Sandra Hill - [Vikings I 03] (26 page)

“You are as vulgar as a hog in heat.”

“Do hogs go into heat? Or is it sows? Hmmm. I did not know that. But then you know so much more about these domestic matters.”

“How would I know if hogs go into heat?” she exclaimed sharply, her nervousness gaining the better of her emotions.

He chuckled.

The boor.

“Did you know that hogs have a cock shaped like a
twisted, spiral bore, and that it grows to be as long as a man’s arm when it is erect?”

“Liar.”

“I swear, ’tis the truth. Ask any farmer. And then there are turtles, of course. Did you know that their male parts turn inside out in the mating? And Tykir told me once that he met a man who had two, but I do not know if I believe that.”

“Oh, you are outrageous! I am not listening to you anymore. So go to sleep,” she said, putting her hands over her ears. “Go and snore your head off.”

“Mayhap I will pleasure myself, instead.”

She gasped and turned angrily on him, revealing that she could hear his words even with her hands over her ears.

He lay with his hands folded behind his head, grinning arrogantly back at her, his manhood standing up in the air. “Did you want to watch?”

Her mouth dropped open. In truth, she did not really know what he meant, but she was sure it was perverted. “You look…foolish,” she declared, waving a hand at his nether parts, but refusing to look again.

“Do you think so? Some women do not share your opinion.”

Eadyth turned away from him again, an odd tearing sensation pulling at her heart. He spoke of other women so easily. Would he go to Asa, his mistress, now that she’d turned him away? Or find another closer to home? Eadyth tried not to care. But she did.

Reluctantly, Eadyth recalled the sweet lovemaking Eirik had initiated that afternoon. The brute had taught her body how to respond to passion, something she had never thought possible. And she had allowed herself to hope that they could have a true marriage, one like she had dreamed of as a young girl.

“Eirik?” she asked softly.

“Yea,” he answered, his tone equally soft.

“Can you not compromise? Cannot you allow for equality in this marriage? Would it be so bad to have a wife with a
mind of her own? I would not want to usurp your authority, just share it. Can you not agree to that?”

A long silence followed.

Finally, Eirik exhaled loudly. “Nay, not now. Mayhap someday, but not now, Eadyth. Not now.”

Eadyth’s heart dropped. Clinging to her edge of the bed, she allowed the silent tears to stream down her face. So this was what the rest of her life would be like.

Eadyth did not allow herself to wallow in self-pity for long. In truth, her fate—a loveless marriage—was no worse than that of most women she knew, and better than some. Resigning herself, she tried to sleep, but could not. She tossed. She turned. Finally, she rolled over on her side and looked at her husband whose even breaths bespoke a deep sleep. Her lips curled into a sneer. How like a man! They riled a woman, made her angry and upset, then, in the midst of an argument, walked away or fell into a snoring slumber. Well, Eirik was not snoring yet, but he probably would. The mule!

And this coupling thing, Eadyth thought with chagrin, having thought about little else all day. Why was it a man’s choice to make love or not make love? Why must men be the ones to initiate the loveplay and the women docilely await their whims? Those pleasures Eirik had made her feel that day…well, men, no doubt, kept this a secret from their wives so they would not demand more from them. It was one further way in which men controlled women, Eadyth decided.

But what if…hmmm.

Nay, I could not.

Well, why not?

He might awaken.

I could be very careful.

So Eadyth, ever the managing person, took matters into her own hands.

With supreme care, Eadyth edged closer to Eirik, who slept on his back, one arm thrown over his head. Through the light of the burning candles, Eadyth watched, fascinated, as he breathed deeply through parted lips. Even his breathing was enticing, sexual, Eadyth acknowledged with a rueful shake of her head.

Leaning her head on one elbow, Eadyth studied her husband’s face. Fine laugh lines crinkled the edges of his eyes and the corners of his firm lips. She liked them. Yea, she did. The wrinkles added character to his face.

