God’s gift to women: a fine male tush . . .
Joy awakened in the middle of the night to the most delicious sensation of fur upon her naked breasts.
Really, when she got back home, she was going to buy herself a fur coverlet for her bed. Fake fur, of course. And she was going to sleep naked. No more Snoopy PJs.
But then the fur moved, and she heard, “Why are you smiling, wench?”
Her eyes shot open. It wasn’t fur. It was a man . . . a man with a furry chest. And he was leaning over her, nibbling at her neck and shoulders, his calloused palms moving over her arms and waist and thighs, everywhere but where she really wanted them.
But wait. The events of the past day rolled over her like dominoes. Her thwarted escape, being fed like a puppy in the dining hall, the treasure room above the outhouse, and then . . . and then, the recognition that she had traveled back in time a thousand years. No, no, no! That wasn’t true. Time travel was impossible. Still . . .
“What are you doing?”
He had just licked one of her nipples.
“Engaging in a bit of foresport. Methinks I would like to try more of those kisses, then mayhap some tasting of other parts of your body, then—”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Somebody’s got the wrong idea here.”
“I have an idea, all right, and it is a very good one.” He rubbed his knee against the juncture of her thighs to demonstrate, and she just about swooned . . . again.
But she had to be strong. “No. I can’t do this. All the rules of engagement in the military forbid a prisoner having sex with a captor.”
“Aaarrgh! I did not capture you.”
“Semantics! Your brothers did, and they did it for you.”
His eyes knifing her with consternation, he gritted out, “You invited me to couple. You opened your arms to me. We were skin to skin.”
“Earth to alien Viking. I was forced to be naked.”
“You invited me to hold you, whilst you were naked.”
“I did. That was probably a mistake.”
Definitely a mistake, but it felt so good at the time. Still does.
“I was weak after that shocker about time travel, and, no, I don’t want to discuss it.”
“Are you saying that you do not want to tup with me?”
“Tup? Now there’s a nice word. Not!” She inhaled and exhaled for patience . . . and to tamp down her raging attraction to the lout. “Brandr, I do want to make love with you. I don’t know why, because you are not the most sophisticated man in the world, babe, more like rough around the edges. There’s probably some subconscious psychological reason for it. Sexual regression or something. Maybe I have a genetic memory of making love with a caveman.”
She could tell he didn’t understand most of what she said. “Did anyone ever tell you that you talk too much?” He leaned down and gave her a quick kiss.
“All the time, babe. All the time.” She had to clench her fists at her sides to keep from yanking him back for another, deeper kiss.
And he could tell. Darn it! “I know how to be smooth when it is warranted.”
She smiled at his wounded pride. “Oh, babe, did I hurt your itty-bitty ego?”
“Why do you keep calling me babe? I am not a babe.”
“I beg to differ. You are definitely a babe.”
“You cross the line with your insults.”
“Babe means a hot, sexy individual who exudes sex appeal.”
He grinned. “So you are attracted to me, after all.”
“There is this strange attraction, but I am part of the U.S. Navy and—”
In that instant she heard a whimpering noise and realized that was what had awakened her, not her fur lover. “Get off me,” she demanded. And because he wasn’t expecting it, when she shoved against his chest, he fell off her and onto his back. Before he could grab for her, and he did try, she was off the bed and pulling on one of the new under-gowns . . . soft, unbleached linen, which was long-sleeved, ankle length, and collarless.
“Where in bloody hell do you think you are going?” Brandr was half sitting, with his body propped up on his elbows.
“Can’t you hear that?” She pointed to the wall.
A whimper resounded in the still air.
“Liv!” he said, jumping out of the bed. He was bending over to put on a pair of the slim leather pants he usually wore. Despite her hurry, she had to pause and admire the fine, fine body of this man from the past . . . if that’s what he was. She shook her head to clear it. “No, let me go to her. This might be the breakthrough we’ve been waiting for.”
He paused, glancing at her over his shoulder, one leg in and one leg out of the pants. “Mayhap you are right.” He waved her toward the door.
She went out, closing the door after her, but then she opened the door again, and peeked in, “Just one thing.”
He cocked his head in question.
“That is the finest male tush I have ever seen.” She pretended to ogle his behind.
He was still puzzled until she patted her own bottom while staring at his.
“I would much rather have you admire my other side,” he said with a laugh.
And out came those damn dimples.
Thousand years old or not, this man was going to be her downfall. She just knew it.
She was a light in a dark place . . .
Brandr allowed himself an hour before going to check on Liv and his bed thrall. Some bed thrall! More like bad thrall.
He almost ran into Tork in the hall. By the light of the sputtering torch he carried, he could see Tork tying the laces of his braies. He must be coming from the garderobe.
“You are grinning!” Tork accused him.
“And so?”
“You have not grinned in the past year that I know of.”
“Is that such a sin?”
“Not a sin, but a shame.”
“You would have me become a grinning lackwit.” He made a clucking sound of disgust.
“Where are you going?”
“To check on Liv . . . and my bed thrall.” He chuckled, knowing how Joy appreciated that designation.
“Grins and chuckles. What next?”
He elbowed Tork with his free arm. “Didst know that I am a babe?”
“Whaat? You and I are of the same age, and I am definitely not a babe.”
