“Have you not?” He released her wrist and ex
tended his empty drinking horn to her, while he stud
ied Rika and Ketil. How was it he’d missed the
connection between the two of them? Gunnar nar
rowed his eyes.
There was no family resemblance between them, so
that certainly explained his oversight. They sat with
their heads together, sharing a joke that ended in the
simpleton rocking with laughter. And by the look on
the skald’s face, even though the big thrall was obvi
ously a half-wit, she cared for her brother deeply.
In
teresting, and most definitely useful.
“Just what I like to see. A close family always does
the heart good, doesn’t it?” Gunnar said as he waved
Evja on to fill his uncle’s horn.
*
*
*
In a dark corner in another part of the hall, another
pair of eyes marked Rika as well. The sadness in them
was matched only by regret.
“Gudrid,” Torvald said softly. If Helge hadn’t
warned him, he’d have been certain he was seeing the
ghost of his beloved wife, instead of the daughter he’d
abandoned long ago.
“I've never laughed so hard in my life,” Bjorn said as
he collapsed back onto his bed. “The way you told that
story about Thor and Loki—”
“
Dressing up as women to get Thor’s hammer back
from the frost giants?” Rika interrupted as she unfas
tened the side buckles on his leather shoes and slid
them off, her fingers brushing the tops of his feet. Yet
another part of this man she found fair and appeal
ing. Her gut clenched with guilt and another oddly unsettling emotion she couldn’t identify. She looked
away.
“It was better than a feast. Just thinking about it
makes my ribs ache.” He chuckled again low in his
belly.
Rika smiled as she struck the fire steel to light the lamp. Once it was lit, she closed the door on the light and noise of carousing from the main hall.
“I could see the whole thing,” he said. “And some of
it I really didn’t want to see. I can’t imagine two uglier
women than Thor and Loki in disguise and now I'm stuck with them in my head.” He shook his black mane as if that would expunge the horrific spectacle. “How in the world do you do it?”
“Do what?” she asked.
“
Put pictures in other people’s heads, whether they will it or no?”
“Who knows? You might be able to do it if you
tried,” Rika said. “It’s really quite simple. First, I see it
clear and complete in my mind, and then I
think
it to my listeners. It just takes practice and a little some
thing else.”
“What’s that?”
They’d developed a rhythm
between them as she cared for his needs.
He lifted his arms to assist her in eas
ing him out of his tunic.
“The gift. Magnus used to say that without the gift, it’s all just words.” She dipped into a deep mock curt
sey. “That, Bjorn the Black, is why they call it art.”
“
Let me try it then.” He caught her wrists and pulled
her in close to stand between his knees. “Tell me if you
can see the picture that I think to you.”
She looked into his eyes and found herself caught by
the intensity of his gaze. An image shimmered. What
did she see? Desire? Certainly. Desire was
always there when she caught him looking at her.
A shape wavered in her mind, but refused to come
into sharp focus. She frowned and shook her head.
“
I'm
sorry. I can’t see anything. What were you
thinking?”
His hands rested possessively on her waist and
pulled her closer. “Just that I want to kiss you more
than I want to take my next breath.”
“Oh.” Her heart did a strange little jig in her chest. “
Maybe you should close your eyes and think a little
harder.”
A smile spread across his face as he followed her in
struction, squeezing his eyes shut. “If you think that
will help.” His grip tightened on her waist.
Rika tried to steady herself. During his recupera
tion, they’d been as close as this many times, but just
knowing that he wanted to kiss her now made her insides quiver. She realized with a guilty twinge that it was a shiver of anticipation.
Since the accident, she’d struggled with her growing
tenderness toward Bjorn. It was just the natural result
of nursing someone, she tried to convince herself. Plea
sure at seeing her patient recover. Now, looking down at his handsome face, she wasn’t so sure. She was
drawn to him with a force as strong as a surging tide.
This man had led the raid when her father died. He’d totally destroyed her world. She should despise
him with every bit of her being. There were so many reasons to hold herself from him, but at this moment,
Bjorn was simply a man who wanted to kiss her.
And she wanted to kiss him back.
She lowered her mouth to his. They fit together with a naturalness that fell like a homecoming. His lips
were firm and warm and lightly tinged with the sweet
aftertaste of mead. His mouth moved over hers, set
ting her senses spinning, drawing her into him. After a
few moments, she pulled back gasping.
“
I think sending you a picture of what I want is working,” he said softly. He leaned for
ward and took her mouth again. He kissed her simply,
gently, as though the slightest pressure might damage her. Unhurried, he tasted her as if he found her indescribably sweet.
When he started to draw back, Rika shocked herself
by groaning into him, urging him to stay. In response,
he began an exploration of her mouth with his tongue. She draped her arms around his neck.
