The Destroyer

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The Destroyer Jianne Carlo

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Published By: Etopia Press P.O. Box 66 Medford, OR 97501 http://www.etopiapress.com The Destroyer Copyright © 2011 by Jianne Carlo ISBN: 978-1-936751-64-8 Cover by Mina Carter All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. First Etopia Press electronic publication: September 2011 http://www.etopia-press.net

~ Dedication ~ For The Viking Princess in Norway—I thought you’d appreciate your own SB cover! Many thanks for your support.

Chapter One “Oaf! Let me go!” Magnus glanced to the entrance of the stable but the brilliant summer sunshine blinded him and he could not see anyone nearby. Not cert he wasn’t overhearing boys and girls squabbling, he lifted his head and listened closer, not liking the note of terror he thought he’d discerned in the yelped words. Trouble, but from what direction? Scuffling. Grunts. Foul snarls. He peered at a tangled silhouette of a large man and a short female twisting and turning in the entrance to the barn. The dazzling noonday sun highlighted the struggling forms, but did not motivate any sense of recognition. For all he knew, a maid and a stable hand sparred afore mating. “Lout! Cur!” The desperation in the female’s voice rang with terror and fear. The sun’s rays receded and Magnus clearly made out the man’s hands wrapped around the maid’s throat. ’Twas naught he despised more than a warrior forcing a woman or the defenseless being bullied, and this sprite of a female stood nay higher than his page. His temper ignited. The tool

he’d used to comb his destrier’s mane bit into his palm. “Nay. Stop.” The pained whimper fractured Magnus’s hard-won discipline. “Nay! Nay! Nay!” “Dauðadagr!” Magnus roared the battle cry, “death-day,” that had earned him the title “The Destroyer.” “Stand,” he commanded his steed, chucked the currying brush he held atop a distant haystack, and charged. Assessing the situation while sprinting, Magnus’s wrath surged. The warrior had the maid shoved against a wooden wall, her skirts hiked waist high. His knee jammed between milk-white slender thighs, and the delicate pale curls covering her mons were exposed to delving grimy fingers. “Dauðadagr!” Magnus bellowed again, leapt five ells, and landed with another thunderous bellow. He jammed a hooked elbow around the warrior’s neck, grabbed the man’s left hand, and hurled him seven ells skyward. Magnus then whirled around to face the wench and a giant fist may well have ploughed his gut. Never had he seen such radiant beauty and innocence. The maid’s heart-shaped face wore the expression of a quivering doe surrounded by a pack of wolves. Color leached from her complexion, and

the whiteness of her flesh rivaled a sheet of newfallen snow. Slanted eyes, wide and startled, and the color of a fawn’s, stared at him. The sweetest upturned nose flared and thinned, and the tip of a pink tongue traced the top of a plump, strawberry-stained mouth. Her lips opened and closed revealing perfect even teeth, but no words issued forth. His pecker pranced. A lust-cloud blurred his vision, and the blood in his veins galloped to his aching balls. He couldn’t shake his gaze from her tantalizing mouth, not even when she swept him a peep, gasped, and pressed her hand over her lips to stifle the sound. Magnus shuttered his eyes when he realized she’d fixated on his preening erection, his face heating in mortification. Dolt. A maid just attacked needed not another lecherous male. Pink swathed her cheeks, and she shuffled, wiggling her hips till the dress slid into place, then she smoothed her skirts with trembling fingers. She swallowed and inhaled, her chest rising and falling. Fixing her eyes on a point above his shoulder, she said, her voice stumbling on each word, “My thanks, my lord.” That she managed to speak took him aback, for she shook like a twig battered by a furious gale, her

rounded tits heaving, the pebbled nipples poking at the green cyrtel. Too bewitched by her parted lips and the tortuous dip and sway of her breasts, his mind refused to process the words she had spoken. His mouth watered; he yearned to set his lips to her throat, to linger on the slight pulsing in the center of her neck, suckle the tempting flesh leading to her small ears, and nibble the fat lobe. All at once she crumpled. Choking back a slew of ferocious curses, Magnus scooped her high against his chest and cradled her slender curves in his arms. She smelled of sunshine and lavender. The thick fringe of her soot-tipped lashes fluttered like a raven’s wings as her head dipped, and then rose. Their gazes met. ‘Twas like looking into a maelstrom. All her turbulent feelings were there for him to read, to drown in. Anger battled fear and pride joined the fray when she lifted her chin, pressed her lips together, and sniffed. A lone teardrop trailed down her cheek and she knuckled away the moisture. Her eyes narrowed, her mouth pursed, her dainty nostrils widened, and she squared her shoulders. His arms tightened and he wanted to praise the enchanting maid, stroke her back, and nuzzle her swan-like neck.

He stiffened at the slender neck marred by greasy finger prints. As would be her beautiful mons with the pale, golden curls. He growled and glanced over his shoulder searching for the man who’d attacked her, but the pillager had long fled. His rage spiked, flames danced at his temples, heating his flesh to scalding. “I will kill him.” “Nay.” Her voice had the musical lilt of a highlander. A Scottish maid. “Aye.” Unable to resist, he used his thumb to lift the bog-colored marks from her perfect skin, taking care to keep his touch light, gentle. His pecker remembered the prints below her dress and volunteered to cleanse them. The wayward organ twitched and jerked like a beggar pleading for sustenance, for the juices of her sweet puss. Magnus hooded his eyes and willed his cock into obedience. “He will not live to attempt rape again.” “I am unhurt—” “You bear his handprints on your neck.” Magnus spun about, stalked to a nearby haystack, found he couldn’t bear the notion of freeing her from his embrace, and sat. “He is a dead man.” “My lord, I am but a maid—” “Cease your protests, lass, for I will not allow any, be he man or boy, to harm my—any female.”

Magnus snapped his teeth together so hard his gums vibrated. The words “my woman” had nigh escaped his lips. Dolt. Lust-sotted fool. You are here to wed another. In three days. Three eves and three morns. She wriggled to a sitting position his cock relished. The engorged hopeful fellow twitched ’neath her soft rump. His faery maid went rigid, and her lids dipped to shutter her eyes. Magnus cursed his wayward prick and clenched his jaw. “What is your name, lass?” And do you belong to any man? For he tupped no man’s wife. He glanced at her hands and scanned her clothing for a clue to her status and lineage. Her woolen bodice fitted her tiny form like a glove, squeezing her titties together, a tad tight, but no kitchen maid he had met wore such fine fabric. Shiny waves of thick hair, the color of the blackest coal, cascaded to below her bottom. Unbound hair spoke of an available, marriageable female. A wealthy farmer’s daughter? She worried her berry-colored bottom lip and Magnus salivated, his mouth hungry to claims hers,

to nibble and suckle her swollen and wet, to see those gold-flecked brown eyes glazed with desire. “I am but a maid, my lord, and I must needs see to my duties.” He stifled a protest when she lifted her hands from his shoulders and fixed her gaze on his neck. “My mistress will not be pleased with me.” “Magnus!” The shout came from the stable’s doorway, so he tore his eyes away from the delicious color blossoming in her cheeks and glared at his brother’s rapid approach. “What have we here?” Jarvik, his too-handsome younger sibling, halted in front of them, hands on hips, a wicked dimpled smile decorating his face. “‘Tis a conundrum you find yourself in, Destroyer. Mayhap I can relieve you of your burden?” The maid pushed off him, twisted under his arms, and scrambled to her feet. She stumbled, righted herself, and then dipped a small curtsey. “My thanks, my lord, for your intervention.” Magnus lurched to his feet, but the lass darted away. Her graceful, nimble form vanished around the entrance before he could take a single step. His hands fisted and a muscle under his eye jumped. Magnus swung to face Jarvik, irritation feeding the twitching into a rapid tic. “You sodding arse. Do I interrupt you with a maid?”

Jarvik splayed both hands and shifted sideways. “Nay. ’Twill not enhance your standing to hammer me blue and black. We are to meet with your betrothed on the morrow. Would you appear battered and bruised for your first meeting with the lady and her family?” “‘Tis not me who will be purpled.” The need to fight yielded to another. “Know you who the maid belongs to?” “Nay.” Jarvik stroked his chin. “I have not seen her afore. Mayhap she arrived with the traders. The chieftain, Valan, awaits you in the hall.” Valan the Viper, the warrior famed for the harras of stallions and colts he bred and traded for stud purposes. Valan, a newfound favorite of King Máel Coluim, had arranged Magnus’s betrothal to a highland princess. Magnus scowled. Here to wed one woman but heavy with lust to swive another. Betrothed but not yet wed. For three eves and three morns.

***

Magnus. The man she married three days hence. Deidra had learned the Norse words for his title, Austrvegr Brjóta, The Destroyer. She had asked Elaina to translate his battle cry, Dauðadagr, Death Day. That had been her reason for embarking on this scheme, for ’twould be cert death of her soul to marry a man who relished death. Her pace quickened as she scanned the keep and spied a gaggle of maids giggling near a cottage on the left. Three full milk buckets rested in their shadows, and her parched mouth watered as she changed direction. Deidra glimpsed Moira in the midst of the females and halted. Moira, who wore the keys to the keep at her waist, sent a spiteful grin her way. Witch. God forsaken jezebel. Slut. Wanting naught more than to smash her balled hands into the woman’s fleshy cheeks, Deidra whirled and stalked to a copse of trees adjacent to the castle. It had been Moira who had sent her to the stables minutes earlier knowing full well Hamish the Horny tended his master’s steed. Had it not been for the Viking’s well-timed attack, there would be no bloodstained sheets to display the morning after the marriage ceremony.

