Lord of Hawkfell Island (Viking Era 2)

Einar was fed, then bound again and left in charge of Gunleik and Ivar for the night. “Let him speak tonight if he wishes to,” Rorik said, staring down at Einar. “Mirana won’t be here to listen to him.” In addition, all his men slept in a wider circle around Gunleik and Ivar.

“Watch him well,” Rorik told them. “I have no respect for his honor but I have a great deal of respect for his skill.”

“Aye,” Hafter said, “but he isn’t a magician. He can’t fly away, Rorik.”

Gunleik gently eased his knife blade across the pad of his thumb. “I should like him to move,” he said. “I should like him to speak, perhaps give me orders, tell me how he will beat me bloodless if I don’t release him. Aye, let him speak.”

Einar remained motionless and silent.

Mirana felt shy and strangely nervous when she saw Rorik walking toward her like a conquering prince, two blankets over his left arm, and a look of hunger in his blue eyes.

“Come,” he said only and reached out his hand to her. “We will seek some privacy.”

She took his hand silently, following him, careful to watch where she stepped, for there were half-buried rocks in the deep shifting sand.

When Rorik was satisfied that their distance from the camp was sufficient, he spread out the blankets and eased down. He looked up at her and said without preamble, “I have never given you pleasure, yet you have suffered my demands on you. I would remedy that now, tonight. I want to come inside you, sweeting, and I want to place my hand over your mouth when you yell with the pleasure I will give you.”

The last time he had forced her in the bathing hut. She remembered her terror, remembered the pain, certain he would kill her. She shook her head. That was in a past that didn’t deserve memory. “What of your parents, Rorik? Will they accept me now?”

He shrugged and drew

her down beside him. He made no move to touch her or bring her against him. He looked out over the gently roiling waves of the sea. It was calm under the brilliant half-moon. In the distance, she could hear the low voices of the men, muffled and deep. She could pick out Hafter and Gunleik and Raki.

“I bade them leave. I told my father and my brother that I didn’t wish them to come here with me. They were thinking of Sira, you see, and I was thinking only of you. I told them I would rescue Sira for them and return her to Norway. I also told them that you were my wife, that you were the mistress of Hawkfell Island, and that I loved you. They left without saying what they felt, but they still wore their pain and their bitterness, I could see it in their eyes.” He turned then and gently cupped her chin in his palm. “Heed me, Mirana, I love my parents and I listened to them. It was a grave mistake I made, for it led to but more pain, for both of us.

“But in the years to come, they will see what you mean to me and to our people. They will love our children and they will realize that they have been wrong to create a shrine of hatred. If they don’t wish to join in our lives, then so be it. It is our life, not theirs. Come now, sweeting. I want to be inside you. I want to caress you. I want to know you.”

“Will it hurt?”

He grinned at her. “Nay, not this time, for I will be as gentle as the waves creeping slowly onto the beach. Do you trust me?”

“With my life. I thank you, Rorik, for saving me. My situation wasn’t hopeful.”

“I believe that Hormuze—no matter how great he believes himself to be—would have found himself quickly at an impasse. You would have defeated him, Mirana. I just did it more quickly because I had Eze with me.”

“But you found her and brought her to us. It was your plan and I thank you for thinking of it.”

“It was my duty as your husband. It was also my pleasure as your lover.”

He leaned over and lightly kissed her mouth. He didn’t touch her, just continued to kiss her until slowly she parted her lips to him. She was tentative, uncertain. He’d momentarily forgotten her innocence, her inexperience. He wouldn’t forget again. Her lips were soft and tasted of salt from the sea and of her, Mirana, his wife. He deepened the pressure and felt her lean toward him.

“Open your mouth wider, Mirana.”

She did, with no hesitation. When his tongue touched her, feathery light, she eased and waited, no longer feeling as calm as she had just a few moments before, but knowing herself content to wait, to learn about him slowly, to let the warmth in her belly build and build. She would be what he wanted her to be and in opening to him, yielding completely to him, she knew she would be repaid tenfold. He was that kind of man.

Rorik smiled against her mouth. She felt it and opened her eyes. He drew back and said, “Feel my hand.”

He lifted her breast in his hand. Then the other. He weighed them, caressed her nipples until he felt her heartbeat quicken and quicken even more. With no more words he brought her up onto her knees facing him, and unfastened the rich silver brooches at her shoulders, removed her tunic, then lifted her gown over her head. She wore only a shift, soft and virgin white, and it too was quickly gone.

“Are you cold?”

She wasn’t cold but she was naked and he wasn’t. Still she sat before him quietly, knowing he was looking at her, but she didn’t move, just sat there, her palms open on her thighs, the moonlight spilling over her, making her white skin glisten. “No, but I would see you as naked as I am.”

He laughed, then rose swiftly and pulled off his clothes. Never, she thought, looking at him, had she seen a more beautiful man. His size didn’t frighten her or the thickness of his sex that was swelled with his need for her. It pleased her, this need of his, just as his strength gratified the deepest part of her.

“You will tell me what to do,” she said, and held out her arms to him.

“Nay,” he said, as he kissed her throat and her shoulders, “I will show you.”