The Norse King’s Daughter (16 page)

She nodded.

“We are going to sit down now, Drifa, so that I may teach you something.” Before she could protest yet again, he sank down to the marble floor and arranged her between his thighs, then he spread her wide so that she might see her womanparts. He doubted she had ever looked there afore. “Dost see how wet you are for me?”

He used the fingertips of both hands to part her farther. “And see that bud there that is swollen and more ruddy than the folds around it? That is the seat of a woman’s pleasure. Just strumming it can bring some women to peak.”

“Are you going to strum it?”

He shook his head. “I am going to grow it bigger and warmer ’til you are so hungry for a peaking you will beg me to enter you.”

“I do not like this game.” She tried to close her legs and rise, but he would not allow that. Instead he reached for yet another vial in his chest, and told her, “This is a special oil that makes whatever skin it touches grow hot and throb. It takes only one drop to . . .” He let the stopper hang over her open folds, and one drop fell exactly where he wanted.

Almost immediately she was gaping at what was happening before her eyes. “Do something. Oh, oh, I burn, I yearn. Nay, I throb. Oh, do something, you brute.”

“In a moment.” He dipped the stopper back in the vial and put one droplet on each of her nipples. They grew before his eyes and became even redder.

“Release me. I must touch myself.”

That remark caused him to about peak, which was way too soon. “Mayhap next time.”

He put his middle finger between her fold and spread the fluid back and forth over the bud, which was now twice its original size. Then he used the same fingertip to caress her folds and enter her inner channel itself.

She was weeping and crying her ecstasy in almost a continual croon now. He released the scarf from her wrists and guided her down so that her hands and knees were all on the floor and she was facing the mirror. Then, after hesitating only a moment, he added two more beads to each nipple ring, causing her breasts to be drawn down slightly.

“Look at you, Drifa. Look at us.”

“I look like a wild woman,” she whined. “I look like a wild dog.”

“Nay, you look beautiful.”

He took her, from behind. When he thrust into her, her breasts bobbed with their weights. He soothed and aroused them further with his fingertips, flicking back and forth across them. Then he did the same to the bud betwixt her legs.

“Do you want me to stop, Drifa?” He paused with the tip of his cock barely inside her. “Tell me what you want.”

She tried to wriggle her behind against him to draw him in, but he would have naught of that. “Tell me,” he demanded.

“I want you,” she finally begged. “Now.”

“Whate’er you want, dearling.” He pounded her then with long and slow strokes, alternating with short and hard. She peaked not once, or twice, but thrice afore she was satisfied, and he was able to take his own joy.

Later, as he soothed her body in his bed, and her eyes drooped with weariness, he said, “Thank you, Drifa.”

“For what?” she murmured against his chest and nestled closer, one leg thrown over his thighs.

“For giving me such pleasure. For taking your own pleasure in sexplay that was a mite . . . extreme.”

“At least you admit it was extreme.” She paused, drawing circles in his chest hairs with a fingertip. “Would you have done these kinds of things to me back then, five years ago?”

He shrugged. “Probably not. I have developed an appreciation for . . . other things . . . in my travels to other countries. That does not mean there is no pleasure in ‘regular’ sex. I shouldn’t have pushed you so far so fast.”

“Does that mean you release me from my . . . obligations?”

“Hah! I can’t wait to see what we will do next.”

Chapter Fifteen

A good man is hard to find . . .

T
wo more hours left by count of the timekeeping candle until Drifa’s night of horror ended.

The worst thing, though, was that Drifa wasn’t as horrified as she should be. She had enjoyed herself too much, even the depraved things Sidroc asked of her. She could pretend until all the Valkyries went home to Valhalla that she had been forced, but she was a truthful person at heart, and truth was, she had been a willing participant in the end. Seduced, yea. Forced, nay.

What did that make her? Wanton to the bone? Or susceptible to this man only? That latter was a horrible prospect. If she allowed the lecherous lout any inroads into her emotions, he would use the weakness against her. Best to gird her loins against him. And she needed to be strong for that moment when she told him of his daughter and her hopes that he would allow Runa to continue living with her at Stoneheim.

“Why are you stiffening up?” Sidroc whispered against her ear. She’d thought him asleep beside her in his bed, finally depleted. “Are you going to play the corpse again? If so, you will not be wearing a shroud.”

She stuck her tongue out at him, although he could not see, tucked up against her back as he was. If he did see, he would probably consider it an invitation for more wicked activity.

But his thing was not prodding her behind, so she figured she was safe. For now.

Belatedly she answered him. “I am asleep.”

He chuckled, and she felt his breath against her ear, which was sensitive due to all his ministrations. And, yea, she had to admit it. The man had made love to even her ears. “Then why did you stiffen in your sleep? Bad dreams?”

