Silk Dreams - Songs of the North 3 (11 page)

The night had the tiptoe feel of a dream, as if she were insubstantial as the shadows around her. She finally stopped an arm's length away from him. His lips were slightly parted, as if he didn't believe what he was seeing either. An eerie sense of unreality settled over her.

“We mustn't,” she whispered.

“I know,” he agreed.

And then, suddenly, without knowing how, she was in his arms. His mouth was on hers, hungry and insistent, nipping at her lips and toying with her tongue. This was no kiss. It was a possession. Waves of desire washed over her. If he hadn't been holding her, her knees might have buckled and she'd have dropped on the spot.

He was hard and strong, a rock of a man, and she felt herself melt into him, her insides going soft as warm butter. His mouth was everywhere, her cheeks, her closed eyelids, her earlobes. He grasped a handful of her heavy hair and pulled her head back so his lips could savage the hollow of her throat.

She surrendered to his fierce exploration.

He brought her palm to his mouth and planted a lovers kiss in its center before moving up to sample the thin, soft skin at her wrist and the crease of her elbow.

White heat seared through her and settled in her loins. She shuddered with the intensity of the sensation.

He whispered her name.

She covered his mouth with her fingers. “We've had enough of words, you and I.”

She kissed him then, with the same ferocity he showed when he'd taken her mouth. Erik might be a worthy tutor, but she would show herself an equally adept student.

But just when she felt she'd mastered the art of the kiss, his big hands came into play. He found her breasts and teased her nipples to aching tautness, tracing slow circles around them with the pad of his thumbs, dancing close without actually touching the sensitive tips. She groaned into his mouth.

A soft breeze washed over her fevered skin, setting her diaphanous night shift in motion, lifting it ever so slightly, cooling her steamy legs. His hands caught the billow and the heat of his callused palms warmed her thighs.

He lifted her in an easy motion, then lowered her to the ground. Valdis stretched out with the luscious grass tickling the backs of her knees and her night shift bunched around her waist. Erik's mouth trailed a course down her neck to the tops of her breasts.

A nameless longing engulfed her. Valdis trembled with need. She wanted, knowing not exactly what it was she desired. All she knew was that white-hot demand would grant her no peace.

Erik seemed to know what she sought. He massaged one of her breasts with his thick, blunt fingertips, then suckled the pebble-hard nipple through the thin fabric of her gown. She was floating, lifted out of herself, as if she'd burst out of her own skin.

“What are you—” she gasped.

He covered her mouth with his to silence her, swallowing her halfhearted protest. Still, the action served to remind her that getting caught in this position would be dangerous.

For both of them.

Chloe's ruined face rose in her mind. Even more ominous, her dancing tutor's words came back to haunt her.

The death of love.

If Valdis feared only for herself, this wild maelstrom of sensation would be enough to tempt her to abandon reason. But to do so might be Erik's undoing as well.

No.
Valdis struggled under Erik and forced her arms between them. She pushed against his chest with all her strength, but she was no match for the big Varangian.

“No,” she whispered fiercely. “Stop.”

“You don't mean it,” he murmured into her ear as he grasped her ankle and a shiver streaked up her legs to her crotch. He ran his hand up her leg, stopping to dally in the sensitive crease behind her knee. She couldn't summon the will to move.

He kissed her again and as his tongue coaxed her lips open, his wandering hand caused her legs to part of their own accord. His skilled fingers found and teased the curls at the apex of her thighs. Liquid warmth met him. Her delicate folds parted easily and he slid a fingertip down the length of her moist cleft.

Her breath caught as he gently invaded her. He stroked her soft secrets and circled her most sensitive spot with maddening slowness. Valdis's world spiraled down to the warmth of his breath on her neck and the intoxicating movement of his hand. When he finally grazed her point of pleasure, a jolt of exquisite anguish shot through her and she moaned.

“You see. I can feel you don't really want me to stop.”

The smugness in his voice pulled her back from the edge of surrender. Didn't he realize the danger if they were caught?

I was forced to watch as they took him apart joint by joint...

