Page 11
She reveled in the pain and pleasure his rough touch caused, suddenly springing to life like a fountain. “Do it again,” she whispered against his lips.
He pulled back, his dark gaze sweeping up her body. “Show them to me.”
She didn’t hesitate, but made quick work of loosening her top the rest of the way, it gapped open. He leaned forward, squeezing her breasts together, raising both to his hungry mouth. He flicked his tongue across her skin, circling her areolas, nipping her sensitive flesh.
Mercia tangled her fingers in his thick hair, tugging him closer. She wanted him inside her.
As if he read her mind, he lifted her skirt above her waist. “Now is the time to stop me, Mercia.”
She shook her head, prisoner to his skilled tongue and hands. What fate awaited her once they coupled? She didn’t care. She’d waited all her life to find the man that would satisfy her cravings; feelings any chaste Saxon shouldn’t have. But she lived in the untamed wilderness of Norway now, men and women openly had sex on the floor like animals in a barn. Why should she live under the constraints of the past or respect laws from a holy book everyone despised? God had abandoned her in England, but Odin—he appealed to her. And never more than now, she needed to feel desired.
She’d wipe away Marteinn’s pain, if he’d alleviate hers, even for a few stolen moments of mutual pleasure.
“Odin hjelpe meg,” he murmured. “How many men have tasted your sweetness?”
“Only you.”
He froze—his body as rigid as the tree trunk she was pressed against.
“You’re a virgin?”
She nodded.
“I don’t know what game you play.” He backed away. “But I will not fall victim to your charms again.”
“I offer myself freely.”
He growled again, saying nothing as he smoothed his tunic and hair. The deep frown lines etched on his forehead told her everything she needed to know. Captain Marteinn disliked maidens.
She watched helplessly as he trudged away, leaving her half-naked and cold, and more confused then she’d ever been.
Chapter Six
What kind of man leaves a woman standing half naked in the woods? Mercia couldn’t put it out of her mind as she labored in the kitchen. After a restless, almost torturous night spent tossing and turning in bed, she’d gone downstairs well before sunrise and volunteered to help prepare the morning meal. She scooped eggs and smoked pork onto trenchers, then placed them on a large tray.
“Do you want me to serve the men?” a thrall asked.
“No. Prepare another dozen plates and I will return to get them.”
She stalked into the great hall, setting the plates in front of hungry soldiers, then returned to the kitchen. She repeated her effort five times before reaching the high table. Tyr and Rachelle were not awake yet, but several captains waited. By the time she reached the end of the table, she found Marteinn staring blankly at her.
“Good morning,” he said.
She wanted to smack the smug look off his handsome face. “Is that all you have to say?”
“Tis a common enough greeting in the day.”
“If you’re on kind terms with the person you address.”
“Shall I wish you a cursed existence instead?”
Mercia slammed her tray down, then snatched the trencher off it. “Perhaps you were weaned in a stable next to a pack of jackasses, but in the Trondelag, we extend a certain amount of courtesy to the women that serve the meals.”
“All right,” he said, leaning forward on his elbows. “Do you know how beautiful you are when you’re angry?”
She bristled, his praise only served as a bitter reminder of his cold rejection. “I’d rather you called me an ugly whore.” She dumped the food on his lap, followed by the plate. “Now you know how I feel.” She stormed away, the rising laughter from the soldiers quickening her retreat.
“One night and you’re already wearing the food.” The man seated next to Marteinn slapped his back. “A viper is less poisonous than Mercia.”
