patrick had called Jarvik.

When she had looked into the eyes of the warrior in the pond, a dim memory had nagged at her. Those startling blue eyes with their golden glints had seemed so familiar, so safe. A vague unease added to the heavy burden pinching her neck and shoulders.

Mother Mary, she had not even tried to flee at first, for his embrace had felt like a haven. Elaina stumbled. Foolish, foolish. She could trust none. No sanctuary existed for her and the babes in these lands.

A hush fell over the hall. The sudden silence jolted Elaina from her dark brooding.

Lord Patrick tapped her fingers. “Make haste, the king has arrived. ’Tis but a few more steps.”

Elaina ducked her head, guilty but pleased. She had added to her disguise by walking with a limping gait and had even procured a stick for occasional use.

No one paid any attention to the shuffling, stout matron taking her seat at the low end of the high table. Elaina hefted onto the bench ’twixt a large, burly monk with a bald pate and an equally large woman of mature years garbed in fine velvet of a crimson hue. Relief stole the stiffness from Elaina’s spine. None, not even a child, paid her even the slightest notice.

A drum sounded, a flute played, and amidst great cheering, King Máel Coluim took his place in the center of the dais. Elaina kept her stare fixed on the fine carvings traced into the table’s surface, and stood, sat, prayed, and waited in accordance with the crowds thronging the hall. She did not relax her vigilance, but studied from beneath hooded eyes those who were seated on the dais.

Deidra sat two down from the king next to a giant of a man with fiery locks who could only be Magnus, The Destroyer, the Viking warrior she’d wed last year. King Máel Coluim sat in what would have been Magnus’ seat, yielded to the monarch for this visit. The Scottish king was of a stature equal to Magnus, but he had hair the color of the night dusted with twinkles of silver.

Elaina recognized not a single countenance from Deidra’s down to the monk beside her, and sighed in relief. She drained the goblet of wine in front of her. The meal proceeded without any untoward incidence. Her appetite, long suppressed on the journey over worry about the girls and maintaining her disguise, reared to life with a vengeance. By the time the final course had been served, she was replete and not a little giddy from drinking too much wine.

Her eyelids grew heavy. She leaned her elbows on the table and cupped her chin. The constant murmur of the hall receded. All at once the image of the golden warrior filled her mind. ’Twas as if God had chosen to endow this Jarvik with every gift he had to offer. Golden skin, a thick shock of sun-bright hair, eyes of a blue so piercing as to rival the finest clear sky she had ever seen. For cert God had bestowed him with massive shoulders, sculpted muscles, and a male organ of a size she guessed to be twice that of any normal man, even a Viking.

Someone jabbed her in the side.

She shook her head and opened her eyes. Her jaw dropped.

“My lady.” The warrior from the pond stood before her. The one who had caressed her ass, cupped her mound, and nigh suckled her breast. What mischief worked Satan? What wicked trick had fate played her?

Chapter Two

Jarvik had not thought to gain Elaina’s easy acceptance of their betrothal, nor had he expected her to acquiesce to saying the vows after the evening meal. He had expected resistance and protests, and those he had received in full force, but she had had no choice. Not if she wanted the babes safe. In the end, the vows had been said, and they were wed. None could cleave them apart.

His amusement spiked every time Elaina shifted her hands in her lap, every time she refused his stare and answered his questions gazing at some spot above his shoulder. The haughty woman did her best to frost his balls, letting her nostrils quiver as if he stank and flinching away if so much as the drape of his sleeve slipped across her bodice.

Deidra had insisted the women sit side by side, which had allowed Jarvik and Magnus to further their hastily planned strategies. Elaina had declined to take more than a bite or two of the many platters presented to them, even the spiced chocolate balls Jarvik knew she had taught Deidra how to cook. She conversed a little with Deidra, but kept her own counsel most of the meal. No two women could have been more disparate.