Nay, a nightmare. “Go back to sleep. We must rise soon, and you will have a long day of riding ahead of you into the mountains.” Although he had told her that he and Finn were to be engaged on a military mission into one of the many Greek mountains, he had not told her where or why.

“I can sleep in a saddle, whether it be horse or camel. ’Tis a talent I learned when traveling up one coast of the Saxon lands and down the other in endless battles for King Harald Bluetooth. We gained so much
danegeld
that betimes we horse soldiers walked so the horses could carry our plunder. I got a blister on my big toe the size of an onion.”

She giggled at the picture, despite herself. Big bad soldier felled by blister. Too bad it hadn’t been on his arse.

“Drifa!” he chastised her.

She realized that she’d inadvertently spoken aloud.
Oh well.

“What will you do today?” he asked, smoothing her hair off her face. It probably looked like a bird’s nest with all the rolling around she’d done.

“Sleep.”

He pinched her shoulder lightly in reprimand.

“After I sleep, I will go see Rat Face.”

“You must be careful.”

“I will. My four
hersirs
as well as the guardsmen will accompany me. Plus, methinks it would be a good idea to make arrangements for my meeting with the empress so that I may remind the eparch that I can stay for only so long because the empress is expecting me.”

“Smart woman!”

“I am not King Thorvald’s daughter for naught.”

He chuckled. “After that, what will you do?”

“Well, I am not certain about today. But I want to meet with the head gardener of the Imperial Palace, for a tour and just to talk. To learn new things.”

“Have I not introduced you to enough new things?”

She slapped him playfully. “Mayhap the gardener will direct me to those gardens best suited for my study. I like to sketch and paint what I see. So these will not be short visits. And of course I will go to the Hippodrome to see the races. And Ianthe has promised me roots.”

“Roots?” he exclaimed.

“Iris roots,” she explained. “To take back to the Norselands for planting. I already have Judas tree seedlings.”

She could feel him shaking his head at her seeming hopelessness.

“Mayhap I could give you some roots and seeds to plant at your new home, wherever that might be. To remember me by,” she said. And, yea, she was fishing for information.

“Drifa, I need no reminders. This night is firmly
planted
in my memory.” She could hear amusement and something else in his voice. Something like wonder. “You like Ianthe, do you?” He seemed pleased.

“Actually, I do. Very much. What I don’t understand is why you do not marry her and take her with you when you leave.”

“First off, Ianthe would not want me for husband. Ianthe is one of those romantical souls who waits for love . . . a love like she had with her husband. And, truth to tell, I want no wife. I come from a line of evil men. My father, my grandfather, my brothers . . . they all abuse their women and children. The fist or the whip suits them better than words, not that their words cannot flail, too.”

Drifa tried to picture a young Sidroc growing up in such a household, and her heart wept for him. Even worse, Runa, who thrived at Stoneheim, would have withered away with such harsh treatment. “You are not the same, Sidroc. Were you not the man willing to suffer marriage to me for the sake of a child?”

Sidroc turned her over on her side to look at him. “I do not think marriage to you would have been such a hardship, Drifa. You took my foolish words to Finn too personally. While I have long maintained marriage is not for me, I had an obligation to my daughter. Finn told you that. And I failed her. In the end, however, ’twas probably for the best that she died. I might have been as harsh with her as my father.”

Now would be the time for Drifa to tell him that Runa was alive. But fear . . . not of physical harm . . . but that he would take the child from her, held her back.
He deserves to know. I will tell him when he returns
, she vowed silently.
I will convince him that I make a good mother. I will tell him how Runa thrives in a loving household. But I need time to do that.
In the meantime, she said, “Sidroc, you are a beast in bed, and you make me do bad things and like them, and insult me way too often, and your teasing tongue is not amusing by half, but you are a good man.”

“That is the most half-arsed compliment I have ever heard.” He squeezed her tight against him in mock punishment.

She smiled up at him. “You would no more strike a woman or child than you would cut off a limb, of that I am convinced a hundredfold.”

He did not appear convinced. Still, he said, “I thank you for that.”

There was silence after that as she lay nestled against him, her face on his chest. His one arm held her loosely about the shoulders, the other was thrown over his head. Soon she felt his breathing slow, and he fell asleep.

For a long time she just lay against him, unmoving, contemplating this brutish man she should hate, but could not. Heartache lay ahead, of a certainty. But she could no more avoid that fate than stop time from passing. She thought of a dozen things she should do. Like slide out of the bed and escape. Like hit him over the head with another pottery jug. Like enumerate in her mind all the bad things about him. But she did none of these.

She fell asleep.

And then they heard bells . . .

The sky was already turning gray and the timekeeping candle almost burned out when Sidroc awakened Drifa with a soft kiss. “Wake up, sleeping violet. ’Tis time to leave.”