Leaning on a trunk, she closed her eyes, enjoying the wind cooling her heated flesh. The Destroyer. Magnus. The most famous of King Cnut’s Viking warriors. Children and females quailed at the mention of his name. The giant, scarred monster, whose cruelty the scalds immortalized in tales told in great halls and repeated in horrified whispers in weaving rooms and kitchens. Magnus had saved her maidenhead. Maids, noblewomen, wenches, females of all stations feared The Destroyer, the warrior whose enormous man part rent women in two. Not once since Da had announced the betrothal had any told her of his great male beauty. Deidra swallowed around the chunk of cowardice blocking her throat. She believed now those whispers referring to his manhood, but how could any call him ugly, hideous? Deformed? For he had eyes of silver and gray coated with a gentleness that had cloaked her in safety. His waving hair glinted gold and red like the sun sparking its last fire before bidding the day adieu. He stood head and shoulders above any man she’d ever seen, but his touch had been lighter than a feather. He had at least a hand’s width on her seven oversize older brothers and they loomed over all others. Mayhap she had grown accustomed to their

size, for she had not feared him in the slightest. Nay, he sparked excitement through her body. Magnus’s chest was wider than a Peregrine falcon’s wingspan, and the memory of that brief glimpse of his flesh when she’d sat on his lap had her heart on full gallop. Aye, he wore battle scars, but the lightning bolt running from one temple to the hollow ’neath his cheek did not distract from his rugged handsomeness. Nay, not the mark of Satan others spoke of, but fate’s way of enhancing the high planes of his warrior’s visage. Mayhap the fiery locks brushing his shoulders resembled the flames spewed from the devil’s fork. To her eyes, his hair looked like an angel’s halo. She blew out a long sigh. The image of his beautiful face had her womanly flesh all sticky and flushed. He had held her as if she were made of spun glass, fragile, breakable, and precious. Like a mare in heat, she had absorbed the smell of him the feel of him, and she wanted more. But her fervent imagining of his rigid arousal set her belly into kicking and rearing. For his rod had spanned her bottom cheeks and grown thicker and harder when she’d squirmed. Deidra had seen stallions mounting mares. She knew in theory what happened on the wedding eve, and had heard her cousin’s whisper of the delicious, wicked pleasures of the marriage bed. But the notion

of The Destroyer atop her, that colossal thing inside her, had her heart hammering like bodhráin drums. Her breasts felt full and heavy, the taut tips burning as they scraped the fabric of the cyrtel she wore. She bit her lip when her womanly flesh clenched and squeezed her thighs together. Deidra shook her head but ’twas for naught when her mind churned like butter intent on creaming. One minute she pictured his massive shoulders and her entire body fevered. Then icicles froze her fingers and toes when she imagined him piercing her maidenhead. Mayhap she should have allowed Hamish the Horny to do the deed, for he was a scrawny man and would surely fit. Her eyelids flew open and she stared at a fluffy white cloud shaped like a stallion’s prick. She groaned and covered her face with clammy hands. Nay. She would not act like a sheep bleating. She squared her shoulders and marched back to the keep, only to be corralled by the cook into peeling a bucket of potatoes. ’Twas back breaking, grimy work and the kitchen seethed with the heat of three different hearths. Pit boys stoked the two massive fires and beads of perspiration dampened her gown. By the time she threw the last potato into a cauldron, numerous tiny cuts rent her fingertips, and shadows filled the corners of the room. The eve grew near, the

steady thundering of horses’ hooves ebbed, and the shouts of newly arrived warriors grew into a strident din. “Two score more have arrived.” Moira even walked like a jezebel rolling her ample hips and jutting her melon-sized breasts. “Serve them ale and bread afore a scuffle breaks out.” Deidra kept her head down and scrunched lower so the table hid all but the tip of her head. Mayhap not the best scheme she had ever thought of—to pretend to be a kitchen maid in need of work. But the elderly lady of the keep who’d hired Deidra had seemed kindly. Only at midmorn had Deidra learned Moira had the running of the kitchens and Lord Valan. The aunt who gave her the work was rarely seen. “Make haste.” Moira clapped her hands. “I must attend to the hall.” Aye, Deidra well knew now Moira attended not to the hall but the warriors who had the fattest purses. She glanced up to see Moira’s back vanishing around the corner and let out a long sigh. “‘Tis fortunate the first bread is ready.” The cook pointed at Deidra and three other maids. “You take the baskets. Cover the loaves to keep them warm. Make haste and serve the men.” Balancing the basket on one hip, Deidra ventured into the crowded great hall.

How could any call Magnus a monster? Deidra peeked at the high table, memorizing his stoic expression, her belly caving when the lamplights turned his hair into all the colors of a breath-stealing sunset. Ne’er had she seen shoulders as broad as a man full grown, arms the size of the prize gourds Da’s farmers grew, and a jaw like iron forged by a smith’s glowing forge. “Serve you the bread or my hand will tar your arse.” Deidra jumped, for Moira had appeared out of nowhere. The towering woman glowered and raised her hand. Deidra choked back a squeal and fair ran to the villager’s benches and tables. Dolt. Fool. She is but a tavern wench. You are a highland noblewoman, princess born. Gather your courage. Sticking her nose high in the air, Deidra glided between the rows of benches and set a warm loaf in the center of each table. The older folk from the keep populated the dimly lit corners of the great hall. Men and women alike greeted her with gummy smiles and crinkled eyes. Deidra took care to stop and converse with the gentle elders smiling when she received a well-considered whisper from every other female as to which of the men hunted for wives.

‘Twas only when she reached the mercenary benches trouble sprouted. Afore she could step foot in the first row, a rough hand twisted the flesh of her bottom, another cupped her breast. She hissed and slapped at the fingers curling near her nipple. One man grabbed her neck and chin, so she bit the nearest finger. “Bitch.” The oaf shoved her back. The basket tipped, then three loaves dipped and fell, sliding a table’s width to the left. “Stupid wench.” The bellow came from Moira, one hand on her waist, head thrown back, standing adjacent to the high table. “See you to the stables, slut. This maid has no protection in this hall.” “Nay.” Magnus reared to his feet, and though he kept his voice low, the deep, growled rumble silenced the boisterous chatter of the chamber. “The Destroyer protects this maid. Let any man or woman touch her to their peril.” Deidra blinked. “Come,” he commanded crooking a finger. A dozen fires blazed from her toes to her scalp. Every eye in the hall focused on her. She prayed for the earth to part and swallow her whole. Her feet refused to move, though she commanded them to the kitchens, the stables, the forests, anywhere but here.

Boots pounded the wooden dais as he stalked to the end and jumped. She stood transfixed, watching him stomp and thunder a direct path to where her quaking body melded with the stone floor. Hide. Move. Run. His gaze locked hers. The throngs of the hall faded. The hoots, whistles, lewd shouts, and the drumming of horns on tables, dimmed. It seemed as if only he and she existed and the pull of his eyes had the soles of her half boots stuck to the floor. Not a muscle could she command, not a digit obeyed her signal, not a woman’s part heeded the call to remain unmoved. Nay, all the woman in her raced to ready for him, thickening, burning, and aching for his filling. “Lass.” His finger tucked under her chin. “Forgive me.”

Chapter Two Too stunned to react when Magnus bent and hefted her over his shoulder, Deidra could do naught but stare at the pitted stone floors of the great hall and suck in gulps of air, for the rigid steel of his shoulder had punched all the wind right out of her. “A stallion and a filly!” “She’s a fresh one!” “Aye. ’Tis a sweet pricking for The Destroyer.” The room spun when she lifted her head to glare at the village ruffians, warriors, and wenches filling the peat-smoked hall. The man lunged up two stairs, her chin hit his spine, and she winced. Was he made of forged iron? To steady her bouncing torso, Deidra rested her palms above the curves of his rump. The rapid plumping and stretching of his breeches there mesmerized her, and she could not drag her eyes away. She drew in a deep breath and the freshlaundered scent of his short tunic giddied her thoughts. ’Twould be heaven to smooth her hands over the planes and ridges of his massive back. Trace the colossal thighs bunching and flexing as he

sprinted up the two score steps leading to the third level of the castle. He halted, and then a door opened with a bang. A chill gust whipped at Deidra’s skirts. The fusty odor of mold and dust tickled her nose. Magnus whirled around and set her down, one hand at her waist, the other cupping her back as if he feared she would fall. The laces of his tunic had loosened and she studied his bronzed chest. Fascinated by the curls twinkling like fairy-dust in the brilliant stream of moonlight pouring through a missing window slat, she fisted her hands to resist the itching temptation to touch his flesh. “Lass?” A callused finger raised her chin, embers dusted her flesh, and her nipples furled into tight, aching buds. She stopped breathing. “The witch Moira has spread word you wished to tup a dozen or more warriors this eve.” Deidra’s jaw dropped and his hand fell away. She gulped, then frowned, convinced her ears had ceased to function. Her? Tup? A dozen or more of those flearidden louts? “Aye.” His intense scrutiny curled her toes and only as his words sank into her muddled mind did Deidra realize she’d spoken her thoughts. Her face heated.

“I am a maid.” Mother of mercy, she had not meant to snarl the retort, but that her future husband would think her immoral had her ready to snort fire. Dolt. Fool. Serving girls do not answer a lord as a lady, far less with the haughty tones of a princess. Serving girls are not maiden. Pasting what she hoped was a meek expression on her face, Deidra said, careful to keep her voice soft, “I beg your pardon, my lord, for that foolish outburst.” His lips twitched and he nodded. “‘Tis as I thought. Wait you here. My brother Jarvik will stand guard o’er this chamber.” “My lord?” She blinked and shook her head, but her brain remained addled. What did he intend? Did he claim her maidenhead this eve? “My lord? ’Tis not seemly for me to be here with you. Alone.” “Wish you to sleep in the hall or the stables? For ’twill mean rape even with my protection. O’er two score mercenaries stay within the keep this eve.” His forehead did not crease, his stare did not falter, and she could not discern his thoughts. She twined her fingers together and studied a dirt-filled crack in the floor.

