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King Charles’s court in Paris.”
Merrik smiled down at his wife. “How do you feel, sweeting?”
She listened inward for a moment, then laced her fingers through his. “Your babe is sleeping, thank the gods.”
“I spoke to Helga. She said that this illness will not last many more weeks. She said the sicker you are now, the more the signs say that you will birth a boy. But I care not, Laren. I just want you smiling again, or yelling. Then I can argue with you without worry or guilt, and you can shout at me and insult me.”
“Aye, that I would like, for you are growing very settled in your ways. You are too confident in your own opinions since I am too busy retching to gainsay you.” She touched her fingers to his sleeve. “There are other things I miss as well, my lord.”
His eyes darkened and she knew that look, that need in him that brought him so very close to her. For those moments, he was hers and only hers. She could pretend that he loved her, for he was generous in the giving of pleasure, and the words he spoke to her in his passion moved her and brought her to her own pleasure. Aye, the deepness of his voice moved her unbearably and the movement of him over her and within her as he spoke to her. She wanted him desperately.
Not long thereafter, in their sleeping chamber, Merrik walked her toward the box bed with its magnificent miniver spread. He eased her onto her back and unfastened the brooches at her shoulders. He quickly undressed her, saying nothing, just watching his fingers as they removed her clothing, watching his fingers as they touched her bare flesh. When he caressed her breast, balanced over her on his elbow above her, she arched up into his palm.
“Your nipples are larger and darker,” he said, and very gently took her into his mouth. His tongue, hot and skilled, scraped over her flesh, making her gasp at the pleasure such a simple action could bring her. She finally cupped her hands around his face, pulling at him. He lifted his head and looked down at her, his mouth wet, his eyes deep and bluer than she’d ever seen them. He was beautiful, this man who was hers, at least here, when he wanted her.
She said clearly, “Give me your mouth, Merrik.”
He did. He kissed her and caressed her until she thought she’d surely die from the delight of it, but she didn’t, of course. Her body was alive with wanting and she knew more would come, even that ultimate pleasure that would catch and hold her, blurring what was real and what wasn’t, just leaving the two of them, clasped together.
She urged him with her hands, parting her thighs, tugging at him, saying his name again and again, and he just smiled at her, but didn’t yet come to her. He lay on his back instead and lifted her over him. He came up into her slowly, so very slowly, not allowing her to take him deeply inside her, holding her above him as he moved upward into her. And when he was touching her womb, his fingers found her and she stared down at him, frozen in that instant, feeling the slickness of her flesh, the rough softness of his fingers, and then, without her knowing that it was near, her body exploded into pleasure.
As she heaved over him, her pleasure swamping her, wanting more and yet even more, arching, then folding inward, her hair spilling onto his face, he thought of his child within her and his breath caught in his throat and his body shook, tensed, and he believed in those moments that there could be nothing more to match this, but then there was, and he couldn’t believe the intensity of the sensations that were binding him to her. He yelled, his hips jerking upward, his body trembling and shaking, and she took him even more deeply and caressed his face with her fingers as his release took him.
It was over, yet he knew it wasn’t, it would never end, this sorcery between them. And he was content.
It was then, in the fading afternoon light, that his vision cleared and he looked up to see Helga standing at the edge of the shadows, gazing at him, her lips slightly parted, her eyes avid on his face.
He went still as a stone in shock. Very slowly, Merrik shook his head at her. She turned then, looking at them one last time, and disappeared from his sight. He felt his heart pounding, not from the wildness of his release, but with the utter fury he felt. Helga had watched them, had watched him bring Laren atop him, watched him slowly thrust upward into her, watched Laren yell in her pleasure as his fingers caressed her, watched his face turn bloodred as he reached his own release.
He wanted to kill the bitch.
“Merrik?”
“Aye?”
“You are all stiff. What is wrong?”
He forced himself to ease, forced the muscles in his arms to loosen, forced his legs to sprawl. She raised herself atop him again, placed her hands on her hips, and smiled down at him, a superior smile, one filled with satisfaction. “Now I know how it is that you feel when you are above me, the one who decides when one is to do what and for how long.”
“Do you really believe that, sweeting?” As he spoke, his hands stroked up her legs, upward until he was touching her and himself still inside her. He felt the dampness of her and of his seed and closed his eyes a moment against the deep, deep joy it brought to him. Then he touched her again and she lurched over him and sucked in her breath.
He laughed. “So, you still believe that you are the one who controls?”
She said nothing. Then she leaned forward, splaying her hands wide on his chest. She kissed his mouth, then his chin, his throat, downward to his chest. She raised herself, felt him swelling within her again, and grinned as she came down on him very slowly. She raised herself again, then came down on him even more slowly.
Merrik’s eyes nearly crossed. He moaned. His hands tightened about her hips as it began again, only this time, after letting her do as she wished, he lifted her off him and came over her, to cover her and stroke her and kiss her until he was deep inside her once again, and he brought her again to pleasure. He held her, feeling the sweat on her soft flesh, the giving of her, and he managed to forget for a while longer that Helga had been there, watching.
Merrik sat with Otta and Rollo in the private chamber set apart from the great hall. He and Laren had dined with Rollo, then Rollo had sent Laren to await him in his chamber. Now Otta was to tell Merrik about the court of King Charles.
Merrik listened carefully to Otta as he said, anger lacing his voice now, “There are factions in the court, and I wonder still how the king controls them.”
“Wonder not, Otta,” Rollo said and laughed deeply. “The king acts stupid, it’s that simple. He looks blankly from one set of opinions to the other, and smiles and nods, as vacant as a longhouse at the night of the summer solstice. I thought you understood that.”
“I understand that he is stupid, but it is not a ruse, sire. Sometimes he is lucky, that is all, just lucky.”
Rollo stared at Otta, surprised that he dared to gainsay him, but then he only shook his head, looked bored, and rose. “I will leave you two together now. I wish to have Laren continue the story of the mighty Danish king, Gorm, and how he lost his life only to gain immortality as a god.”
Otta watched Rollo leave the chamber. He looked troubled. Merrik said nothing, but he wondered. Did Rollo really have no interest in this? Were his old man’s wits gone begging? Was it true what the man had said? Had Rollo hired him and his friend to kill Merrik?