His mouth was a wonder, a chamber of delights
she’d only just begun to discover. When she timidly
slid her tongue into it, he gripped her tighter. She peeked at him, and found his expression almost
pained. Did it hurt him to want her so?
At last, he released her lips and pulled her close
against him. “Rika,” he breathed into her ear, his lips charting a course along its curve until he took the soft
lobe gently between his teeth.
A small gasp escaped her lips and she surrendered
herself to his mouth. He traced a row of feather-light
kisses down her neck as his hands worked the clasps of her brooches. Before she knew
it,
the kyrtle slid off her
shoulders and down to the plank floor. Rika couldn’t
find a reason to care. The longing for his touch was
fast becoming unbearable. His hands found her
breasts, stroking them with light circles through the
soft fabric of her tunic. She arched her back instinc
tively, like a cat demanding a more thorough petting,
straining against the thin cloth that separated them.
He stood, tugging up her tunic, and she lifted her arms so he could pull it over her head. He dropped it
in a heap on the floor behind her. It seemed so natural
and yet her bare skin prickled.
She reflexively cradled her breasts with one arm
while she cupped her sex with the other hand, partly to
shield herself from his hot gaze and partly to comfort
the bewildering ache.
“No, my Rika.” His voice was husky, as he teased
her hands away and placed them on his own shoul
ders. “It pleases me so just to look at you. There’s a picture I won't mind having stuck in my head at all.
You’re all fair, and fine and . . .” He cupped one of her
breasts, thrumming the tip with his thumb, sending a jolt from her nipple to her womb. “So soft.”
Bjorn settled back on the edge of the bed and pulled her close. He buried his face between her breasts, then
one by one, claimed the hardened tips with his mouth.
His broad hands roamed over her bare skin, his cal
lused palms inducing shivers.
Rika could scarcely draw breath. Words were her
life, but none came to her mind just then. Only a swirl
of sensation. Only white-hot need.
When his hand found the cleft between her legs, the thundering ache surprised her and she
cried out. “No, please.”
“
You’re right.” His breathing was ragged, but he managed to stand. “We should be equal.” He tugged
down his leggings and stepped out of them. “All I am
is yours, Rika.”
He took her hand and guided it to his thick, swollen
shaft for her to explore. She let the smooth skin slide
through her palm, hard and hot. He swayed toward
her, eyes closed, chest heaving. She gently cupped the
bag of his seed, now drawn up tight under her touch.
She stroked the twin lumps with her fingers, before re
turning to his hardness. When she gripped him firmly, a shuddering groan slipped from his mouth as if she’d
clearly tested the limits of his endurance and he could stand no more. Bjorn’s arms swung around her, clasp
ing her to him.
He found her mouth and plundered it this time, tak
ing her with a fierceness tinged by desperation. She answered his kiss, hot and hungry, letting her hands slide
down his muscled back and clasp his tight buttocks.
He lowered her to the waiting bedding and eased
down beside her. His mouth was everywhere, nipping and licking, stoking the fire in her till she burned. She
heard someone moaning. It took a moment to realize it
was her.
He ran his fingers over her flat belly and down into the moist depth of her. She shuddered as his fingertip grazed a point of exquisite pleasure.
“Beg me, Rika,” he urged. “Release me from my
vow. Beg me to bed you.” He lowered his body onto
hers. His lips trailed upward, hopping over the iron
circle around her neck to find her mouth again.
Suddenly a word leaped into Rika’s mind.
Bed-slave.
The iron collar burned her skin. What was she thinking? He had said they were equal, but that was a lie.
They’d never be equals as long as the iron weighted
her neck. She couldn’t allow him to take her willingly. Not as long as she wore that hateful symbol of her
thralldom.
She clamped her legs together and crossed her an
kles, struggling under him. Finally he realized that she
wasn’t answering his kiss and released her mouth.
“
No.” She shoved against his chest. “No, I will not beg. I will never beg you for anything, Bjorn the Black.”
He stared down at her, not believing what he was
hearing. She wanted him. He knew it for a certainty. But she wouldn’t have him, not even when her body
was screaming for release as loudly as his. Stunned, he
rolled off her.
She sidled quickly to the far wall and curled up,
making herself as small as possible. He still ached for
her, a low throbbing that would rob him of sleep
till
it
wore itself and him out. Her arousal hadn’t been feigned. Why had she stopped him? Could she really cast aside desire that quickly?
He stared at her for a long time in the flickering lamp light. So, she despised him still.
“Rika, will you never forgive me?” he whispered, then blew out the lamp.
The wood wouldn’t cooperate. Bjorn had sanded
all day and still it warped the wrong way when he tried to fit the strake to the crosspiece.