Before she gathered her scattered thoughts, he said, “I offer you my protection, a warm hearth, and a bed. I will stand guard outside the door.” Deidra kept her head bowed, but elation heated her blood to boiling, for the Lord had answered her prayers. She was to wed a man of honor, a man who sought to protect the defenseless. All her panicked worrying had been for naught. Mayhap all had named him The Destroyer, but she’d vow on the holy book he battled only when he must, killed only when he had no other choice, and took no part in rape. Viking he maybe, but Magnus The Destroyer was no Norse berserker, and he did not pillage. “I give you my most fervent thanks, my lord.” She craned to meet his gaze and stifled a gasp at the intensity of his stare. Reeling, disoriented, not knowing if she stood or floated, Deidra clutched her skirts, gripping the wool tight enough to crush the fine weave. “I ask but one boon in return, lass.” If a score of Picts had their swords trained at her neck and told her to run, she could not have moved, could not have strayed from his gaze. A kiss? Mayhap more than one? Bridget had kissed Ian MacDonald oft this summer and had gushed and babbled about tangling tongues, the magik of his mouth. Now, Deidra felt

sore envious of her sister, for ’twould be wonderful to know what to expect. “Tell me your name.” She shuttered her eyes, hiding the wave of disappointment that had her shoulders slouching and chased the swarming bees in her belly into a frozen huddle. Looking no higher than the honeyed hairs grazing his breastbone, admiring the way the swirling fuzz glinted in the moon’s creamy glow, she said, “DD-Daisy McBrisset, my lord.” Foolish girl. How loose her lips grew in his presence. “Daisy.” His voice matched the harsh planes of his features, deep and rough with an echo that quivered low in her stomach. “Wait here. I will return anon.” The minute the door closed behind him, her locked knees collapsed, and she sank to the floor, upsetting the thick layer of dust motes that claimed the mucky surface. Her nose tickled, she sneezed three times, and then lurched to her feet. No man offers a woman protection without expectation of favors. Did he believe her claim of being a maid? She sneezed again and her eyes watered. The chamber needed a thorough sweeping and idle hands invited mischief to the mind. Spying a dilapidated

half-eaten straw broom in the corner, she grabbed the gnarled handle and set to work. Magnus could not take her maidenhead this eve. Kieran would tear the keep apart looking for her. Da and the clan would arrive on the morrow. It had all seemed so simple a sennight past. Wishing she’d paid more heed to learning womanly ways instead of nursing every wounded creature that crossed her path, Deidra sneezed and swept. Jumbled thoughts whizzed through her head. How to keep her maidenhead? Plead her courses were upon her? She knew most men shunned a woman during that time. Would that suffice? Would he demand proof? She choked and stumbled. Mayhap spoiled meat instead? ‘Twould be no hardship to plead illness, for she felt fevered from scalp to sole and her stomach listed and rolled like a ship in a storm. Would that suffice? Deidra completed her sweeping, gathered the dust and dirt into a tattered, soiled burlap scrap, opened the window shutters, and tossed it out. She leaned over the rough sill. Her mind grew dizzy at the long drop to the waves pounding black rocks some nine ells below. A playful gust tore apart the remnants of the braid she had plaited before peeling the potatoes. The moist brine borne by the

breeze cleansed the tickles from her nose. Moonlight dusted the bay’s farthest point casting a radiant shimmer over the scores and scores of cockleshells strewn across the sand. Her fingers had gone numb with cold. She hugged her arms and bowed her head, unable to stopper the wicked thoughts that had plagued her since sitting on Magnus’ lap in the stable. She wanted to taste him, tangle her tongue with his, and skim her fingers o’er the hard bulge of his arms. The memory of his erection hot and throbbing and pressing her bottom played havoc with her insides. For cert he will tear her in two.

***

“Find out all you can about the clan McBrisset. And if there is a daughter, Daisy. I would know the name of their chieftain and where their lands are located.” Magnus kept his voice to a murmur, knowing his deep rumble could oft be heard through thick oak doors. “I have heard of the McBrisset clan. They live on an isle at the tip of this land. ’Tis very far the lass has

wandered from her home. At least six fortnights.” Jarvik stroked his chin. “Are not all Highlanders very protective of their daughters?” The lass was no McBrisset and he’d lay odds her name was not Daisy either. She had not been able to look him in the eyes when complying with his request. The maid had flown from some danger. ’Twould explain the soot on her lashes, black hair on her head, and gold on her mons. Magnus glanced over the shoulder at the closed door. Who was she? “Valan knows all the clans in the highlands.” The morsel came from Jarvik’s captain of the guard, Garek. “Mayhap he can tell you more.” The three men stood in the narrow hallway leading to the chamber where he’d left Daisy. Magnus gave thanks he hadn’t insisted on a room due his station, for the remote location suited his intentions. “What say you to Garek standing guard while I prod Valan’s drunken tongue?” Magnus didn’t hesitate. “I say aye, Jarvik. Ply him with the firewater from our last raid on the Picts.” “‘Twill of a cert loosen his tongue to falling out of his mouth.” Jarvik grinned and waggled his brows. “Think you she stole away from her clan?” “I would wager my crossbow she is of noble birth. Her hands are soft though her palms are reddened. ’Tis plain she is no serving wench and she belongs not to this keep.” For the witch Moira would

have seen to the breeching of Daisy’s maidenhead long past. Mayhap ’twas Moira’s scheme this eve. If she were a maid then Daisy had a dowry. Mayhap a dowry which included lands and a keep. Magnus put away the tempting notion. “Alas, methinks you do what you so oft accuse me of.” Jarvik jammed his hands onto his hips. “You are thinking with your pecker.” Magnus’s hands fisted, his eyes narrowed, and he spat out the words. “See you to Valan and leave me to my pecker. I have not yet wed and if I care to tarry with a maid, ’tis not your concern.” “‘Tis a drawing and quartering crime in the highlands to rob a noble-born female of her maidenhead. Deflower Daisy and your pecker will decorate a spear at a Scottish crossroad.” Magnus shot his brother the ferocious scowl that caused even kings to pause, and stalked to the steps. Jarvik had spoken but the truth. King Máel Coluim had promised him Laufsblað Fjóllóttr, a rich holding with vast lands upon the consummation of his marriage. The Scots king had not specified a particular female and Magnus’s older brother and Valan the Viper had arranged his betrothal to a highland princess. How much coin would he have to pay to break the betrothal?

Arse. Pecker-sotted fool. Desist. Have your way with Daisy but leave her maidenhead intact. She is but a female and brings you no lands, no holding. Unless she was of noble birth? Magnus shook his head and his long locks stung his cheeks as if a leather whip had been set to his flesh. Even if noble born and rich with dowered lands, she was not for him. He had no desire to reside in the Scottish highlands. Taking the stairs three at a time, he hastened to the kitchens to gather what he needed. “Stand guard at the top of the steps,” Magnus commanded Garek on his return to the chamber assigned him by the termagant, Moira. “My lord.” Garek’s tone halted Magnus. He turned and lifted a brow. “A knave was here but moments ago. Searching for the lass. He goes by the name Kieran. I told him this was your chamber and not to stray to this level this eve if he values his life.” Magnus rolled his shoulders at the sudden tensing of his muscles. He squashed the instinct to hunt down this Kieran and skewer him. “A knave you say?” “Aye. Not yet a man but not a boy. He wore no clan colors.” “He spoke like a Scott?” “Aye. But not as rough as those below.”

“Tell Jarvik when he returns. Ask him to find out more about this Kieran.” He had no liking for this turn of events. Too much about the lass was unknown. He would not risk his future lands for a quick tup with a serving girl. Resolving to free her and relieve his lust with his hand, he slammed the door open. The sight that met his eyes proved daunting. Daisy had cleaned the chamber and a roaring fire blazed in the hearth. The shutters stood wide. All the former sour and musty odors had been cleansed by a bullying wind circling the rafters, and the scent of the sea and fresh heather now claimed the room. She looked fey, the lass. Her unbound hair streamed around her, the black locks gleaming in the moonlight. She stood in front of an open shutter, hands folded at her waist, her face half-shadowed, and one small tooth worried her juicy lips. He could not remember ever being so consumed by lust. Led by his cock, ready to explode from a desire so agonizing his stones had drawn tighter than a crossbow primed to fire. Dolt. Fool. No noble woman lit fires, nor did they sweep dirty floors. What serving wench claimed a maidenhead?

“My lord.” She twisted to him, a frown creasing her forehead, and stared at the pail he carried. “You wish me to mop the floor?” Magnus set down the bucket and placed the two cloth bundles he carried on the lone table adjacent to the bed. He kept his gaze away from her. “Nay. ’Tis for you to wash the sooty handprints from your neck and arms.” His pecker urged him to mention her mons. She gasped, her fingers fluttered at the base of her throat, and those doe eyes strained as she tried to find the coal smudges marking her skin. When she glided in his direction Magnus held his breath, too bewitched by the suppleness and grace of her movements at first to notice the smile playing about the corners of her mouth. “I amuse you, wench?” He narrowed his eyes and waited for her to flinch and retreat in fear. Wench she was, and by Thor’s toes, she’d be his this eve. “Do you keep hounds? Or cats? Mayhap a falcon or two?” He blinked. Scratched his jaw. Had he heard aright? “I am fond of all of them myself. Some may say too fond.” She halted not one boot’s space before him, reached out, and touched his forearm. “I thank you for the water.”

