“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.
Laren didn’t say anything. She was suddenly thinking that the man who had struck Erik with the rock wouldn’t simply blurt out his guilt when confronted. No, he would have thought about this, reasoned it out and devised a story that would be reasonable. Or a woman, she thought. A woman could have struck Erik down.
She looked after her new husband, striding tall and determined beside Oleg. She tasted the warmth and sweetness of him on her mouth, the delight of him throughout her body. She cooled suddenly, her mind sharp and clear. She felt deep fear of the unknown man or woman who had passed her on the trail, looking down at her, knowing she would be blamed. And then, quite suddenly, she realized she hadn’t been completely unconscious when that man had passed her. She saw him lean over her, staring down at her, then rising, smiling. No sound from him, just that smile of his. If only she could see him. Ah, but she knew now it was a man, for that silent smile sounded yet in her mind.
She had to find Merrik.
Whose laughter?
“... Prince Ninian was gone with no trace. The king was beside himself with grief. He took to his bed, refusing to eat or to drink. On the third day, he lay weak and uncaring about himself, about his kingdom, guilt overcoming all. He had lost Ninian and thus he had failed and didn’t deserve to live. He hadn’t kept the child safe and he knew Ninian was the future and now that future was blighted and it was all his fault.
“Suddenly, he saw a faint shadow form behind the candlelight. He stared at it, his mouth opening in awe and fear as the shadow grew and grew, becoming more and more solid, until finally, it was a man. It was a Viking warrior, huge sword in his hand, garbed in a rough bearskin, a pounded gold helmet on his head, his eyes a beautiful startling blue. The warrior stared at him, then said, contempt lacing his words, ‘You will cease your grieving. You are the king. You will act the king. If you do not, your daughters will force themselves into power upon your death, placing their sodden, weak-willed husbands on the throne. Indeed I know that it is Helga’s husband, Fromm, who will take your place. Helga’s magic is greater than Ferlain’s. Ferlain and her husband, Cardle, will both die from poisoning.
“ ‘Rise now and resume your duties. Eat and drink and regain your strength. Bathe and robe yourself. Become once again the man you are supposed to be.’
“ ‘But Ninian, my beautiful boy, what of him?’