Now that she had become accustomed to Eirik’s lack of a mustache, she decided she liked that, too. Some men looked better with a mustache because it hid thin, weak lips. Eirik’s lips were full and sensuous, definitely not weak. Could she touch them without awakening him? Well, mayhap, very lightly. With the tip of her forefinger, she traced the sculpted edges and wished, very much, that she could press her lips against his. Not because she wanted to kiss the brute, she told herself, just to satisfy her curiosity about their firmness.

With reluctant admiration, Eadyth assessed the rest of Eirik’s body, from his lightly furred chest to his big, narrow feet. With all its myriad scars, it was a soldier’s body, finely honed with thick muscles and manly curves. Very nice. But then the loathsome lout no doubt knew that too well. ’Twas why he had such wordfame with women, she supposed. That and his talent for the “peaking” thing.

Just examining her husband’s body had turned Eadyth’s blood thick and her limbs heavy and aching. She looked down at her breasts, then over to Eirik’s flat male nipples. How different they were, and yet the same. Tentatively, Eadyth touched a fingertip to one of his nipples. One touch was not enough. Checking to make sure he was still asleep, she leaned forward and enclosed one of the hard buds with the wetness of her lips. Then she stabbed it lightly with the tip of her tongue. She pulled away immediately when she thought she heard him groan. But, checking quickly, she saw that he slept evenly, though his parted lips had closed, and he now breathed evenly through his nose.

Carefully, Eadyth sat up, then knelt on her haunches. There was a part of Eirik’s body she wanted to look at a bit more closely. Making sure he had not awakened, she leaned forward and looked at “it” curiously. Nestled over his male sacs, the limp man-thing certainly looked different than it did when standing at attention.

She touched it with her fingertips and immediately drew her hand back, as if burned. She almost giggled aloud. It felt so soft and squishy, like a giant worm.

Getting more daring, she reached forward and this time wrapped her fingers gently around it.
Oh, the skin is loose…and movable. How odd!

Then “it” started to grow under her fingers. Eadyth gasped and released “it” carefully. Slanting a look sideways, she saw that Eirik continued to sleep soundly. He must have drunk a great amount of her mead at dinner. Then she turned her attention back down and saw that his man part continued to grow, thicker and longer. Now the skin tightened like smooth
marble and glistened. ’Twas like magic.

Well, not magic, really. Eadyth had lived in a household of rough men for too many years not to have heard of “morning lust” or “piss hard” male parts. Apparently, “it” grew for many reasons, not necessarily just for mating.

This coupling business was all a puzzle to Eadyth, a wondrous puzzle, one she could not yet fathom. Even looking at Eirik’s body made her feel strange, rather restless. Wanton. She wanted to touch all of his body, learn his secret places, what brought him pleasure. And she wanted him to do the same to her.

Why did he have to ruin everything with his silly rules?

With a deep sigh of regret, Eadyth knelt upright and was about to lie down and try to sleep again when she glanced at Eirik’s face and saw his eyes, wide open and staring at her.

Their gazes held for a long, interminable moment. He said nothing, but his glazed eyes and parted lips told her of his desire. Still, he did not reach for her or ask her to make love with him. Then she remembered. He had told her he would not beg.

“I do not want to make love with you,” she said defensively, then realized she was kneeling before him, naked. She sat and drew her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around her calves.

Eirik said nothing, but his ragged breathing spoke for him.

She slanted a look at him. “Men make such a pother about their bodies. I just wanted to see what all the fuss was about.”

He snickered softly in disbelief.

“Well, ’tis true. Besides, men are always assaulting women, forcing their favors on them, making them submit. I wanted to see how it would be to reverse the order, to be in control.”

“So why stop now?” he asked thickly, as if he had trouble speaking.

“Huh?”

“Making love is not about control, Eadyth. But if you think
you would enjoy being the aggressor, please…
please
, be my guest.”

She blinked at him, not understanding. Then he leaned forward and lifted her over his body, high up, with her knees on either side of his hips. Before she could protest, he lowered her onto his hard staff, filling her, causing the walls of her womanhood to shift and expand to accommodate him. By then, Eadyth could not have protested if her life depended on it.