“Feel this.” She brought her knee up hard against his groin. Erik rolled away from her, clutching his damaged part. Valdis had wrestled with her brothers often enough when she was growing up to know a man's weakest spot. She also knew the debilitation was temporary at best, and she needed to make good on her escape before he found his strength once again. She scrambled to her feet and ran to her open doorway as if the dragon, Fafnir, flapped his leathery wings after her.

Valdis didn't dare look back. If she saw bewilderment or hurt on Erik's face, she might be tempted to return to him.

She shut her door and threw the bolt.

Valdis leaned against the portal, willing her heart to stop cavorting in her chest and the blood pounding in her groin to subside. There could be no second chances. She didn't have it in her to pull away from him again.

Erik watched Loki wandered forlornly around the edge of the courtyard, nosing the shrubbery. When Valdis was dancing, she had no time for her little dog. Tail drooping, the mongrel worked his way along until he came to Erik's boots. Then Loki plopped his bottom down and cast his sad black eyes upward, as if Erik could fix the problem.

“Don't look at me, friend,” Erik said in whispered Norse. “Of the two of us, you're the only one who's sleeping in her bed. You've no cause for complaint.”

With a sneeze, Loki stood and started to waddle away, then seemed to think better of it and turned back to lift his leg on Erik's boot.

“What the—? Get away from me.” He shooed the animal as the reedy music began once more.

Erik watched from the shadows of the corridor while Valdis and her dancing master went through their paces in the slanting sunlight of the courtyard. The eunuch was seated like a grand pasha in a high-backed chair near the fountain. Erik stifled a snort. Aristarchus might follow the fluid movement of the women with intense concentration, but the eunuch would never suffer the jolt of desire that seared through Erik.

He'd seen a number of fine dancers during his stay in Miklagard. Erik and his friend Hauk even enjoyed a more than passing acquaintance with some of them. They were women who exuded raw sexual energy on and off the dance floor, but Valdis surpassed anything he'd ever seen. She moved with the grace of a leopard on the hunt, sinuous muscles undulating beneath her flawless skin. Erik couldn't tear his gaze from her.

She wouldn't even glance his way.

“Well done,” the eunuch said when the women finally dropped to a deep curtsy, veils fluttering to earth around them. “Chloe, you have exceeded my expectations yet again, and with time to spare. What of the other elements of your tutelage?”

Chloe raised her gaze to her master, but remained in a respectful crouch. If not for Erik's attraction to Valdis, he'd have been captivated by this Greek woman's speaking eyes. Beneath the veil that hid the lower half of her face, she was undoubtedly a woman of deep beauty.

“She excels in all areas, though the praise goes to Valdis, not me,” Chloe said in a soft, sibilant voice. “She is exceptionally quick-minded. You will find her table manners impeccable and her dinner conversation sparkling.”

“And the art of love?” Damian demanded. “You have schooled her in the techniques of pleasuring a man?”

Erik winced. He'd tried to teach Valdis that himself, but found her a less than willing pupil.

“We have left that subject for last,” Chloe explained. “Dance is the foundation of sybaritic arts. I want Valdis to be comfortable in her own skin before I educate her on tormenting someone else in theirs.”

She needs no further instruction,
Erik thought ruefully.
Valdis already understands the principles of that type of torture well enough.

He wasn't going to lurk about for more torment if he could help it. Valdis had been too busy with her new teacher to take another language lesson from him since that ill-starred night outside her chamber. In truth, she hardly needed further instruction. She was a natural mimic with a fine ear for the cadence of Greek. Despite a slight accent, Valdis was fairly conversant in her new language. She didn't need him anymore and she obviously didn't want him, either.

Erik strode with purpose into the sunlight toward Aristarchus and the two women. He sketched a fisted salute to the eunuch and steeled himself not to look at Valdis.

“I’ve taught Valdis all I can of your tongue. I am no longer needed here,” Erik began. “But while I loll away the days in your villa, my century is being led by another. I would not see my pledge-men sent into danger without me at their head. Release me from your service and allow me to return to the city and my command.”

