Randvior’s musky scent filled her nostrils. His body was flush against hers and he hiked the back of her skirt up. Fingers trailed up her inner thigh and she sucked in an excited breath. He thumbed the sensitive nub between her legs. Within a few meager seconds, her pleasure crested and she collapsed against the wall deliriously. She reached around and caressed the rock-hard bulge between his legs.
“Go to bed,” he commanded, and let her skirt fall.
She turned. The muscles around his lips twitched while he stared at her. “Why did you pleasure me?” She craved intimacy.
“So you don’t forget.”
“What?”
“Anything…” he mumbled, intoxicated. “Good wives are few, and you have the promise to be the best.”
She blushed at the compliment. Drunk or not, she wanted more.
Against her wishes, he sent her upstairs without a proper good night. She looked back and met his gaze unflinchingly as he leaned against the wall, eyes hard, face brooding. Her blood thundered. He had deliberately sparked her desire and sent her away thirsting. This was no reminder, but a warning. Randvior Sigurdsson knew exactly what he was doing, removing lingering thoughts of Ovesen from her mind.
Katherine greeted her and she shared the joyful news.
“A pity you are forced into such an arrangement after your sire—”
“He loves me…” Noelle didn’t want her only friend to disapprove of this match.
“Did he tell you so, my lady?”
“Yes, many times.” Although primitive, blood oath remained a form of betrothal in England. Mostly in the northern regions where clans still occupied untamed swaths of land.
“A pagan ritual is no substitute for a true Christian betrothal.”
Katherine risked much, speaking so boldly. But Noelle had always encouraged her to speak freely. “I’m not a simpleton,” Noelle snapped. “I did what I must to protect myself and my family’s interests. I admit that I possess feelings for him, how deeply they go I cannot say, not yet. And could my father have done any better?”
“Your noble birthright is squandered on a barbarian. I’m sure your father—”
“Lord Sinclair never considered my personal feelings in anything, especially in selecting a husband. I admire my father’s accomplishments, but he needed gold to pay off his debts more than he needed a daughter.”
“But thejarlis not obligated to the English crown or even our Church.”
“I know.” Surprisingly, she felt relieved by this fact. “Somehow, I prefer it that way.”
Randvior dismissed his slaves after midnight. His unquenchable thirst was driven by an increasing hunger for Noelle. He’d drink until he collapsed or ran out of wine. Whichever came first didn’t matter. Better she not see him this way. Better she not know the new depth of his dark obsession for her. Their blood oath changed everything.
Brandon refused to let him stew and slapped his back, making him choke down the ale in his mouth.
“How many lasses are weeping bitterly this very night because the mighty Randvior has finally chosen a wife? Even more hearts would have trembled if the lady had selectedmeas husband.”
Randvior snorted. “And how many heads would have been dislodged from their bloody necks if she had chosen you?” He tore off a hunk of bread and dipped it in a bowl of broth.
“Many,” Brandon indulged. “Too many to count.” He chucked Randvior on the chin.
He smiled before he wrestled Brandon’s hand to the table. He held it down in challenge.
“Ye desire an arm wrestling contest?”
Randvior’s face split into a heady grin. “Aye,” he said. “But I’d prefer to save the weakest man for last to make it fair. Bring me one of those young bucks first so I might demonstrate my superiority for you, my friend.”
Brandon espied the group of eager boys who perked up the minute the informal challenge was made. They gathered along the front of the stage. Traditionally, anyone who defeated thejarlin sport would be granted a reasonable request. FaldOvesen, who still sat nearby, laughed delightedly and pointed out his eldest son.
“Not a skilled talker,” Fald observed, “but he speaks well with his fists.”
Randvior grunted. What happened in the bathhouse between him and Sveinn would remain private. However, he wanted nothing more than to purge the rage from his heart. He could easily torture the man for hours before he felt any relief. He chose Sveinn as his opponent.
