Ethne moved like she was confronting her death. But death was the least of her problems. The pain in Lachlann’s eyes when she had not fought against Olaf’s advances had cut her to the depth of her soul. It had cost her every bit of strength to not lash out, shove him away, take his own knife and jab it into his black heart. Olaf was ruthless; he’d shown her that. Lachlann and his friends were outnumbered, and she needed to protect them.
A large hand around her waist lifted her into the air, making her cry out as Olaf swung her around.
“Easy now.” Olaf settled her back against his broad chest to nuzzle the crook of her neck. His voice was low.
She cringed.
“The sway of yer fine arse has me thinking the silver can wait.” When he caressed down the front of her, leaving no part of her untouched, she stiffened, but he growled in her ear. “Ye know what will happen if I find ye’ve given yerself to another? Tell me I’ve nothing to worry about.”
He slipped his hand between her legs, pressing against the material that chafed her tender skin despite her attempt to keep her thighs together.
His touch was painful, and she gritted her teeth to keep from crying out. After a slow exhale, she answered, “Ye’ve nothing to worry about.”
Jerking her around to face him, he ran a fingertip along her lashes. “Ethne, why are there tears? Did ye want the pilgrim so badly?”
Her mouth dropped open with her gasp. “No.”
Olaf narrowed his eyes to mere slits. His brows slashed down, his face an angry grimace. Her breath stilled in her chest. She’d given herself away somehow. He stunk of sweat and shite. She struggled not to cough and shove the man away. Without warning, he hefted her over his shoulder like the carcass of some animal he’d captured. “I should not have made ye wait. I’ll not do so again.”
Ciaran moved ahead of them, getting to Malcolm and Domelch’s secluded pallet in time to lift the material that would give them privacy,tskingat her as if somehow, she deserved to be thrown up onto Olaf’s shoulder. He dropped her onto the pallet with little care. A sharp jab into her hip made her cry out in pain.
“A soft landing and ye cry out? I thought ye were made of stronger stuff.” He turned to Ciaran. “I dinna want anyone disturbing us. No matter what ye hear.”
“But what of—” Ciaran asked.
“I need this first.” Olaf glanced toward her. “If she is no longer a virgin, we’ll know whose prick to cut off.”
Ominous words that made it difficult for Ethne to control her heaving breath. When the curtain dropped, they were enclosed in near total darkness. Her heart throbbed in her ear. Olaf didn’t hesitate to cover her with his hard body, his hands again making free with her. He moaned in appreciation right before propping up on his elbows to peer into her face. “Tell me about those men.”
Ethne eased out a breath, struggling to seem unconcerned, and swallowed her fear. “They were warriors and now, they are pilgrims. ’Tis all I know. They wanted to pay homage to the Holy Man.”
“Then why are they still here? Have they been with ye since the fair?”
Unable to decide what answer he wanted, she apparently took too long, and he growled before dropping his mouth to hers for a rough kiss. That was much worse. She’d prefer he stick to conversation.
The moment his lips left her mouth, she answered. “I think Malcolm likes them. He invited them to stay with us.”
“Yer brother is fickle. He liked us as well.” Olaf spoke between kisses that followed the line of her jaw, down her neck, ending at her bosom where he yanked at the material. Her breasts spilled over the top.
The sound of his warriors outside drifted to her. Olaf lifted his head from his relentless sucking on her to look over his shoulder. She reached to cover her bruised nipple.
“Those pilgrims are persistent.” He turned back and jerked her hand away. “Why is that?” His gaze was fixed on her heaving bosom, his hands gripping and squeezing. She could barely catch her breath with his unrelenting assault.
“I dinna know.” She searched underneath her hip to grab at the offending lump jabbing into her. “They are friendly with Aidan. He likes them as well.”
Unexpectedly, Olaf cupped her face between his large hands, holding her head so tight she couldn’t turn away. “Why do ye think I will not know if ye are telling me the truth or a lie?”
Her throat too dry to swallow, her mind searched frantically for an answer. “They want the silver.”
“Ah! Finally, she speaks the truth.” His face shifted to an ugly grimace. “So, who has left their mark on yer skin, lovely Ethne?”
She gasped, and he slapped her face hard. The tangy taste of blood flooded her mouth.
“Did ye think I wouldna smell him on ye?”
She could not stop her body from trembling. Surely, he’d kill her now.
He clenched her jaw, his tight fingers jabbing into her skin. He was livid. “Do ye wish to die at my hand? Mayhap ’tishimI should kill for using what is mine.”