A light sleeper, Eirik had known the moment Eadyth moved to his side of the bed. With rigid self-control, he had forced his breathing to an even rhythm, his eyes to remain shut.

Eirik had counted to one hundred in his mind, trying desperately not to react to his wife’s light touch.
Easy, easy
, he had told himself, and had been forced to start his counting over three times.

When Eadyth had taken his staff into her hand, Eirik had gritted his teeth. Surely, his eyes had been rolling in circles behind his closed lids. He had willed his body to stay motionless, but his staff had a mind of its own.

Eirik had lain with so many women he had lost count years ago, but he did not know how to handle this wife of his. She sat astraddle him, the hot sheath of her womanhood clasping him in welcome, her passion dew flowing over him like warm honey, but her pale violet eyes were wide with fear and confusion.

“I suppose you think you have won,” she said.

“Won what?” he asked on a groan, having difficulty reining in his body’s raging need.

“This war betwixt us. This need you have to control me.”

“Eadyth, you have me pinned to the bed with your woman heat. My bones are melting for need of you. If I do not touch you soon, or taste you, I fear my mind will splinter apart. Now, I ask you, who is controlling whom here?”

She smiled in satisfaction. The minx! Then she turned more serious. “I do not understand what you are doing to me. You
twist my passions ’til I can barely think.”

Good.
“Eadyth, come here,” he coaxed, pulling her down onto his chest. “Kiss me, Eadyth…do you hear me, just a kiss, that is all.”

“Hah! Just a kiss! I am not so besotted yet that I do not recognize a hot poker quivering in my belly.”

Taking advantage of the momentary lull in her hostility, Eirik rocked his hips against her moistness.

She made a small whimpering sound.

He grinned.
So far, so good.

Putting his hands on her waist, Eirik lifted her slowly upward, then down again, showing her the rhythm.

“Oh.”

He inserted a finger between their bodies, playing a rhythmic tune with her slickness.

“I…do…not…want…this,” she gritted out, but opened her legs wider for his ministrations.

He removed his hands and forced them to his sides. “Then take yourself off me. I will not force you,” he reminded her.

“If I agree this once, do not think it sets a pattern. It would be just this once. No more.”

Once! Hah! Well, once at a time, mayhap. Once an hour. Once an hour, every hour, ’til I get my fill of you.
“Whatever you say, Eadyth,” he said meekly, smiling inwardly.

She inclined her head in compliance.

And he let her have her way with him.

Eadyth proved to be a quick learner, and she taught him a few lessons, as well. Once she mastered the rhythm, she rode him with wild abandon. Her eagerness excited him immensely. Her lack of inhibition was a marvel to behold. And Eirik felt blessed by the gods.

When he lay depleted and immensely satisfied under her, Eadyth asked softly, while she nibbled contentedly on his ear, “Did I hurt you?”

And Eirik laughed, and laughed, and laughed…until Eadyth bit him on the shoulder. Which set him to thinking of other things she could do with her teeth.

Cradled in each other’s arms, they finally slept. During the night, Eirik sought his wife again. This time, they came together slowly, with gentle strokes and soft words. They climbed the mountain of passion at a leisurely pace, prolonging the anticipation with sweet torture. Then they both tumbled mindlessly into a whirlpool of intense convulsions.

At the end, he cried triumphantly, “You are mine.” And, of course, Eadyth disagreed, claiming, “Nay, you are mine.”

Eirik awakened before dawn with a smile on his face. He looked down at the woman sleeping in his arms, cuddled against his warmth. He kissed the top of her silky hair, gently, and thought about rousing her with a kiss of her “other” hair. That was a delight to which he had not yet introduced his new wife. Nay, he would wait until she was awake and he could see her reaction to that deliciously scandalous exercise.

Besides, another hunger pulled at him, as well. Eirik decided to go down to the kitchen and bring up some food to share with his wife. Then they would talk. Nay, he corrected himself with a smile. They would make love again, and then they would talk and come to an understanding.

