He knelt, intending to loose her garters, but Vivienne kicked her feet playfully. “You are yet fully garbed. I would see as much of you as you have seen of me before we continue.”
Erik paused, not wanting to dampen her ardor with the truth of his scars. “There is no need...”
“There is every need,” she argued, rising gracefully to her knees. “And since you are shy, I will aid you.” Her hands caught at the buckle of his belt, her gaze steadily meeting his own. Erik caught her hands in his to halt her, then noted the determined set of her lips. Vivienne lifted her chin, her gaze bright with challenge. He saw that she knew he was not shy, that she knew what he feared to show her.
He saw that she was not afraid to see whatever he bared.
Indeed, she had not flinched at the scar on his face. He lifted his hands away and let her continue what she had begun.
She smiled, well pleased with her triumph, and unbuckled his belt. His weapons were laid aside with the care they should have been shown, then she returned to unlace his boiled leather jerkin. She moved with an efficient haste and he merely watched her, wanting to witness every nuance of her response in the moment he dreaded. His tabard was laid aside, his boots joined it. His chemise fluttered in the wind and her fingers trembled slightly as she reached for the lace at the neck.
She held his gaze as she worked the lace loose of every hole, as she finally pulled it free, as her elegant hands closed upon the hem of the garment and pulled it over his head. He shook free of it with impatience and watched her look.
The left side of his body was more marred as his face, the evidence of the assault against him written in his own flesh. He knew it was not easy to look upon, he knew that it was yet a livid red in places.
Erik should not have expected Vivienne to hesitate, for she did not. She lifted one hand, even as her gaze ran busily over him, and lifted her fingertips to the worst knot of marred flesh. “Nicholas did this?” she asked in a whisper.
“He dispatched those who did.”
She surveyed the scars, tracing the worst of them with a gentle fingertip. “He meant to see you dead,” she said and it was no query. Erik did not reply, and she granted him a glance as bright as that of a bird. “Does it still hurt?”
He shook his head, his throat tight at the sight of her. He saw the glitter of tears on her lashes, watched them fall like jewels as she shook her head at what he had borne.
“You should let the sun kiss it,” she said softly. “For its caress heals much.” He swallowed, then watched incredulous as she bent and touched her lips to his scar.
Erik was humbled by her gesture. He had given her so little, he had offered her less, and yet Vivienne granted him another priceless gift.
Any doubts he had of her were folly, to be certain.
Before Erik could speak, Vivienne ran her hands across him with a proprietary ease. She seemed to sense that he was overwhelmed for she spoke pertly. “My brothers are not wrought so broad as you,” she said. “Nor have my younger brothers so much hair upon their chests.”
He found his lips coaxed again into forming that unfamiliar curve of a smile. “Am I to be encouraged by this?”
She laughed. “I should think so, for I find you far more alluring than my siblings. Is that not better?”
“It is to my thinking.”
“And it can be no small thing to so readily agree,” she said, even as her fingertips slid to his nipple and teased it to a peak as he had done to hers. Erik inhaled sharply, but Vivienne did not cease her caress.
“Surely I can torment you with pleasure in my turn?” she whispered. There was pure mischief in her eyes as she kissed his nipple, flicking her tongue against the sensitive peak as he had done to her just moments before.
He whispered her name and caught her close. He pulled her face to his and kissed her soundly, feeling the curve of her smile beneath his mouth. She was as merry as a beam of sunlight herself, as undaunted by whatsoever confronted her that one could not help but be gladdened in her presence.
Erik chose to gladden the lady with his. He laid her upon their piled cloaks, and caught her feet in his hands so that she could not squirm away. He bent then and untied her garters with his teeth, kissing the inside of her knees as he did so.
“It tickles!” she complained, even as she laughed and writhed. He granted her no mercy and gave no pause, but relieved her of stockings, garters and shoes with deliberate slowness. He flicked his tongue into the hollow behind her knees and kissed her shins. He eased her stockings down first one leg, then the other, with the tip of his nose, pausing time and again to nibble and kiss and tease.
