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She got her answer as he flipped her over in an instant, reminding her once again that he was trained in this, in a way that she simply wasn't. He was the one who would always come out on top, if he wanted it, and now that she was practically offering an invitation he wasted no time in taking it.
The grass was scratchy on Deirdre's bare back, but she didn't need to worry about it for long, as he pulled the dress away roughly, giving her barely enough time to free her arms from the sleeves. She should have been embarrassed to be out like this, breasts bared, in the middle of an open field.
A blush spread across her face as she realized exactly how open it was. This was nothing like the night that they had spent together—at night, and with only a few people around to hear, no one to see. If someone looked over at the wrong moment, they would have quite a sight to behold.
She tried to ignore it, but the more that she thought about it the more that her face reddened. It was hard to admit, but the warmth spread below, as well, at the thought of someone seeing her. Seeing her taken by Gunnar. She shivered in anticipation.
He pinched a sensitive nipple between his fingers, shooting a shock of pleasure straight through her. Deirdre recovered her senses and reached down between them, feeling for that hardness in his trousers. He moved to press himself into her hand at the same moment that she felt his own fingers dancing up the inside of her thigh.
His every movement lifted her skirt just a little higher, knowing that soon her every secret place would be on display for anyone who happened by. They were taking a big risk, doing this here, and yet—Deir
dre found she didn't care at all.
No, it was more than that, she wanted it. The rush of taking the risk, of being only a few hundred paces from the working men who could never have her, was making her giddy, driving her arousal to greater and greater heights.
Gunnar pulled himself back at the last moment, even as his fingers were teasing the upper parts of her thigh, tantalizingly close to the place she so desperately wanted him to touch. She felt a wave of disappointment as his hands withdrew, as he pulled his hardness from her exploring hands.
Then he was lowering himself between her legs, his fingers resuming their exploration with more insistence, until he came to the place between her legs at last, and Deirdre felt relief flood through her as he finally scratched the itch that had been building inside her, letting his thumb run over her clitoris lightly and shooting pleasure through her body.
Yet at the same time her body tightened with the feelings that she couldn't begin to explain. She needed something more, something she couldn't explain, but when she felt his beard pressing into her, felt his tongue exploring her folds, she knew that he was more aware of her needs even than she was.
Deirdre let her head fall back, her hand pinching her nipples in an attempt to wring as much pleasure out of the moment. She was so close to the place that she needed to be, but she needed something just a little bit more, and it felt as if any moment she might find it.
Then his fingers probed her insides as his tongue continued to trace delicious lines through her folds, and she found what she was looking for, the relief racking her body and sending her spiraling out of control, out of awareness. In her mind she could see both of them, as if she'd used her herbs for focusing.
She imagined what it must be like for one of those men to look over. The noises that she had been making must have drawn some attention, but when she turned her head to see, the men she could see were acting as if they hadn't noticed. Were they aroused? Would they go home and fuck their wives with this memory in their minds?
She could feel his hips between her thighs, could feel him lining himself up with her entrance, and she quivered with anticipation at what was to come. Any moment now—and then he pressed against her, entering her with one smooth thrust that sent him hilt-deep into her.
He thrust into her, each thrust dimming her vision for a split-second, the force of his thrusts pushing her a half-inch each time. This was what she'd needed, she thought. This was what she'd wanted, what she needed, and he was giving it to her completely.
She had given herself to him just as much, and for the second time in her life, everything felt perfect as she felt him bucking against him, the instant before he spilled his seed inside.
Gunnar spent himself inside her and held himself there for a moment, enjoying how close he felt to her. Watching her face for any signs of distress, but Deirdre looked as contented as he'd ever seen her. He smiled for a moment and then moved off to the side, laying in the grass next to her and wrapping his arm around her.
He had tired himself out more than he should have, given that he still had a ways to go yet. This was, after all, not just a mission to go find her and come straight back, but with her there it felt as if he'd gotten everything he wanted.
He no longer needed to worry that she was off somewhere, being arrested or worse. She was, after all, right beside him. No longer needed to try to justify going out to look for her. And more than that, she might be able to attend to some of their wounded. He looked over at her, admiring the slope of her jaw, the roundness of her cheeks.
Perfect, he thought. She looked absolutely perfect, and nothing that happened could possibly take that away from her, no matter how badly the next few hours, the next few days, would go. They would at least be together, and she would keep being just as perfect as she was. He stood up, offering a hand to help Deirdre to her feet.
She seemed to suddenly recall that she was mostly-nude, as her dress fell down her hips to the ground, and her face went bright red to match her hair. Gunnar smiled, turning to watch the horizon. Nobody could challenge him now, or they would find themselves greeted by a very protective Dane.
He handed the knife back to her a third time. It was hers, after all, and he had no place to keep it besides. Deirdre looked surprised to see it, but thanked him just the same and pulled the sheath out of a little bag that she pulled from the ground and drove it home. Gunnar appreciated the irony, after what they'd just done, but perhaps it wasn't the time for those sort of jokes.
"Come with me," he said, and started to walk. When she didn't follow, he explained himself. "I'm supposed to be looking for English soldiers, but I found an English witch instead, you see. I was lucky."
She rolled her eyes and worked the buttons on her dress until she was satisfied with it, and then started after him. He took the backpack from her arms and threw it around his own shoulders. "After all," he justified, "I haven't got anything else to carry, have I?"
Deirdre kept quiet for most of the way, so he took the time to explain the plan to her.
They would make a beeline for the coast; she would join them, not as a prisoner, but as his lover, and anyone who had a problem with it would answer to him. No one would, he suspected, but he left the last part off.
Then, when they arrived, they'd go home. He didn't bother to explain where home was; after all, it was obvious, wasn't it? She seemed to agree and understand. If she could provide some help to their wounded, of which there were a few, that would be excellent.
"I'll need to gather medicinal herbs; I didn't bring any with me, but we can probably find something on the way," she reasoned. Already, she seemed to be lost in thought, though he couldn't venture a guess as to what had her so distracted. She was thinking about something and that was all he could say. All he would say.
Every hundred-odd paces she would see something and move over to pick it, flowers he didn't recognize, and some that he did, though he didn't know the names of them. She didn't offer him a botany lesson and he didn't ask for it, contented to watch her very shapely bottom as she leaned over to pluck what she needed—sometimes, just the flower, and other times using her body-weight to pull up the entire plant from the root.