“Grmpfh,” she said against the crook of his neck.

The vixen was attached to his body like a vine. Her face against his collarbone, one arm holding on to his waist, and a leg twined around one of his thighs like an erotic rope.

There was still another hour before dawn, but she should go back to her apartments before others were about. Though why he should care about her reputation was beyond him.

She had been a total surprise to him. A pleasant surprise. He had asked things of her that were shocking, especially to a virgin, but she’d met him at every step, and challenged him, too. She would make a formidable mate, if he ever wanted one. Which he did not. This was the type of woman that could bring a man to his knees.

“Pssst! Morning glory, wake up lest your guardsman come in and see that delicious, naked arse of yours.”

Her eyes shot open. “Wh-what?”

“ ’Tis time for you to go,” he said.

She glanced around. “ ’Tis still nighttime.”

“But not for long.” He kissed the top of her head and rose, dragging on a pair of
braies
.

She stared up at his naked form for a long moment, forgetting that she was naked, too. When she did, she jumped up with a little squeal and began to pull on her
gunna
, which he’d earlier laid across the chest at the foot of his bed. While she donned her apparel, her face flamed. She kept glancing his way, no doubt recalling all they had done throughout the night. He helped her braid her wild hair, and it was oddly satisfying to him.

“Come,” he said, taking her by the hand. “Do you want something to eat or drink afore you leave?”

She shook her head.

Just before they got to the outer door, he picked up a piece of rolled fabric. “Wouldst do me a favor, sweetling?”

“What?” She was immediately suspicious, as she should be.

“When I come back, we will resume our nightly visits, but I want you to do something for me.”

“What?” she said again. This time she had her arms folded over her chest.

“Wear this on my first night back.” He handed her the fabric, though she tried to shove it away, no doubt suspecting what it was.

“Nay, I do not want it.”

“But I want you to have it.”

“Nay.”

“Yea.”

The back and forth passing of the garment caused it to unroll and make a sound. Tinkling bells.

Beware of men with rat faces . . .

A shame-faced and silent Drifa, the hood of her mantle pulled forward, walked beside Ivar back to her quarters. To her surprise, she was not the only one scurrying home through the silent corridors under cover of darkness.

She told her maid Anna that she needed no help undressing when she was back in her own bedchamber. Sidroc had marked her good and true inside, that was for sure. Gods only knew what marks he had had left on the outside of her body.

She would never be the same.

And she could not blame him. Not entirely. She’d entered this arrangement of her own accord to protect her secret, a secret she had no right to keep. And she could not deny she had enjoyed the lovemaking, both the dark and the light side. Sidroc had revealed passions in her she was not sure she liked.

For now, though, she fell into a deep, untroubled sleep and did not waken until noon when Anna reminded her that she had an appointment with the eparch today, and that both her
hersirs
and guardsmen awaited her.

Despite having purchased Greek garments, she wore her traditional long-sleeved Norse garb to hide the whisker and finger and even teeth marks on various parts of her body. A tight-fitting silver torque about her neck covered a red spot the oaf had inflicted on her with a sucking kiss. The worst part was that he probably carried as many of her marks, as well.

When she opened her door, Wulf grumbled, “What in bloody hell took you so long?” Then he looked at her and his jaw dropped.

Can I crawl back into bed and cover my head for a sennight?

Ivar, in his protective mode, frowned at the Saxon and said, “M’lady was out in the sun too long yesterday and . . . and a bee stung her lips.”

The gods must be punishing me.

Jamie let out a hoot of laughter, then slammed a hand over his mouth.

Thork was not so shy about expressing himself. “Looks like someone got lucky at the tupping barrel.” Wulf clouted Thork at the side of the head with a palm but that did not stop the rascal, who continued, “Really, Princess Drifa, you should not be embarrassed. Many a Viking has done the morning-after walk of shame, not that you have anything to be ashamed of.”

Do you want to place a wager on that?

“Hah! We Scottish lads ha’ perfected the walk of shame, except ours is through the moors on the long way home,” Jamie added. “Have ye ever smelled heather on a heaving stomach?”

Huh?
What do flowers have to do with . . . oh.

“I crawled through me front door one time,” Farle, one of the guardsmen, said. “Me wife made me sleep in the cow byre for a sennight.” He beamed as if he’d done something to be proud of.

Men!
“I have not been drinking to excess,” she protested.

“I know.” Jamie winked at her.

“There’s more than one kind of shame,” Thork informed her. He winked, too.

I need one of those mantles that Eastern women wear, ones where only the eyes are visible.
Of course my eyes probably speak of my shame, too.
Drifa’s only saving grace in this whole situation was that Sidroc was absent. He would have surely added to her humiliation by showing off to one and all her love marks on him.