Not a word could he utter, for she branded his flesh with her fingertip. The contact, though slight, sizzled. He could do naught but stare at her pale flesh skimming his browned arm. Watch his veins swell and throb to her touch. He salivated at the rhythmic stroking of the pale forefinger. When she laid her palm flush on his skin, he could hear the blood racing to his groin. “My lord?” Reluctantly he raised his eyes to meet hers and a fist may well have grabbed his heart and squeezed. The angels the Christians spoke of could not match her radiant beauty. So slender, so small, such perfection, wrapped into such a tiny form. His weight would crush her. “My thanks.” She dimpled at him. He grunted. She glanced at the cloth bundles on the bed. Her arm dropped away and he felt bereft. Tilting her head, she peeked up at him, her eyes a pool of shimmering warmth, her locks cascading in a glorious abandonment around her breasts and hips. “I am to mend your garb in exchange for your protection?” Mend? Garb? He fought to repress the images of her hair flowing over his loins, her legs straddling his groin, her tight puss sheathing his cock.

“I have little skill with a needle.” She gave him those twin dimples once more and pointed at one of the sacks. “May I?” “Nay.” He could no longer fight the urge to hold her and scooped her body into his arms. Though her eyes widened like a startled rabbit’s, she did not utter a word, nor did she stiffen, but instead met his gaze straight on. “Will you kiss me now?” He stumbled and crashed onto the bed. She lay atop him, and if not for her garments, she was the image of his earlier vision, legs straddling him, hair a dark curtain framing her breasts. No maiden, no noble female would be so bold. He choked back the victorious shout tickling his gullet, and set to unlacing her gown, no other thought filling his head but swiving hard and furious, his cock pummeling her fisting puss.

Chapter Three A delicious shiver raced across Deidra’s shoulder when the rough tips of Magnus’ fingers brushed the mounds of her breasts. ’Twas not at all like Hamish the Horny’s disgusting groping. Nay, instead a breath-stealing ecstasy and a surging fire licked at her breasts, her belly, and the nub throbbing between her weeping folds. “By Loki’s knees, who tied these knots?” Magnus curled an arm around her waist and jerked to a sitting position. He set her to one side, reached into his boot, and pulled out a shiny dagger. “Nay.” Deidra sat on her haunches. “I have only the one cyrtel, my lord. Be patient and I will loosen the knot.” “Make haste, lass.” He positioned himself against the wall and scooped her into his lap. Warm air smelling of mint came from his sinful mouth and skated over her cheeks. She couldn’t stop staring at the full set of his lips. Ne’er one to be shy or deny her curiosity, she traced the outline of his mouth, remembering Fiona’s giddy talk of tongues and tastes.

Leaning forward, she pressed her lips to his. He growled, his hands cupped her head, and the tip of his tongue stroked the seam of her mouth. She near swooned and grabbed his tunic. ’Twas as if a lightning-bolt streaked through from scalp to toes, shooting sparks over every bit of her flesh. He muttered and the sound acted like a flickering torch, sending flames from his lips to hers. He licked her again, his tongue slipping inside, skimming her teeth. She gasped and he thrust into her mouth. Deidra’s strength fled, and she collapsed into him, her eyelids closed, then surrendered to his scorching exploration. For his tongue dipped and probed, curled around hers and traced every crevice, wringing soft sounds from the back of her throat. She wound her arms around his neck. The solidness of him, the rigid thighs pressing up against her bottom, the iron of his arms, the shield-hardness of his chest, all shattered any thought of resistance, of keeping her maidenhead. His kisses wrought a luscious heaviness through her limbs and cast a magik spell on her body. For her hands of their own accord sought to learn him, gliding over the thickness of his neck, lingering on a corded muscle, settling on the pulsing center of his throat. His tongue teased at hers, touching the tip, retreating, again and again, tempting her to taste him.

Oh the wonder of his mouth! The mint lingering on his teeth exploded on her tongue. The sweetness of the mead he’d drunk soothed the mint’s tang. She couldn’t get close enough, couldn’t absorb enough of his heady flavor, and squirmed and wriggled on his lap, her bottom grinding on his throbbing, enormous rod. An inferno settled low in her belly. A conflagration of tentacles heated her insides and coiled the walls of her womanhood into tight fists. She burned, she ached, she yearned. Cool air skittered across her bare legs when he bunched her skirts to the waist. The chill penetrated her fogged brain and she tried to lift her eyelids, but they were too weighty. She gave up the effort when he laid his large palm on her thigh, and the heat radiating from his hand chased away the bite of a rustling draft. His fingers danced over her flesh, slight grazes, the merest touches, yet like a flint to tinder. She kissed him, devouring his mouth. Her hands kneaded his chest and muffled pleas formed in the back of her throat. When his hand cupped her mound, her legs fell open, and she bit the tip of his tongue. He thrust a finger inside her. She jerked away. Her eyes flew open to meet his piercing gaze.

He went rigid, the tension bunching his thighs into boulders. They stared at each other, her breasts scraping his chest with each dragged inhale and exhale. His lips had flattened and his brows had drawn into a solid line. A blush warmed her face when her walls clamped around the thickness of his finger. The blush deepened, scalding her skin when a trickle of wetness dampened her folds and his palm. His head hit the wall with a resounding thunk. “You are a maid.” “I did tell you.” She bit her lip and ordered her bottom to remain planted in one spot. But when her inner muscles clenched thrice more, her hips canted and lifted so his finger sank deeper inside. Confused and feeling as if she stood on the highest cliff in all of the north, Deidra blurted, “Stop you now?” “Nay.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “I cannot deny you your pleasure.” His mouth took hers in a furious kiss, and his tongue thrust into her, but his finger withdrew from her center. She grabbed his shoulders, a moan bubbling through their fused lips, and a scream welled deep inside when his finger returned and firmed around the burning nub between her folds. Dazed, a feverish need sizzling her veins, she met him, hips rising when his thumb joined the fray,

grazing a spot that made her gasp. His tongue danced around hers. Her toes flexed and curled when her womanhood spun into a whirlpool of spasms, tighter and faster until she knew she would burst apart, and then she did. Convulsion after convulsion wracked her body as she squeezed her thighs together, and the building scream erupted, “Magnus!” Time passed as if a dream. Not a limb could she command. Not that she had need or want to. Magnus’s embrace soothed her quivering legs and arms. His broad palm fondled her back, the gentle rubbing calming her over sensitive skin. He murmured words she didn’t understand, not cert her ears were the culprit or her fogged mind. When she’d ceased drawing in breaths as if each one were her last, and the veil coating her thoughts fell away, Deidra snuggled up next to him. Closing her eyes, she drew in his fragrance, leather, manly sweat, soap, and a hint of pungency she couldn’t identify. ’Twas soothing to listen to the pounding beat of his heart ’neath her cheek. Her womanhood kept quivering every so often and the memory of the ecstasy of his finger moving over her had her sighing. Da had chosen well after all. She need not have feared wedding Magnus. If it had not been for the horrible tales of his cruelty, she would not have practiced this deception. But how was she to know the truth elsewise?

None would know. Save Magnus. Mayhap.

***

“Magnus. Unbar the door. Your betrothed has arrived.” Loki’s arse. The contented kitten purring in his arms jerked upright, eyes wide, nose quivering, looking like a rabbit scenting a nearby fox. “Nay.” “Be not afraid, Daisy. None shall know of our tryst.” “I must leave.” She scrambled off the bed, turned, and twisted back to face him. Wringing her hands, she looked at a spot above his head. “I beg you. Be kind to your betrothed. Do not judge her harshly.” Had his hearing malfunctioned yet again? He scratched his jaw, but before he could utter a word, she ran to the door, jammed a shoulder under the bar, and heaved. He bounded off the bed. “You’ll hurt yourself, lass.”

But she had shoved the bar up and out of the metal hooks. It fell to the floor, the clanking as the metal impacted echoed around the chamber. The door opened. Daisy darted to the left. Jarvik stalked inside, halted, and glanced around. She twisted between Jarvik and the wood, and raced out of sight. “Daisy,” Magnus roared, bounded off the bed, and broke into a sprint. Jarvik blocked the doorway, arms stretched from frame to frame. “Leave her be. Did you not hear what I said? Your betrothed is here with her Da and her hulking brothers.” Magnus resisted the urge to plough a fist into Jarvik’s jaw. “Loki scatters much mischief this eve. For what odds favor you caught swiving a wench whilst your intended bride cools her slippers in the hall?” Jarvik glanced down and broke into a wide grin. “‘Twould seem the interruption has left you with an aching pecker—” Magnus wound up a fist and aimed for his brother’s jaw. Jarvik ducked and dropped to one side. Magnus clocked the oak door with such might the wood banged the wall and rebounded to swipe the side of his head. The burst of pain gave him pause.

