“I think,” she said, leaning her forehead against his shoulder, “that I’m still afraid. This is all very new to me, Merrik, despite all that I’ve seen in the past two years, and I have seen more than I should.”
“I know, sweeting, but it isn’t important now. What is important is us. I won’t hurt you. I could never hurt you.”
“I know,” she whispered. She felt the allure of him, the temptation of him, and what he would give to her. Still, she just looked up at him, waiting.
He smiled at her and sifted his fingers through her hair, pulling loose the tangles. “Trust me,” he said, “just trust me.” He leaned down and kissed her, slowly, easily, as if there were nothing more he wished to do. He lifted his face.
“The night is long before us,” he said.
18
THE FOLLOWING MORNING Laren stood beside Sarla, who was stirring the porridge. Very few men were upright, many more were sprawled on their backs, appearing quite dead save for the occasional moans and snores. The women, more stoic, went about their chores, more slowly than usual, but still they worked, looked at the men, and shook their heads. The children, not stupid, spoke quietly whilst in the longhouse.
“That was a wonderful feast,” Sarla said. “I wish to hear the rest of the story tonight.”
“Aye, you shall,” Laren said. “Where is Taby?”
“He is with Kenna and the other boys outside. They are practicing with their swords, Oleg their teacher.”
“Oleg isn’t holding his head and moaning?”
“Oh no, Oleg never suffers when he drinks too much mead. Nor do you, I see.”
“I don’t know. Last night was the first night in my life I have drunk so very much.”
“You felt all right when Merrik took you away last night?”
“Aye, I felt wonderful.”
“You look wonderful this morning. You look very happy, very pleased with yourself.”
Laren didn’t say anything. She was looking toward the entrance of the longhouse. Merrik stood there in the open doorway, the brilliant morning sun behind him, and he looked a golden god with wet hair from his bath. He saw her, stepped forward, and smiled.
She felt the impact of him, relentless and commanding, irresistible and growing stronger, she could feel it, stronger and deeper, pulling at her, luring her, claiming her, and she saw herself the previous night, her bare hand clasped between his two larger ones, her legs between his, the slide of his hair smooth and vibrant against her flesh, her breasts against the rich golden fur of his chest. The image was softly blurred in her mind, but the remembered feel of him was stark. She’d not lied to him. She’d been afraid, for there had been pain that first time with him, and she had tried to twist free of him and his invasion of her body.
He was walking toward her, his stride that of a man who knew himself to be the master, coming to her, a woman who was his and his alone, a woman he now knew, a woman he was studying thoughtfully, his brow furrowed even as he smiled.
She saw another smile of his in her mind, clear as the soft summer air, the curve of his mouth when he’d raised his head from her belly, and seen her gasping, her breasts heaving, as she’d tried to calm her breathing, and he’d known the immense pleasure he’d given her with his mouth, was pleased with her for yielding to him, trusting him with herself, and now he wanted more, he wanted to come inside her and she wanted him there as well, deep inside her, become part of her, melding with her until they were inseparable. His smile stopped then as he’d raised her legs and spread them and come between them, staring down at her woman’s flesh, touching her, and she’d felt the slickness of herself on his fingers, saw his eyes close briefly as he’d felt her, resting his fingers there for a long moment, just feeling her, and then he was easing into her and she’d felt herself shudder with the strength of the feelings that washed through her and she’d wanted more and more and he was there, over her, always giving even as he took, always there with her, never leaving her, even in that instant when his own pleasure had gripped him and he’d thrown back his head and yelled his release. She’d held him tightly to her, reveling in what she had brought him to, so grateful that he had found her, and that he was the man he was.
Laren hadn’t realized she was standing there, staring at her husband, not moving, just staring, her lips parted, her eyes wide on his face.
He stopped in front of her, and lifted her chin in his palm. “It is only the beginning,” he said, leaned down and kissed her mouth. “Only the beginning.”
“Will you always be thus with me?”
“Aye, as you will be with me as well.” He kissed her again, gently, lightly, his tongue tracing over her lips. “I should have taken you to the bathing hut with me. Next time I shall. I’ll hold you on my lap with you facing me and raise you so that you can take me inside you. I think you will enjoy that.”
Her breasts ached. She leaned into him, all that she felt writ clear in her eyes, and he wondered how he had deserved such good fortune. “You did well last night, wife. You pleased me mightily.” He lightly touched her breasts simply because he had to, he had no choice in the matter, then quickly stepped back.
“There is the matter of practice, Merrik,” she said, trying to smile, but desire held her now and all she wanted was to have him hold her and stroke and kiss her. To feel his mouth on hers, to feel his tongue lightly touching hers, made her lean forward again.
He sucked in his breath, grasped her upper arms in his hands and held her still. “I cannot please you now, but I want to, the gods know I want to very much.”
Oleg was there, some feet away from him, waiting. “When you are ready, Merrik, we will speak with each of our people. We should not wait too much longer, for memories blur and people forget.”
“Aye,” Merrik said, kissed her once more and left her.
“They are questioning everyone to see where they were when Erik was killed,” Sarla said.