“Too bad! Because
babe
is a person with massive amounts of sex charm. Women attain pleasure-peaks just looking at a man-babe. The gods envy men so endowed. In fact—”
“You are so full of—”
“Shhh! Liv was having a nightmare. I do not want to disturb her if she has fallen asleep again.”
Carefully, he opened the door, and the two of them peered inside. Joy had lit a candle near the bed where she had pulled up a chair. Propped against the pillows, Liv was allowing her to hold both of her hands in hers. And Joy was talking, as usual.
But the important thing was that Liv was listening. There was little light in the room, except for the candle, but it cast a weird glow around Joy, turning her red hair into a flame about her head, like a halo of fire. Mayhap she was an angel, not a time traveler, and she had been sent to save them all.
Nay, nay, nay! He did not want an angel in his bed. Just the opposite.
“I know how real the nightmares can be,” Joy was saying. “You’re reliving the horrors all over again. In my case, it’s my brother Matt’s death. I can see in my mind, and in my dreams, how he must have looked when they were torturing him before he died. The terrorists can be vicious.
“The nightmares are going to stop eventually, Liv, that I promise. I also promise that you don’t have to speak or leave this room, ever, if that’s what you want. But I have to tell you that you would heal better if you could talk about your ordeal.
“The men who did this to you are pigs, but they’re at fault, not you. It was not your fault. I repeat, it was not your fault. Be hurt over the physical assaults. Get angry if you want. But don’t ever feel you are to blame for something that was beyond your control.”
Liv glanced up at Joy with hope in her eyes, and Brandr realized that Liv must have been feeling just that. Without a doubt, the people at Bear’s Lair had stared at her, some even with recriminations, especially when her pregnancy had shown.
Liv’s mouth moved as if she wanted to say something, and then she smiled.
“You’re welcome, sweetie. How about I crawl into bed with you ’til you fall asleep again?”
What? She is supposed to crawl in bed with me.
Immediately, he chastised himself. Liv’s needs superseded his. For now.
He closed the door carefully. Luckily he’d oiled the hinges last month. His heart was beating so fast he could scarce breathe, and his eyes burned.
Tork looked at him. “The wench is helping Liv?”
“It would appear so.” He blinked away the tears.
“She is helping you, too, my friend.” Tork looped an arm over his shoulders and squeezed.
“Huh? I have no need of help.”
But he did. Deep down, he knew that he did. There was such a darkness in his soul. Could she bring some light? And what if she brought light, then went away, and the darkness enveloped him again? Would he be able to withstand the pain?
Such maudlin thoughts!
He decided to do what most Viking men did when troubled. “Let us go find a horn of ale, or five.”
Chapter 11
Where’s the FDA when you need it . . . ?
Joy had the world’s biggest headache and not an aspirin to be found.
She should be happy. Since last night, she’d already made progress with Liv. No speaking yet, but she
was
using hand signals and facial expressions. Speech couldn’t be far behind. The first step toward any breakthrough in therapy was personal initiative. A victim had to want to heal before the process could begin.
Niggling at Joy, though, was the most incredible, ludicrous, impossible suspicion. Could she possibly have traveled through time a thousand years?
The logical side of her brain said absolutely not.
But the other side kept niggling at her with oddities that just did not make sense unless they took place in another time.
Brandr contended it was the year nine hundred fifty-five. Ludicrous, of course, but he described in detail things that had happened to his family.
This keep, or fortress, was too authentic to be a reproduction. It was no Williamsburg, of course, but even the smallest reproduction would have a few modern facilities hidden somewhere, like toilets or a vending machine.
Language was an issue, too. Yes, she could understand this bastardized version of English, but there were odd words, like
braies
and
manpart
and
bedsport
and
skald
. And Brandr didn’t understand many specific words of hers, either.
And what was it with all this Viking nonsense? Vikings, per se, didn’t even exist today.
How about the food? Joy wasn’t even sure that boars roamed wild in the last few centuries. When was the last time she’d seen boar burger on the menu? Never.
Then there was Liv, who had clearly been gang-raped. She was not pretending.
There was another thing bothering her. She’d dodged a bullet sex-wise with he-who-oozed-sex-appeal. She was falling for a brutal, morose, stubborn, chauvinist Viking who considered her his slave. It was only a matter of time before they made love; she’d be a fool to deny that.
The possibility of Stockholm syndrome occurred to her, but only for a blip of a second. Despite everything, she had a hard time viewing Brandr as an enemy.
And, darn it, he wasn’t even her type, physically. Oh, she liked tall, dark, and handsome well enough, and those deliciously thick lashes over wicked blue eyes were hard to resist, but he wasn’t the lean, muscle-toned type she was usually attracted to. No, he was big all over, like a male tank. And he was hairy, unlike the bare-chested, cover model type of men she usually favored.
And look where that got me.
The only explanation she could come up with was that there was a sadness deep in his eyes that pulled at her. That, and his touching affection for his emotionally wounded sister.
Who am I kidding? Forget all the convoluted explanations. Sexual chemistry sizzles between us, pure and simple.
Right now Liv was taking a nap, so Joy plaited her hair into one long braid and donned her new garments . . . over the blasted thrall amulet. Quite nice, actually, in a Viking sort of way. A jade green undergown of linen, pleated in the back and on the sleeves, covered by a lighter green, full-length, open-sided, wool apron. The gown was belted but not the apron. The only thing was . . . no underwear. What did women do when it was that time of the month in a sans paper society? Probably the same thing they did for toilet paper.