He knuckled his temple and growled, “I will see you on the training grounds on the morrow.” Showing a smidgen of wisdom, Jarvik repressed his dimpled grin. “‘Tis dire urgent you show yourself below at once. Moira has been busy serving your bride’s brothers ale and trenchers. Methinks she has informed them of you claiming Daisy earlier.” Magnus groaned. “The lady’s father paces the hall like a man ready to do battle. ’Twould seem he views all as an insult to his precious daughter.” “Aye. One of the serving wenches heard him speaking to his sons. ’Twould seem they plan to teach you manners, my lord.” Garek shook his head. “After the vows and before the bedding.” “I have said no vows.” Magnus gathered his weapons. He strapped his twin Moor daggers around his back. “I owe his daughter naught.” “What of the maid, Daisy? Should she come under Moira’s domain ’twill not go well for her.” Jarvik handed Magnus his sword. Magnus scowled, knowing the truth of his brother’s words. He considered his options and decided the bald truth would gain Jarvik’s complete cooperation. “Daisy’s maidenhead is intact. I will not allow her to fall into that witch Moira’s clutches. Garek, seek you Daisy forthwith. Take her to where

our men camp. She stays in my tent. Garek, you guard her this eve.” “Aye, my lord. I leave at once.” Garek spun around and stalked down the hall. “And what of the morrow?” Jarvik asked. “I will think on it.” Magnus kneaded the knots in his neck. “You will accompany me to the hall?” “Think you I would miss the first sight of your bride?” Jarvik combed his hair, dusted off a few cobwebs clinging to his navy tunic, and checked his fingers for dirt. “You are as pretty as ever.” Magnus rolled his eyes. “She will see you and pray fervently to the gods for her good fortune. Then she will gaze upon me and run screaming.” “I will leave you here.” Jarvik halted and Magnus saw the pain written in his blue eyes. “Nay I meant it not that way. You cannot help being the seducer to my destroyer.” He grabbed his brother’s arm and squeezed. “It matters not. I have long ceased caring about how females view my scars and my face. Mayhap if my intended bride shuns me, ’twill be the signal from Odin that I am fated not to wed. Not to have sons. For I will not speak vows with a woman who thinks me a monster.” “What say you? I will not let you decry this opportunity. Wed her, bed her, and claim the lands. Then take Daisy to leman. I vow she gazes upon you

as if you are the prince of her dreams.” Jarvik had gripped him at the shoulders. “Have sons with her. Make them your heirs.” Forsooth, nothing prevented him from doing as Jarvik suggested. Magnus gazed at his brother and smiled, then frowned. “‘Tis a sound scheme. Were it not for my suspicions that Daisy is high-born.” “Even if she is, that she is here without chaperone in such a hall says to me she is a fallen woman, one with a maidenhead, but not innocence. To such a female, being the mistress of a lord is an elevation.” Magnus shook his head. “Even if she is not of noble birth, I fear the lass is too prideful to live as any but a wife. And she is a maid. Never have I wished so fervently to find a woman experienced in bedsport.” “She will grow accustomed to your size. You worry without cause, brother.” Magnus knew full well the memory that caused Jarvik to offer such re-assurances. He could not count the number of times maids had run screaming after seeing the size of his cock. “And you forget that tiny lass at Cnut’s court who could not get enough of riding your pecker.” Jarvik grinned and cuffed Magnus’ arm. “Let us see what awaits you in the great hall before devising more strategies. Mayhap none will be necessary.”

“Nay. I fear we will find strategy of the utmost import.” Magnus marched down the two-score stairs. “For I will not let Daisy from my side.” “This from the man who sneers at marriage for any other reason than lands?” Jarvik halted before the entrance to the hall. He rapped Magnus’ thick skull. “Let your head guide you. Not your pecker. Wed the lass. Gain the lands. Swive Daisy and keep her in a cottage.” “I will think on the matter. ’Tis time to meet my betrothed’s clan.” They arrived at the Great Hall. Magnus blinked when his gaze swept the chamber. “Loki’s toes, who wrought such a change?” Instead of the normal throng of the ruffians, beggars, and wenches, he saw scores of Highland warriors. Soldiers armed to the hilt with nary a potbelly between them. Muscled, fit men accustomed to training long arduous hours every day. Half of the men sported damp hair. He exchanged a glance with Jarvik. “‘Twould seem not all Scots scorn a dunk in a lake.” Jarvik sniffed. “‘Tis an improvement over the stench from earlier. He is a powerful chieftain, your bride’s father, for Valan the Viper to have turned his hall upside down. See you Valan?” “Aye, over there.” Magnus angled his head a finger’s width.

A group of eight hulking males stood in a half circle around Valan near the high table. Valan, a warrior of considerable size and height, was dwarfed by the warriors. The eight men all glanced up at that moment and immediately fixed Magnus and Jarvik with piercing stares and ferocious scowls. “Methinks we have been noticed. And ’tis wondrous to see such welcoming faces.” Jarvik slowed his pace. “Do we go to them or have them come to us?” “We to them. ’Tis not a wise move to scorch their tempers further.” For the warriors studied him and Jarvik with the intensity of hawks ready to break the necks of their prey. Magnus recognized his betrothed’s father at once from the gray in his thinning hair. A man of near two score years, The Falcon, Chief of Clan Ferguson, stood with the command of a monarch, head thrown back, eyes narrowed, his gaze fixed on Magnus. The stare of a predator, Magnus understood from whence came he to be called The Falcon. His sons had learned well from their father. For each one of the seven males tracked his and Jarvik’s progress across the chamber. “Mayhap ’twould be wise to consider another plan.” Jarvik elbowed him. “Nay. Where is my bride?” Magnus searched the chamber, but found not one female of noble birth, not

one woman dressed in lady’s garb. “I like this not. Something is awry.” “Nay. Be at ease. Your betrothed is simply being female and is tarrying.” Valan intercepted Jarvik and Magnus before they reached the dais. “Good eve. Come meet your betrothed’s family.” “I see not my betrothed.” “She and her sister are ridding themselves of their travel dirt. Not that I noticed any.” Valan halted before The Falcon. “My lord, may I introduce Lord Magnus and Lord Jarvik. Magnus, Jarvik, Lord Ferguson.’” “I would have a word with you in private after the meal, Lord Magnus.” The Falcon’s folded arms and wide stance did not change and he moved not a muscle. “As you wish, Lord Ferguson.” Valan then introduced Lord Ferguson’s seven sons. Neither The Falcon nor his sons saw fit to strike a conversation with the either Jarvik or Magnus. Were it not for Valan’s shouted orders to bring ale and bread, the very silence in the hall would have waked the dead. “‘Twould seem Highlanders have little fondness for words.” Jarvik clambered onto the bench next to Magnus.

The space betwixt Magnus and The Falcon intended for Magnus’s betrothed yawned its emptiness. The hour grew late, the warriors restless, the brothers irate, and Magnus’s temper at the insult of his betrothed’s tardiness tripped higher and higher. Jarvik remained as jovial as ever and Magnus felt sore tempted to douse him with a bucket of melted snow. He drained his horn of ale and wiped the foam from his mouth. “You are not alone in your impatience. Methinks The Falcon is sore annoyed at his daughter’s lateness.” Indeed from the chieftain’s frequent squinting at the chamber’s archway and the drumming of his ringed fingers on the table, The Falcon’s infuriation spiked with each passing moment. “At long last.” The highland chieftain rose and Magnus followed his glance. His jaw dropped. “She is a beauty.” Jarvik’s remark carried and the lass gliding through the packed room lifted her chin, met his gaze, and smiled. Magnus had not expected a golden goddess, a nymph with waving daffodil locks reaching midthigh that framed a slender but curved torso. The top of her head would ne’er even graze him midarm. She moved as if her feet bore wings, and the curious men thronging the hall went silent and stared. The men nearest her collapsed onto a bench gawking. One wizened man wiped his grimy cheeks

with a stained tunic. Another drained his goblet and reached for another. “‘Tis a fairy.” “Aye.” Whispers and murmurs of agreement rustled and echoed. Valan the Viper dismounted the dais and captured the female’s hand. “My lord, my compliments on the improvements in the hall. ’Tis a pleasant miracle. I shall be happy to break bread with the assembled company this eve.” Valan’s bronzed complexion reddened. “‘Tis glad I am you are pleased, lady.” The damsel glanced pointedly at their joined hands and Valan promptly released his hold. “I am cert you would greet your father and the high table.” “Aye, my lord.” Magnus and Jarvik exchanged glances. “‘Twould seem your betrothed has cast a spell over Valan.” “Aye.” Magnus studied Valan as he returned to his seat. The warrior stumbled because while he moved one way, his gaze stayed fixed on the woman. “Good eve, Father.” She sank into a flawless curtsey, spine and carriage one a queen could not better. “Brothers.” “Where is your sister?” The Falcon fair hissed the question. “Fiona has taken to her bed, Da.”

The lass lifted on tiptoe, cupped a hand, and whispered in her father’s ear. The man’s complexion ripened to that of a roasted beet. Magnus braced for an explosion. “My sister, Fiona, begs you excuse her this eve.” The sprite strolled to stand beneath Jarvik. “She will join us to break the fast on the morrow. I am Deidra, your betrothed.” Jarvik flushed scarlet. He sputtered. Magnus levered to his feet. “I am your betrothed, Lady Deidra. You address my brother, Jarvik.” She turned to face him. Aghast couldn’t begin to describe the expression on the haughty beauty’s face. Her mouth dropped open and her eyes widened. She scooted back, bumped into a table, and listed. She grabbed the wood with both hands and swayed. The roses in her cheeks faded, and when the whites of her eyes showed, Magnus swore and jumped over the table. He caught her before she crumpled to the floor. He didn’t know what to do with the limp female in his arms and glanced briefly at her features. Some faint memory niggled his mind and he returned his gaze to her delicate features. For ’twas a cert familiarity he could not identify to her nose and lips.