Damian nodded with a smug smile that told Erik he was truly glad to see him go. He also enjoyed making Erik beg for the privilege. “Very well. You have lived up to your part of the bargain, Varangian. Valdis has progressed in her language skills far more than I could have hoped in such a short span. If you but stay till the sun reaches its zenith, I will compose a commendation for you to carry to your general. I’ll urge Quintilian not to remove you permanently from your command over this leave of absence.” Damian stood and the smugness left his face. “We may not agree on much, you and I, but we both honor the same master. The emperor is fortunate to have you in his service, as I have been. You stand relieved.”

“No,” Valdis interrupted. “He mustn't go.”

Both men looked at her sharply; then the eunuch turned a sardonic glare toward Erik. “I see you have failed to instill in her a more biddable frame of mind.”

“In the Northlands, our women enjoy more freedom in both speech and conduct—”

“Which is one of the reasons your people have earned the title
barbaroi,”
Damian finished for him. “A woman should be silent unless she is invited to speak.”

“That’s a mistake. In the North our women are renowned for their wisdom,” Erik countered. “Anyone strong enough to thrive in our harsh land deserves a voice. If a Norse-woman speaks, she will be heard. Valdis must have a good reason for not wanting me to go.” He tried to disguise the hopefulness in his words by saying them with gruffness.

“Well?” Damian turned back to her. “Why should I detain the centurion further?”

“There is yet something I must learn from this Northman, something he offered to teach me,” she stammered.

Ja, but you didn't want to learn the other night, did you?
he almost blurted out.

“What could that be?” Damian asked.

Her gaze flicked first to Erik, and then back to Aristarchus. “You may not be aware of it, but in our homeland, Erik Heimdalsson is considered a master of
seid,
the very craft you wish me to emulate.”

“I thought your men usually don't practice magic,” Damian said with a wicked grin. “I heard that those who do are deemed effeminate. If it's true, that must surely be something you'd like to keep from your pledge-men.” He fixed Erik with a stare. “Are you a
seid
-man?"

From over Damian's shoulder, Valdis cast him a look of entreaty. She wanted him to stay. And she was willing to lie to keep him here. His balls still ached from the bruising she gave them. Even so, he was reluctant to call her a liar to her face.

“Seid
is not something entered into lightly. I've no time to train a novitiate in the mysteries now.” He turned to go.

“But what of runes?” Valdis hurried on. “If you finished teaching me runic writing, I could use them to send a message.”

Erik didn't know a rune from a goat track, but he was tripped by his first lie into agreeing with another. “You write Greek well enough. That should suffice.”

“Quintilian should have told me you were an adept at runic writing, but then, perhaps he doesn't know,” Damian said with eyelids lowered in frank reappraisal. “If a Greek missive is intercepted, its contents swirl around the entire city before the sun sets, but if it were written in runes...” Damian shrugged eloquently. “They are crude enough to be mistaken for random lines and scratches. Those who can read them, even among you Northmen, are few and far between. It would be worthwhile for Valdis to be able to send a message in such writing. You will see that she is equipped with the knowledge. Only then shall we discuss your return to your cohort.” Damian signaled Chloe to follow him. “I leave you to your studies. See that I am briefed on her progress, Northman.”

Erik watched the eunuch's retreating back, wishing his heart wasn't pounding so. It hadn't rioted this much since the last time he went into battle. But he was better armed then against his foe than he was now against this woman. He folded his arms across his chest.

“Aristarchus will use any ruse to get his own way. Congratulations, Valdis. You have learned to think like a Greek,” he said with gravel in his voice. “But a lie does not become your lips.”

“And trying to sneak off without giving me a chance to explain doesn't become a Varangian, either,” Valdis said, refusing to be shamed by her actions. She draped herself across a stone bench, arranging the gossamer folds of her palla around her as if she were unaware of how the sight of her in the filmy garment affected him. She gestured with a graceful wave for him to sit in the eunuch's vacant chair. “Don't you want to know why I fled from you the other night?”