Vivienne twisted on the fur cloak so vigorously that her hair was fully loosed from her braids. She begged for mercy but he granted her none, she laughed until she was breathless, but the merry sparkle of her eyes urged him on. He grazed the soft flesh around her ankle with his teeth, he kissed her arch, he slid his tongue between her toes. He paused only when her stockings were shed, and then only to savor how flushed and disheveled she had become.
Then he traced kisses up the inside of her legs, burning a path to her sweet heat. When his mouth closed over her, she arched and moaned, then spread her thighs in welcome. He felt her arousal and it heightened his own. He savored how she responded to his caress and felt his own desire redouble. He held her fast and coaxed her to greater heights, halting just before she found her pleasure and beginning anew. She moaned, she writhed, she knotted her hands in his hair.
“Together,” she cried, and he could resist her no longer. He cast aside his chausses and held his weight over her, was captured utterly by her avid embrace. She held his shoulders while he entered her heat, then caught him close and cosseted him within herself. He moved within her and felt there was no other place or time that mattered.
Vivienne opened her eyes and smiled at him, her cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling, her breath coming quickly. She clutched his shoulders and wrapped her legs around him, she matched her movement to his own and he saw his own marvel echoed in her wondrous eyes.
They shared the moment, as never he had shared it with a woman before. Beatrice had always looked away, even before his face had been marred, as if only enduring her marital obligation to him. But Vivienne delighted in their coupling, she was possessed of as great a desire as he, she was unashamed of her passion. He liked her honest embrace of pleasure quite well and he found that her joy abed only heightened his own.
He could trust her passion, for it was not feigned.
Erik could not have expressed his admiration, not as he moved within her and she cast a spell around them more potent than any potion. There was nothing in all his world save Vivienne. They watched each other, each daring the other to endure longer. Erik thought his very flesh might burst into flames, so ardently did they pursue the highest peak. He noted how her flush rose, how her hips bucked, how the tight bead of her tightened against him, but he waited until she cried out in ecstasy.
Only then did he let passion snare him fully, only then did he roar with his own release.
Only when he laid his brow upon Vivienne’s shoulder moments later, awed by the magic they had wrought together, did he mourn this situation. Erik wished he could have known what a man and a woman could share, and that he had known it before taking his wife. Erik regretted that he and Beatrice had never found such pleasure together.
Further, Erik wished that he could have met Vivienne unfettered himself, wished that he could have courted her before his life had become what it was.
He wished he had met Vivienne when he had been as young of heart and as merry as she. He wished she could have seen the best of him, not the worst. Beatrice had claimed that prize, though he knew she had never been glad of it as Vivienne welcomed what meager offering he could make to her now.
There were so many matters that could not be undone. Erik had married to suit his father’s ambitions, not his own. He had surrendered the best of himself to a woman who cared nothing for him and only now, when it might be too late to mend matters, did he see the fullness of the price he had paid.
Exhausted to his very marrow, content in Vivienne’s embrace, Erik let a single word of regret pass his lips, a word that would cost him dearly.
“Beatrice,” he murmured, then sighed at the empty promise of his nuptial vows.
He fell asleep then, but he was not destined to slumber for long.
* * *
Beatrice!
Vivienne’s eyes snapped open and she stared at the man slumbering half atop her. Beatrice! How could Erik have mistaken her for any other woman, after they had conjured such pleasure together?
Had he been thinking of Beatrice while they made love?
Had he imagined that she was Beatrice?
The very prospect was revolting beyond belief. How dare he?
Erik slumbered now, his brow upon her shoulder, a man untroubled by his deeds. His hair fanned over his shoulders, the hair upon his chest tickled against Vivienne’s breasts. She could feel the weight of his legs atop her own, and the tickle of the hair upon them, as well. Though he still braced most of his weight upon his forearms, Vivienne was trapped beneath him.
That was precisely where she did not wish to be.
In normal circumstance, she might have wished to leave him slumber, but Vivienne was not inclined to consider Erik’s wishes in this moment. She placed her hands upon his shoulders and pushed, to no discernible effect.
He did not so much as stir.