Chapter Four Deidra washed her hair four times with the soured wine and still hints of the black stain remained. The water in the tub had grown cold and the jug stood empty. She’d needs wear a wimple on the morrow for the vow saying. ’Twould not do for Magnus to recognize her until after they said their vows. How would Magnus react when the time came for the bedding? Would he be pleased or furious? Kieran had reported Jarvik advising Magnus to take her as leman after the vows. But he could not have her both as wife and leman. Did he need to have a leman and a wife? She rubbed her aching temples. ‘Twas no more to be done. So, she sat on a stool near the heat, and combed her damp locks. How, she could not be cert, but Deidra knew in her heart Magnus was a man slow to temper. Once his fuse lit, however, it would burn like an inferno. She would sweeten the telling of her tale with kisses and caresses. Mayhap do what Elaina, the new village healer who had given her the hair dye, had advised. Stroke and tug his rod. Elaina had also spoke

of the pleasure of exploring a warrior’s body with hands, nose, lips, and tongue. Deidra had not believed pleasure could be found from the latter. She remembered the magik of Magnus’s tongue in her mouth and sighed. She had much to learn and looked forward to the lessons. Her big cats passed endless hours cleaning each other. Indeed, the lone male, an enormous, ferocious beast, oft rolled onto his back and bared his belly for one of the females. It had been amusing to see such a mighty creature tamed by a lusty licking. “Mother Mary. Elaina could not have meant the tongue there, on his thing.” The thought so shocked Deidra, she tumbled off the stool. ’Twas an intriguing notion. The folds between her thighs tingled as she closed her eyes and tried to visualize such an act. “Why is the door barred?” Recognizing Da’s low bellow, she leapt to her feet and the comb clattered onto the floor. Deidra crumpled the gown as she stared at the door. Nay. Could not be. “She is ill. Mayhap she sleeps.” Her oldest brother. Fists pounded on the doors. “Fiona. Daughter, open the door.” Mother Mary have mercy. Deidra wrung her hands. “She must have swooned. Break down the door.”

Fie on Da! Why was he here? What had happened? What had Fiona done? Deidra searched the room, ran for the bed, and jumped onto the straw just as the mighty oak was wrenched from its hinges. She drew the bed curtains with trembling fingers, sat on her haunches, bowed her head, and prayed. Boots pounded in her direction. She glanced over her shoulder, left, right, left again. Naught, nary a hiding place save two forlorn bed cushions. The fabric was ripped from her hands, and then she couldn’t breathe. “Fiona. What have you done to your hair?” Da’s roar nigh shook the timbers of the ceiling. She squeezed her eyes shut, but not afore glimpsing her seven brothers and Kieran behind her Da. Mayhap ’twas a nightmare. “‘Tisn’t Fiona.” Kieran was too apt to spill secrets when panicked. “Deidra.” Da’s growl heated even her bare toes. “Open your eyes, wicked lass, and look at me.” She knew that tone. Still, when she lifted her lids she prayed for a miracle. Her shoulders slumped, for ’twas Da indeed. Deidra recognized Fiona’s hand in the falcon embroidered on his blue tunic. She kept her gaze on the creature’s hooded eyes. “Fiona is not to blame, Da. ’Twas my scheme.” “What have you done, lass?”

Da’s bellow thundered and echoed low in Deidra’s belly. She cringed. “We but traded places for a wee bit.” “Twins,” the brother, Jarvik, spoke. “Identical save for the hair.” Magnus growled. “I will not marry her.” Deidra’s head whipped up to search for him. He stood beside her Da holding Fiona in his arms. What did Magnus mean? True, he could not marry Fiona, for he was betrothed to her. A swarm of leaping grasshoppers took control of her insides for the look on his face spoke of a cold, repugnance. His nostrils flared and he examined her as if she were pig droppings, as if the very smell and sight of her disgusted him. Her chest burned when he walked around the bed and settled Fiona on the mattress, his movements gentle, deliberate. “‘Tis a pity. I would have had this one.” Deidra stifled a cry when he curled a lock of her twin’s hair around his fingers. He twisted to the side and met her stare. “I have a fondness for golden hair.” My hair is gold. She wanted to scream at him. I look exactly like her. She had been wrong in her judgment of him. For Deidra would have sworn Magnus would never be so fickle in his affections. Her lips quivered.

“Nay. I will hold you to the agreement. Know that we will go to war over this, Destroyer. I will not have you insult my daughter. And I will have none doubting her virtue. Fetch the priest, Kieran. The vows will be said this eve.” Da flicked his hand. Deidra’s pride won the day. She bit the insides of her cheeks until the pooling tears were held at bay. What did she know of men? He had wanted her as a wench, but had not wanted her maidenhood. How could he go from flame to ice so swiftly? “Da, please. He has a disgust of me now. Would—” “Silence, Deidra. You will suffer the consequences of your impetuous actions.” Da tipped her chin. “You must learn to live amongst men and women. ’Tis time to put aside your foolish notions.” She would not meet his gaze. How many times had Da repeated the same words, over and over? “‘Tis in your hands now, Destroyer. You will marry Deidra and consummate the marriage this eve.” Da moved away from the bed and stared at Magnus. “Five hundred warriors surround this keep. They await my signal to attack. Your King’s fondness for bargain and then murder reaches even the remote Highlands. Think you I came without a plan?”

“Think you I did?” ’Twas not the voice of the lover, but that of The Destroyer. “I will not marry her.” “Take them both to the bailey. Bring the Destroyer back when he is ready to say the vows.” Da signaled her brothers, who seized Jarvik at once. “Nay.” She vaulted up on the bed and stood facing Da, nose to nose. “You will not harm a hair on my betrothed’s head.” “Enough.” Da shouted and flung his hand back. Before Deidra could blink, Magnus leapt over the wide bed, and had Da’s thick neck in a hold designed to snap his head off if he so much as sneezed. “No,” she yelped. “No. Do not. I beg you.” For he looked the Norse berserker all spoke of then, scars pulling his skin taut, teeth bared in a monster’s snarl. Magnus narrowed his eyes. “He beats you. No one touches my bride.” Bride? His? For a second she forgot everything and beamed at him, so pleased with his response. She yearned to stroke him, to crawl under his flesh. Needing to touch him, she trailed a finger over his bulging forearm. “Da but threatens. He has never done more than bellow and stomp.” “He raised his hand to you.” Magnus didn’t appear convinced, for his hold on Da tightened. “Aye. But what he does next is tear at his hair and toss apples or pears at the fire. Long ago he would

order me to kneel and pray for a whole morning. But Da’s easy to distract and ’twould be over in a thrice. In truth I fear for his concentration in battle.” She liked how handsome Magnus was then, the way he blinked, frowned, and scratched his jaw, and so gifted him with an approving smile. “My thanks for not breaking Da’s neck.” He eyed her as if he couldn’t decide what to do next, but loosened his grip, and addressed Da. “You have never harmed her?” “Not even when she decided to steal the bear and her cub,” Kieran blurted and then turned the shade of a ripe cherry. Everyone glanced at him and he ducked behind the door. “You will be the very death of me,” Da muttered and rubbed the red line around his throat. He gave Magnus a sharp once-over and added, “You intend to make her your bride?” Jarvik cleared his throat. “If I could but say a word.” “Cease. You need not speak for me. Either of you. Sit, Deidra.” Magnus lingered over her name and she felt the heat rise in her cheeks. Fiona took that moment to awake. Deidra winced when her twin’s shriek pierced her ears. She dropped to her knees and scooted over to Fiona’s side. “Hush, sweetling, do not sob. What did you do?”

“You said he was handsome.” No one else could hear Fiona’s low whisper. “He is.” Deidra risked a glance over her shoulder. The men were edging closer. “You truly want him?” Deidra pinched Fiona’s arm. “Aye. Cry, weep, wail. Distract them a wee bit.” On cue her twin burst into loud wracking sobs. “‘For cert we will have the shrieking and the swooning for the rest of the night.” Her eldest brother rolled his eyes. “My ears already ache from her shrieks.” “Bring me a pomander. The chamber is spinning. Deidra is to blame not me.” Fiona sent Deidra a wink imperceptible to all but her. “On that we both agree.” Magnus’s voice had changed and no longer held the rumbled menace of a few moments ago. She glanced to find him studying first Fiona, and then her. Fiona covered her face with her hands and began to thrash and wail. “The priest is here.” Deidra grimaced when she noticed the way Kieran hopped from one foot to the other. She knew Da would question him soon. On the morrow she would find a way to take the blame away from him.

“Then we will say the vows.” Magnus held her gaze, the fierceness of his stare sending shivers dancing over her shoulders. A strange sort of excitement took hold of her and verily, in that moment, he had her entranced. The firelight glimmered over his face, the faint scars adding a sinister beauty to the bronzed skin lovingly molding his warrior cheekbones. Her core yearned for the feel of his fingers again, and swelled and throbbed between her thighs. He held out his hand. She didn’t hesitate, but beamed at him and placed her fingers on his large palm. Fascinated by their difference in size, she didn’t realize his intent until he squeezed her hand. Staring into her eyes, he kissed each fingertip in turn, and honey, warm sweet honey, tickled her folds. No one but Deidra noticed when Fiona plumped the bed cushions and then stood. She arranged her skirts, tidied her hair, and strode to Deidra’s side. “It should be done in the hall, Da. That all may witness.”