He pulled on a pair of braies and walked barefoot through the dark, silent halls. When he entered the kitchen, he put a taper to a wall torch, ignoring Bertha’s loud snores from her pallet in the corner. He placed some bread and hard cheese and several slices of cold venison onto a wooden trencher and poured a large goblet of mead. Then he headed through the closed corridor toward the great hall.

“So your new wife does not satisfy all your hungers, my brother.”

Eirik jumped and almost dropped his platter.

“Bloody Hell, Tykir, what are you doing, skulking about these dark halls? I thought you left for Haakon’s court long ago.”

“I was delayed in Jorvik,” he said, rolling his eyes, as he lit a wall torch. “I come with urgent news from Rain’s House, the orphanage in Jorvik.”

“Rain’s House? Oh, nay, say it is not Emma! Does my
daughter ail? Is there trouble?”

Tykir nodded. “Urgent trouble. There is spreading fever at the orphanage—mayhap the bloody pox. Rain and Selik have sent Emma and the other children to Gyda’s house, awaiting your word.”

“Does Emma have the pox, as well?” Eirik asked with a shudder of fear.

“Nay. At least, not yet. I did not know if you would want her here at Ravenshire. You have not indicated an interest in having the child here afore. But, my brother, ’tis unfair to leave her in Gyda’s home, good friend that she has been to our family. You must go to her at once.”

“Yea. Gyda must be sorely overtaxed having all those children about. Should I bring the orphans here?”

“Nay, you cannot,” Tykir advised quickly, “not with the threat of Steven abounding. And another thing, Eirik. Rain says Emma is beginning to regain her voice, and her memory. There may be hard times ahead for her when she recalls all that happened to her and her mother.”

Eirik inhaled deeply with understanding. “Will you return with me to Jorvik, Tykir?”

Tykir nodded. “I will ready the horses. Can we depart within the hour?”

“Yea.”

Eirik went back to the kitchen and awakened Bertha, giving her instructions, telling her he expected to be back by nightfall. Then Eirik returned to his bedchamber where Eadyth still slept deeply. He laid the trencher on a table and dressed quietly.

He considered waking his wife and telling her about his daughter and his concerns. But he knew Eadyth would want to travel with him, or leave this bedchamber in his absence. They needed to talk before he could allow either, and there was no time for that. So he kissed her lightly on the lips, and locked the bedchamber door after him.

Eadyth awakened later that morning, stretching lazily. She was not surprised that Eirik no longer lay at her side. She
could tell by the slant of sun through the arrow slits that it was already well past dawn. Blessed Lord, she had not slept this late since her childhood, Eadyth thought, yawning widely.

She donned the beekeeper veil, grimacing at her only choice of garment. Well, she would get her other clothing back soon, after she broke her fast. She noticed the trencher of food on the table then, and smiled at Eirik’s consideration.

After she ate, reliving in her mind the wondrous events of the night before in Eirik’s arms, Eadyth walked to the door, hoping to slip to the next room unseen and gather her garments. The door did not open. She turned the handle again, to no avail.

Realization dawned slowly on her. The bastard had locked her in his bedchamber.

She would kill him. She would throttle him with this damn beekeeping gown. Oh, the humiliation of it all! After all she had “surrendered” willingly to her husband yestereve, he still intended to enforce his loathsome rules.

She began banging on the door, shouting shrilly. When the door finally opened, Bertha stood there, hands on hips. A guard stood behind her in the hall, barring Eadyth’s exit.

Eadyth scooted behind the door to hide her sheer gown. Then she peered around at Bertha. “Where…is…my…husband?” she demanded, spacing her words evenly. Rancor gave a sharp edge to her voice.

“He went to Jorvik,” Bertha informed her.

“Jorvik?” Eadyth had not expected that. “Why?”

Bertha shrugged. “How would I be knowin’? He said he would be back by nightfall, and he said to keep you locked in his bedchamber ’til he has a chance to talk to you. Said ye should rest a mite.” Bertha leered with her last words.