Abjorn hesitated long enough to grin beatifically over toward Sigarr, his black eye horrifically on display, before ducking around to aim a kick at Rathgarr’s back. While Sigarr visibly cringed, his hands rubbing at his mouth, his eyes darting guiltily toward Geva, and away again.
“Rath is already much improved, ach, sister?” he said, in an obvious attempt at a diversion. “It shall be no time, I ken, before he is once again one of the deadliest fighters in the mountain.”
Now it was Geva’s turn to wince, her thoughts once again back on the nineteen — eighteen — days, and on all Rathgarr’s secrets. Secrets that surely still had plenty to do with the Skai, and with Ulfarr… and maybe even with fighting like this. Withdeath.
“Do you — do you really think Rathgarr is that…deadly?” she said, too quickly. “Surely there are plenty of excellent warriors here? Say, Grimarr, or Ulfarr?”
Sigarr vaguely nodded, his eyes once again fixed on Abjorn. “And Simon and Drafli also,” he said absently. “And there are many Bautul I should not wish to meet in armed combat. But Rath was always among the best, ach? Once, in a pitched battle, I watched him kill three fully armed human men with only his fists.”
Hewhat? Geva’s horror was rapidly rising, her hands clapping over her face, but thankfully Sigarr seemed too focused on the match to notice, hissing through his teeth as Rathgarr’s fist grazed Abjorn’s cheek. And without another word, Sigarr leapt up and strode over toward them, roughly knocking Rathgarr aside, and then giving a purposeful jerk of his head toward Geva.
And gods, she was probably still looking perfectly aghast, her heart still trampling through her chest, while horrifying visions of a bloody murdering Rathgarr swarmed behind her eyes. And yes, damn it, Rathgarr’s head was tilting as he studied her, and after a clipped word to Abjorn, he swiftly strode over toward her.
“Are you well, poppet?” he demanded. “Is aught amiss? Are you in need of a rest?”
Geva firmly waved it away, and attempted a reassuring smile toward his worried face. “Er, just a bit hungry, I think,” she managed. “How would you feel about a late lunch?”
Luckily, Rathgarr didn’t attempt to argue this, though he kept angling Geva uneasy glances as they walked down the corridor toward the kitchen. While she desperately attempted to shove it all away, the secrets and the vengeance and the eighteen days, and ended up blurting out the first thing she could think of.
“So, Kesst thinks Abjorn is acting out for Sigarr’s attention,” she asked. “It seems to me like it’s working rather well, don’t you think?”
The concern on Rathgarr’s face had somewhat faded, giving way to a warm, glinting amusement. “Ach, mayhap,” he said. “Matchmaking, are you, poppet? This is a very Ash-Kai pastime, you ken.”
Geva’s swell of surging relief made it almost easy to raise her chin, and fix him with her most affronted look. “Well, you can’t really blame me, can you?” she said primly. “It’s not as though I get to enjoy a happy relationship of my own, stuck as I am with a vengeful, murderous, greedy —”
Rathgarr cut her off with a harsh, sudden growl, though that glint was still there, sharpening in his eyes. “Ach, what is this?” he demanded. “I have granted you my tonguethree timesthis week, my spoilt little schoolmarm. And I have cared for you, and given you gifts, and fed you countless loads of good Ash-Kai seed! And even helped you tend all those orclings in that loud little room! Twice!”
And curse her, but Geva was actually frowning back at him, right here in the middle of the corridor, her hands on her hips. “Thatloud little roomwas once the Ash-Kai throne room, thank you very much,” she said archly. “And also, any scheming Ash-Kai pastimes I might undertake are all in fact allyourfault, because you’ve irrevocably tainted me with all that devious Ash-Kai seed!”
Rathgarr’s brief, delighted grin was almost staggeringly stunning, though it was instantly replaced with a mighty, ferocious scowl. “You dare to bemoan my good seed?” he hissed at her. “Do you not know what happens to greedy, ungrateful schoolmarms like you?”
Geva tossed her braids and scoffed at him, her chin still lifted. “Ohnoooo,” she scoffed, “the big scary Ash-Kai is angry at me, whatever will he —”
She broke off with a yelp, because Rathgarr had bodily plucked her up into his arms, and stalked toward the nearby kitchen. Fully ignoring the sight of Gegnir, Olga, and Alma working inside, in favour of striding toward the nearest blank wall, snatching Geva up, and shoving her firmly against it.
“Now, my unruly poppet,” he drawled at her, as he hoisted her legs around his waist, and yanked up her shift. “Here is what your angry Ash-Kai shall do with you, ach?”
One of his hands had snapped to his trousers, thrusting them down in a sharp jerk — and suddenly his hard, pulsing strength was there, shoving up between her legs, ramming its way deep inside. Making Geva yelp and moan upon it, her wide eyes glancing toward their watching audience, while Rathgarr tilted back his head and laughed, rich and bright and approving.
“Ach, this is better,” he purred, as he eased into a hard, steady rhythm, plunging in again and again as Geva desperately clung to him, and fought to bite back her screams. “Where are all your clever words now, my sweet?”
Gods damn him, because there was truly no way to speak, not with that raw, reckless pleasure sinking deep again and again, swallowing all else in its strength. And with Rathgarr grinning at her like that, so warm and wicked, wanting this, enjoying this, revelling in this, oh —
“This pleases you, ach, my sweet?” he crooned at her. “You long to be caught in my clutches, with my Ash-Kai prick buried deep inside you. You shall wield all your wiles to woo me, and soften me, and” — his breath hitched, his eyes shifting distant, strange — “tempt me to grant you my sons, ach?”
Geva froze all over, her eyes snapped wide — and then, without warning, her release charged through her. The waves of pleasure slamming into her again and again and again, making her wildly cry and tremble against him, while Rathgarr’s eyes widened too, his mouth parting, a low, guttural groan escaping his throat —
And then he pinned her even more powerfully to the wall, his face ducking deep into her neck, as that hot liquid surged out deep inside. While Geva just kept clinging to him, gasping into his shoulder as the ecstasy kept reeling and roiling between them. And gods curse him, damn him, why the hell had he brought up the sons, and…
Once he pulled back, she wasn’t even slightly surprised to see him purposefully glancing away, his shaky hand fishing in his pocket for a rag. And she silently took it, surreptitiously tucking it into place as Rathgarr drew away, and settled her down onto her unsteady feet. His eyes still intently held away from hers, toward — oh. Their watching audience. Which consisted of a rather stunned-looking Gegnir, a gleefully grinning Olga, and a kindly smiling Alma.
“You like that, Gegnir?” Olga said archly, slapping his shoulder with her wooden spoon. An action that made him visibly startle, before angling her a hungry, watchful look. While beside them, Alma was still smiling, and giving a purposeful little wave of her hand toward Geva.
“Perhaps you’d like to come back to the scullery to wash up properly, sister?” Alma asked, in her soft, lilting voice. “I always keep extra rags on hand.”
Geva willingly followed Alma toward the rear of the kitchen, not quite looking at Rathgarr as she went, or Gegnir and Olga, either. But as Alma ran fresh water over a clean rag, and then handed it over, there was no judgement whatsoever in her eyes, only a warm, teasing commiseration. “I’m so happy for the two of you,” she said, as she headed for the door again. “It’s obvious Rathgarr cares for you very much.”
Geva attempted some semblance of a smile at that, and then began furtively scrubbing, until she was fully clean again. While all those words kept jumbling, mashing together in her thoughts.You shall wield all your wiles. Tempt me to grant you my sons. It’s obvious Rathgarr cares for you…