***

The Falcon ordered none accompany Magnus to the consummation chamber. Jarvik greeted Magnus when he reached the keep’s third level. “Your bride is inside. Men are stationed on each level at the foot and top of the stairs. All will be quiet.” “My thanks.” “I guard this level from the bottom of the stairs.” Jarvik flashed him a grin. “I am at the ready should you need assistance.” “Be gone.” Magnus waited for Jarvick’s booted stomps to recede. He studied the battered oak, still undecided as to how to proceed. When his small bride had defended him nose to nose against her giant of a father, she had fair won his allegiance. But, he understood not her deceptive actions and needed explanations. Why had she sought him out as Daisy? Why trade places with her sister this eve? Why allow him such liberties? His cock thickened. That she, a maid, had found her pleasure so quickly beguiled him. The door swung open. “Will you not come in, my lord?” Deidra waved at the fireplace. “‘Tis warm by the fire.” Entranced, Magnus could do naught but follow in her wake, staring where her pink heels peeked in and out of the hem of the chemise. The roaring flames lit the transparent fabric and Magnus near stumbled at

the clear outline of her bewitching legs, the high rump swaying an invitation, the narrow span of her waist begging for his hands. His pecker steeled in appreciation. “My lord.” She turned to face him, dipped a curtsey, and tugged the sides of the garment. Then she swallowed and stared at him. “I have no mama, my lord, but I am prepared to do my duty as a wife. I needs help you with your tunic and —” “Why is your hair wet?” Magnus strode forward and tangled a damp lock around his finger. Her cheeks bloomed pink. She ducked her head and chewed on her lip. “I washed it again, but the stain still lingers.” Magnus remembered his cruel taunt earlier. “‘Tis the same color as Fiona’s normally.” Her glorious hair tumbled around her shoulders and she would not look anywhere but at the stone floor. He could not stand to see her spirits so dampened and hauled her into his arms. “‘Tis of no import, honning.” She squeaked, but curled her arms around his neck. “Why did you trade places with your sister?” The mattress sank under his weight. He untied the top of her chemise. “This eve? Or before I left?” She traced the silver brooch at his neck, her eyes trained on the sapphire

he had earned fighting for the Caliph of Constantinople. “I needs know the reason, honning.” Magnus combed her silken locks. “Tell me.” “What is this word ‘honning?’” She looked full at him, toyed with the hair at his nape, and trailed a dainty finger along his collarbone. Magnus marveled, for she did it all without thinking, petting him as if she couldn’t resist touching his flesh. “‘Tis Norse for honey.” Her lithe caresses had his cock dancing to her tune. His nuts burned and ‘twas all he could do not to fall on her like a man starved for decades. “I thought ‘twould be better to tell the all of it after the bedding. Elaina says that a man will forgive all sins in the aftermath of his pleasure. And the stain would not come out. Da would know. A maid does not greet her betrothed with her hair in a wimple.” She had loosened the laces of his tunic and had her fingers twined in the hair on his chest. “‘Tis softer than I expected. Your flesh is the color of an oak trunk. Do you have a disgust of me still?” Magnus had no notion which was more drunk, his cock or his head, for her questions and statements veered in all directions at once. The need to sheath himself in her tight puss snatched away the tattered remnants of his discipline. Explanations ceased to be

of import. He would gain them later. Magnus decided to show her how little she disgusted him. He feasted on the banquet of Deidra. Her soft lips tasted sweet and tart, like juicy berries, and he could not get enough. He traced the tiny pearls of her teeth, explored the roof of her mouth, and his greedy tongue tickled hers. She wound her hands around his neck, her fingers twined into his hair, and she tugged him closer. Cupping her breast, he thumbed her nipple and she moaned. He caressed the taut point, fighting to retain control, to keep his touch light, to accustom her to the intimacy. When she licked him, when her little tongue danced into his mouth, when she suckled on his, Magnus bunched the chemise to her waist, and ran his rough palm along the smooth silk of her calf. She whimpered when his fingers delved the crease of her knee. Dizzied by the feel of her warm flesh, he traced the sleek line of her thigh, and near groaned his desperation when she set her palm atop his hand. He had pushed too far, too fast. Reluctance slowed the speed at which he retreated, his fingertips lingering as he lifted his hand away. She drew back. And his cock wept. For he gazed upon an angelic siren. The halo of her tousled locks

framed a flushed face. Golden eyes half-lidded, lips swollen and colored raspberry from his ministrations, nostrils quivering, she whispered, “Nay? ‘Tis too soon?” “Honning?” Magnus nearly swallowed his tongue when she drew his hand to her mound. “‘Tis an order to things we must needs do?” She tilted her head and her hair slipped away to reveal one small breast with a fat, puckered nipple. Magnus’s mouth watered. He struggled to comprehend her words and gulp in air. Order? Aye. “I must pleasure you first over and over. You needs be ready. I am so big and you so small.” She toyed with his brooch, tugged at his tunic, touched his ear, all the while staring at his throat. “I know not the way between people, but I have seen many of my pets mate. Elaina, our healer, says ‘tis easiest to make a quick cut.” Magnus blinked, frowned, scratched his jaw, then shook his head. Had he heard a-right? “My woman parts ache for the feel of you. ‘Twas wondrous when you…” She blushed. “I would have your hand there again, Magnus.” His mind ceased functioning and he ripped the chemise apart. She glared at him. “‘Twas new.” “I will buy you a score and more if you desire.” The words spilled from his mouth and his actions

were frenzied as he tossed off his boots and clothes. His fingers shook when he removed her tattered chemise. He spied the pouch that Jarvik had given him earlier and bent to retrieve it. “Mother Mary.” He turned to face her. Her mouth formed an O as she stared at his purpled, engorged pecker.

Chapter Five Deidra couldn’t take her eyes off the thick blueveined rod jutting from groin. “‘Tis magnificent.” “Mfgh.” “Magnus?” She briefly glanced at him, but her gaze kept returning to his groin. Deidra swallowed. She had witnessed stallions mounting mares, her big cats mating, even the roosters tackling hen after hen, and understood all at once why the females resisted. Mayhap if she touched it, ‘twould be less daunting. Aye. Touch it. She took a deep breath and moved closer, extending her hand only to have Magnus grasp her wrist. “Deidra?” She craned her neck and bit her lips. His flushed face, drawn brows, flared nostrils, all spoke of a warrior in dire pain. Had she done something wrong? “I but wanted to touch it.” He closed his eyes and muttered something she did not understand. “‘Tis a start. Aye.” Deidra could not prevent a tiny squeak when he scooped her into his arms. She had never been skin to skin with another being, and the feeling was

delicious, so warm and tingly. Her breasts ached and the tips burned. Unable to resist, she rubbed against him and ‘twas as if a bolt of lightning crackled o’er her flesh. The bed’s wooden frame creaked under Magnus’s weight. He settled with his back to the wall and their noses mere inches apart. She had wed the handsomest warrior in the kingdom, nay in all kingdoms. She had to caress him and ran her hand along the ridge of his cheekbones, let the light fuzz on his jaw tickle her fingertips, and explored the satin of his lips. He grunted and their eyes met. The pain had returned to his face. “What is amiss?” “I do not want to hurt you, honning.” His voice had coarsened and resembled the deep growl of her black bear. She smoothed the frown marring his high forehead and sought to reassure him. “Elaina says ‘twill be but a sharp pinch. Though ’tis much bigger than I expected.” Mayhap ’twas only the shock that had made his rod seem so enormous. Deidra twisted around to glance at the jutting organ and gulped, for the long, thick, thing seemed to have grown twofold. She jumped when it jerked and hit her backside. “‘Tis wet.”

“Thor’s hammer, give me strength.” Magnus had gone from growling to grunting. Deidra wriggled, reached over, and skimmed her fingers over the top. “‘Tis very, very wet.” Unprepared for his hand slipping between her thighs, Deidra yelped when he tickled her folds. “‘Tis the way you must be, honning.” He bent his legs and shifted her around until his thighs cradled her back and hers lay on either side of his belly. “Very, very wet.” “Magnus. ’Tis—oh what do you do?” Heat scaled her throat and face when she realized where he stared. Deidra crossed her arms over her breasts and her legs flailed when he slid an arm under each knee and lifted her, closed his eyes, and set his mouth to her womanhood. The first flick of his tongue felt like the sparks from a flint, hot, fiery. “Mother Mary. ’Tis—oh.” Her hands fell to her sides. ’Twas astounding. She shuddered when he suckled the nubbin at her core. Her insides clenched. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. She grabbed hold of an arm, arched into his mouth, and pressed her woman’s flesh to his flicking tongue. Her nipples flamed and her breasts grew heavy and ached. “Nay.” The cry erupted when he drew back, his mouth receding. She lay flat on his stomach, his thick, rigid arousal right at her eye level. She twisted to

taste the glistening bulb, then let her tongue explore the underside, and marveled at the thick cream leaking from the slit. “Nay honning. Nay.” He groaned and shifted so she lay on the mattress with her hair spread over the bed cushions. “‘Tis wondrous Magnus. See how it grows.” Deidra reached between their bodies to skim her fingers over his crown. He bent his head and gave her the magik of his mouth, his soft lips suckling, lingering, his tongue working a heady enchantment, and all she could do was to follow his lead. He kissed her neck, tiny kisses that curled her toes, and made her sex clench. An empty clenching that left her center bereft, desperate. She raised heavy lids, fisted her hands in his locks, and urged him back. Digging her heels into the straw, she lifted to him and his blurred smile didn’t register so frenzied was her need to feel the coarse lapping again. Long brown fingers separated her folds. One teased the rim of her center. Another pushed back the skin hiding her nubbin. He grazed the exposed flesh and her nails bit into his shoulders. The coarse pad of his thumb stroked a slow rhythm that drove her mad. She throbbed everywhere, her lips, her breasts, her core, even her fingertips and toes pounded.

‘Twas unbearable the frenzy filling her. She chewed the insides of her cheeks. Her feet flexed, her hands fisted, and the need for relief, for pressure erupted. “Magnus, I beg you.” “To me.” Dazed, her head lolling on the bed cushions, she tried to focus on him, and watched as he slipped a finger into her core. She stopped breathing, her walls clamped, and she jerked at the sweet invasion. His thick finger withdrew. “Nay.” She reached for his hand. “Nay.” He captured her wrist and set her palm to her side. “Be still.” But she could not and angled her hips so his finger rested at her core, then he thrust into her, hard and fast, once, twice, thrice. She shattered. Her walls convulsed around his thick finger. His mouth closed over her nubbin and he bit down. Deidra shrieked. He kept thrusting and nibbling, and she spiraled higher, shameless, grinding into his mouth, canting upward to take his finger deeper. ’Twas pain and pleasure, heaven and hell, fire and ice, all rolled into one. The spasms stole her mind, her breath, and the very bones from her limbs. She collapsed onto the mattress, unable to move, arms and legs flopping apart. When his hands firmed around her waist and he lifted her off, and over, she opened her eyes.