Vivienne pushed harder and Erik sighed, then rolled to his side with a murmured apology. His leg was still cast across hers, his heat fast by her side. His hand twined in her hair and there was a rare contentment in his expression.
Vivienne refused to be beguiled. He probably dreamed of his beloved dead wife! She snatched her hair from his fingertips and shoved aside his leg. He blinked that she moved so abruptly and stirred finally, his manner that of a man waking from a dream.
“Cur!” Vivienne cried as she leapt to her feet. “Knave, blackguard and wretch!” Erik blinked at her, apparently confused. “You know well enough what you have done,” she said, shaking her finger at him. “Do not pretend otherwise. I will not be swayed by your guile.”
She found her chemise and hastily drew it over herself, seeing already a gleam of desire in Erik’s eyes. She left the buttons upon the sleeves unfastened, and the sleeves hung comically long as a result. “Dream all the night long of your wife, if you so desire,” she bade him. “For you will never lay a hand upon me again.”
She turned her back upon his surprise and gathered her scattered clothing. The night sky was indigo now, the stars gleaming in the firmament, and the wind had turned chill. Vivienne’s hands shook so in her anger that she had trouble fastening the garters on her stockings. The cursed sleeves of the chemise were in her way, and she wished heartily that one of her sisters had stolen it. It helped little that she felt Erik watching her clumsy attempts to dress, helped even less that he seemed confused by her manner.
He could at least have protested his innocence, she fumed in silence. Though she would have known it to be a lie, it would have soothed her that he cared for her annoyance.
“Were you not pleased?” he asked finally and Vivienne cast a shoe at him in vexation.
“How well pleased were you to invoke your wife?” she demanded. “Beatrice!” she mimicked, then spun in a sweep of skirts. “How sweet to know that I am indistinguishable from your wife abed.”
Erik got to his feet with a haste uncommon to him. “I did not do as much.”
Vivienne propped her hands upon her hips. “You most certainly did. Do not be so fool as to accuse me of being deaf! I know what I heard, and I heard your wife’s name slip from your lips.”
Erik shoved a hand through his hair and frowned, then donned his own garb with efficient gestures. It appeared he would say no more, the very prospect of that making Vivienne’s blood boil. She glared at him, infuriated beyond belief and unwilling to leave the matter be.
Erik seemed to take uncommon care in fastening his belt and ensuring his weapons were as he desired.
“This is a fine reward you grant to one pledged to aiding your quest,” Vivienne said when she could keep silent no longer.
He spared her a glance. “You look as alluring as the Valkyrie must do,” he said. “Indeed, it is some prize you surrender to me with such a sight alone.” An unexpected twinkle lit his eyes, and though Vivienne blinked, it lingered there. “It might be worth vexing you again in future.”
“What is that to mean?”
“That you look like a warrior maiden who will not be denied her due.” He inclined his head slightly and shook his head. “Though their price is not small.”
Vivienne did not know whether to be insulted or flattered. She regarded Erik warily, feeling the lure of a tale she did not know. “I know nothing of these Valkyries,” she said, as coldly as she could manage.
“They are the servants of Odin, the great god, and sent by him to lead fallen warriors to their eternal reward at Valhalla.” Erik studied Vivienne for a moment. “They gather men’s souls, though be warned that I am not keen to surrender mine as yet.”
Vivienne shook her head. “I have no desire for your soul.”
“Do you not? I thought it the desire of all women to claim men’s souls, and you do not appear to be a woman prepared to accept half her due.” He cast his cloak over his shoulder with that graceful gesture she so admired, and Vivienne did not know whether he meant to challenge her or flatter her. “Surely you at least desire to infect a man’s thinking, persuading him to acknowledge unseen forces, for example, when he knows there to be none.” He offered his hand to Vivienne, though she did not yet take it.
“And what manner of force was Beatrice?”
“One you need know little about.” Erik glanced to the sky, to his horse, which now stood expectant, then back at Vivienne. “It is time we ride.”
Vivienne folded her arms across her chest and did not step toward his outstretched hand. “Why did you say her name?”