No, he saved her because she was Taby’s sister, nothing more, nothing less. Suddenly, he saw her as he’d seen her so long ago now, aye, ages ago, it seemed, yet not really, but he saw her very clearly in his mind’s eye—the ragged boy, defeated yet as proud and defiant as he was himself, standing there, helpless, in the slave pit of Khagan-Rus. No, he’d looked at her and looked again and he knew now that what he had felt was different, for she had touched him with the essence of herself. He would never be free of her just as he would never be free of Taby.
He supposed that right now, at just this moment, he didn’t want to be free of her, didn’t want to rail against it and try to protect himself, for his lust for her was grinding him down. When her tongue lightly touched his, he gave it up.
There was no rape here. If he hurt her because of her thinness, so be it. He would try not to, but . . .
He pulled her down and came over her. The feel of her beneath him made him want to shout and groan and come into her, all in the same instant. His hand was wild on the skirt of her gown, and he was jerking it up, his movements frantic. His fingers scraped against her bare leg and she jerked and cried out.
At first he didn’t realize what had happened. Then he knew. He’d hit her burned leg and hurt her. He drew a deep breath, feeling his whole body shudder with the force of the control he was trying to find within himself.
Her breasts were heaving against him, but now it wasn’t desire or even a girl’s excitement in the unknown, it was the pain he’d just brought her. He gathered her up against him and whispered against her ear, “I’m sorry. Damnation, I hurt you. I have the cream. Hold still and soon the pain will lessen.”
Laren lay there, breathing hard from the curious mixture of intense pain and feelings that she herself couldn’t begin to describe. She just knew that she’d never felt such things before, in such places, and it was wonderful and she wanted them again. She didn’t want them ever to stop. She didn’t want him to stop, but he had because he’d hurt her. She looked at him now and he was flushed, his hands none too steady.
She felt his fingers, chill with the cream, lightly touch her leg and she gasped, the pain making all the other feelings recede. She tried not to cry out, but she couldn’t help it.
He said nothing, just looked up at her and saw that she was crying and her eyes were closed, the tears just seeping from beneath her lashes and trailing down her cheeks.
He saw the print of his fingers on her still-red flesh. He gently rubbed in the cream. Actually, her leg looked much better. If there would be scarring, it would be slight. He began a gentle rhythmic motion and stuck to it. His desire was nearly gone, and for that he was grateful. He would find a woman this night and drain his desire so this wouldn’t happen again. Then he realized he could not leave her, could not leave this sleeping chamber. He was in here with his concubine and none must doubt it, least of all his brother.
“How is your back?”
She got control of herself. No more damnable tears, no more weak moans and groans. The cream was leaching out the pain. She could manage it now. “My back is fine, Merrik. My leg is better too.”
He should look at her back, but the thought of her naked made his belly seize with cramps. But he’d seen her naked before and it hadn’t particularly moved him. But that had been before he’d kissed her and held her hard against him and touched his tongue to her lips, to her tongue, breathed in the scent of her, felt the wondrous feelings that had passed between them, locking them together in that brief instant of time. It was beyond what he could understand or accept. He hadn’t come inside her; he hadn’t spilled his seed in her and come to his release. No, it was just the simple kissing, the holding of her close to him, and those simple acts had brought him to the edge. He had never lost himself before, certainly not with the simple matter of sex, certainly not in the simple things that came before sex. It wouldn’t happen to him now. It would never happen to him. He wouldn’t allow it. He would look at her back, rub in more of the cream if necessary, and it would be as it had been before.
But he wouldn’t kiss her again. He wasn’t that great of a fool.
He said, his voice so stiff and cold it surprised him more than it did her, “I will help you off with your clothes. I will look at your back. You know nothing, for you can’t see yourself. Now, stop arguing with me.”
Actually, she hadn’t said a word. He helped her sit on the side of the box bed. He untied the knots of the tunic at her shoulders and pulled it over her head. He unlaced the front of her gown and eased it down to her waist. She wore only a plain linen shift beneath, the one he’d bought for her at the market in Kaupang. He didn’t want to notice but he did. It was tight on her, her breasts crushed against the material. He knew
he had to get her onto her stomach quickly.
Once she was facedown, he pulled her gown and her shift down to her waist. He brought the oil lamp closer. The marks from Thrasco’s whip were still clear, long narrow marks that crisscrossed her back. The ugly redness had given over to pale pink now, there was no puffiness, no red angry or dark lines radiating out from the marks, or any other sign of illness. Still, the cream couldn’t hurt. He scooped up two fingers full of cream and began to massage her back. She was stiff as a board, but he said nothing, just continued to rub her, his touch lightly stroking. Soon, he felt her ease. Soon after that she moaned with the pleasure of it and he had to smile.
He should rub in the cream every night. Her body was tense too and he rubbed her shoulders. She moaned again.
He pushed the gown lower on her hips. He didn’t know why he’d done it, for he knew that Thrasco’s whip hadn’t struck that low on her body.
He just wanted to see her, see how much flesh she’d added during the weeks she’d been with him. He could still see her ribs, but there was a woman’s softness there now as well and her white hips were full enough, and he thought he’d spill his seed.
From laughter to such lust he thought he’d yell with it. Quickly he pulled her gown back to her waist and rose. He put the cream on the floor beside the bed.
He would sleep in the same bed with her, next to her, he had to, else he had no doubt that his brother would be there in an instant. He would not allow Erik to rape Taby’s sister. It was that simple. Nor would he allow himself to seduce Taby’s sister.
He said very quietly, “I am going to pull your gown off you and your shift. I will lay one of my clean tunics over your back. All right, Laren?”
She said nothing, merely nodded. Her hair had fallen over her cheek so at least she knew he couldn’t see her face, nor she his. She’d felt exposed and she’d felt excited. She didn’t understand why she hadn’t yelled or hurled curses at him when he’d pulled her gown to her hips, but she hadn’t said a word, hadn’t made a single sound. And now she felt like a fool, a blind, quite stupid fool. Her back and leg were beyond ugly, and she’d forgotten that. She was still too thin. Aye, about as appetizing as a goose carcass. He’d wanted her only as long as he’d forgotten what she really looked like.
She felt tears sting her eyes again, but these weren’t tears that had built and built inside her for two years. These were tears that showed how miserable she felt right at this moment, with this man who didn’t want her, in this hopeless situation.
She let him strip off her clothes. She felt the soft tunic spread across her back. Then, very quickly, she felt him smooth a wool blanket over her.
When he eased down beside her, he said, “I won’t do that to you again.”
And she knew what he meant. She said, her voice devoid of all feeling, “It is because I am so very thin and ugly.”
“No,” he said. “It is because of Taby.”