“Now.” With a quick jerk, he plunged rod inside her, pressing her down on top of him. The sharp pinch had her gasping. She bit her lip. Braced her palms on chest and took short swift breaths, reeling at the fullness, at the way he stretched her to bursting, all the ecstasy of the moment afore dimmed. “To me, honning. Look to me.” Their gazes met. Shadows lifted as the hanging lamp to the side of the bed flared and his bronzed flesh glowed like a golden river, his muscled chest heaving as if he’d galloped long and hard. The pained expression had returned to his face. His hooded eyes studied her the way a hawk tracks its prey, intense, ferocious, savage. Magnus’s hands cupped her breasts, his thumbs toying with her nipples, and an acute aching line seemed to join her breasts to her core. She moaned as the hunger began to build again. The race to that delicious explosion. The fullness eased, replaced by the irresistible urge to move. She wriggled and squirmed. “Odin have mercy.” Magnus’s grip on her waist firmed. Did he want her to be still? ’Twas impossible, for her folds itched, burned, needed pressure, biting, and lapping. She chewed her lips, lifted a tad, and sank back down. “‘Tis heaven.”

“Nay ’tis hell. Pure hell. Ride me, honning.” He loosened his hold. “Ride?” She stared at where their bodies joined, trailed a finger over the thick base of him, and her folds grew slick, her walls fisting around him. Deidra set her palms below his navel, pushed off her toes until the purpled crown barely showed, and eased back down over the throbbing steel of him. She shattered again. The tremors came hard and fast, a series of contractions that left her struggling to inhale, to remain upright. “Forgive me, honning.” The barked plea didn’t prepare her for what followed. He half rose, let one leg drop, latched onto her breast, and suckled so strongly the clenching started again. He thrust into her. His mouth roved from one breast to another, licking, tonguing the taut buds, and all the while the thick length of him plunged in and out and up and down. Deidra gave over to the sensations swamping through her, unable to think, to speak, to move on her own accord. Explosions rocked her while she dug her nails into his shoulders and held on through the wild, rapturous canter. He roared and shuddered, one arm binding her to him, the other cupping her ass as he ground into her. A wild heat filled her insides, her walls clamped his

pulsing engorged manhood, and she crumpled, burying her nose in his chest. Time elapsed. Her dream-thickened senses registered the popping and sparking of the logs in the fireplace. His soap and warrior scent caused her lips to curl. A drop of his salty sweat slipped across the tip of her tongue. The swirls of hair dusting his chest tickled her lashes and she opened her eyes to find a small flat nipple peeking through the gold strands. The temptation proved too great and she traced the round peak with the tip of her nail. “Nay, honning.” He laid his hand on hers and kissed the top of her head. “For I will be at the ready again. ’Tis too soon.” “Why too soon? ’Tis wondrous.” She drew back and sighed. He had brilliant eyes. The color reminded her of the deep loch near Da’s castle, so blue as to be black. She loved the feel of him and her fingers itched to explore. Not one to resist temptation, Deidra trailed a finger along the curve of his jaw. Teased a few damp locks off his temple, kissed the dimple in his chin, and traced the line of his great, sinewy neck. “The Lord has blessed me with a magikal husband. A warrior who makes me see paradise. A man of fierce beauty. Elaina is truly a wise woman.” He blinked and one brow rose. His cheeks went ruddy. “Elaina?”

“She said ’twas much pleasure to be gained from exploring a warrior’s body with hands, nose, lips, and tongue.” An image of his head between her thighs crashed a wave of heat over her face and throat. Deidra stroked his shoulder, savoring the bunched curves, and sighed when her fingers could not wrap the immense span of his forearm. “Never have I seen such perfection.” “Mfgh.” The choked sound checked her actions and she glanced at him. “Is aught amiss, my lord?”

***

She thought him perfect. A man of fierce beauty. Magnus studied his sleeping wife. He had been wrong. She had no guile at all, nary a single feminine wile. ’Twas nigh on impossible for any to be so innocent and so unafraid. He had never seen a woman so abandoned, so enthralled during a swiving. Odin had gifted him indeed. Never had a woman so entranced him, bedeviled him. What a conundrum his bride, fey, smart, gentle, passionate. And she thought him magikal.

If ’twere any other female, he would suspect deceit, but she was all innocence. Save for pretending to be a simple maid. Nay, he must remember that his bride was not only capable of deception, but had deceived him. He still did not have a clue as to whom Elaina might be. Deidra had a way of seeming to answer a question when she in fact asked yet another. Did she do this with some dark purpose? It both amused and pleased him that she welcomed his caresses with dreamy sighs, little nuzzles, and feather light strokes of his chest, arms, and navel. Though her hand had not strayed lower, she appeared fascinated by his pecker, and her gaze returned there again and again. His balls tightened at the memory of her pink tongue tipping the corner of her mouth every time she glanced down. She had fallen asleep in midsentence and lay sprawled all over him. Tendrils of her silken hair grazed his earlobe when she shifted. One bent leg lay at his waist, the other on top of his thigh. She moved again, her fat nipples grazed his chest, and he longed to sheathe himself inside her heat. He had insisted on bathing her puss, and she’d blushed all over but submitted to his ministrations, and then demanded her turn. Magnus had not surrendered, the vision of her hands on his cock too

potent for a gentle swiving. He had used her hard enough this eve. Slumber claimed him in the wee hours of the morn. He woke slowly, slotted his eyes open, and scanned the chamber. Dawn’s light straddled the horizon and faint rays filtered through the wooden shutters. A hue of colors spilled over the edge of an open trunk. A warm tuft of air flitted over his collarbone and he glanced down to find Deidra staring at him, her chin propped on fisted hands. “Good morn, husband. You sleep like a king.” “Good morn, wife. Pray tell, how does a king sleep?” He twirled a strand of light brown hair around a finger. “And how would you know?” She wrinkled her nose. “The king spent a night in our keep many winters ago. Fiona and I snuck into his room. The king slept on his back and ne’er moved. Not once. ’Tis not too soon methinks from the way your manhood dances.” She leaned on one elbow, twisted around to gaze at his cock, and then peeked at him. “Why would you not allow me to cleanse it last eve?” Magnus scratched his jaw. Her mind flitted from one matter to another like a butterfly skipping through a field of cornflowers. He considered one explanation, then another, and yielded to the lure of her berry lips. Explanations and discourse could wait.

The sweetest nectar could not rival her taste. Her lips parted for him and he swept inside. His hands slipped from midback to her ass. Such a firm, enticing rump. He kneaded her cheeks, traced the sweet divide, and moved to grasp the tops of her thighs. She wound her arms around his neck and suckled on his tongue. His nuts rose high and tight against his cock. Rolling over and taking her with him, Magnus threaded his fingers between her folds. Slick and slippery, by Odin. His pecker danced on her belly. She smelled of lavender and the dulcet aroma scrambled his thoughts. He forgot his vow to let her set the pace, and greed took a hold of his actions. He gorged on her mouth. Ate at her deliciousness. Groaned when she responded in kind kneading his neck, threading her fingers into his hair, and spreading her legs when he glided first one, then another finger into her sheath. A shudder wracked through him when her puss clamped his fingers. Magnus trailed kisses down her neck. She wriggled and tried to thrust against his fingers, but he used his weight to hold her still and feasted on her breasts. The fat, rosy nipples begged for his tongue and teeth. When he nipped a tip, her female walls quivered and drenched his palm. Her hands were everywhere, stroking his shoulders, squeezing his forearm, massaging his neck,

molding his rib bones. The lithe, bold caresses had his cock as taut as a primed crossbow, his sac tight to his flesh. Setting his thumb to her nubbin, he drove into her again and again, suckling hard, hanging on until she fisted around him, scraped her nails down his back, and found her pleasure. Magus nudged her thighs apart, cupped her bottom, and drove into her tight channel. He gritted his teeth, striving for restraint, battling to keep his strokes shallow. But she locked her legs around his back and he let loose. Lost in the pull of her sex, her frenetic nipping of his neck and shoulder, and the whimpers and moans escaping her mouth, the last of his control splintered. The climax roared up from his toes, shooting fire and ice across his groin. His buttocks contracted, his stones fisted, and his seed shot like a fusillade of arrows, jolt after jolt filling her womb. Magnus hung his head. A thin sheen of perspiration on the cusp of her shoulder beckoned. He licked her skin, laved the cusp dry, and grew drunk on the sweet and salt taste of her flesh. His rasped inhales made it impossible for his glazed eyes to focus. His arms burned with the effort to not collapse onto her slender form. A small palm cupped his jaw, and he looked up to find her wearing the smile of a full, contented tabby. ’Twouldn’t surprise him if she purred.

“Lay your head on my shoulder, husband. You must rest. What a wondrous ride.” She astounded him. “You are not harmed, honning? ’Twas a rough ride.” “Aye.” She smiled, patted his cheek, then traced the whorls of one ear. “Wondrous and rough. I understand now why men and women are so consumed by this. For as soon as one is finished, you begin to picture another. I should like your word, Magnus, that you will let me have my turn soon.” A slow grin captured his mouth. By Thor’s hammer, he was the luckiest of warriors to have gained such a prize as Deidra. Someone pounded the barred door. “Deidra.” “‘Tis Da.” She glanced at the door, frowned, and bit her lips. “‘Twill wait.” He kissed her nose. “Deidra, you will come out at once.” The bellow nigh took the door off its newly hammered hinges. Magnus glanced at the oak panel when more fists joined in the hammering. “Deidra. Come at once. Your pets have arrived.”

Chapter Six Magnus and Deidra exited the bedroom to a wall of warriors, with her brothers, Valan, and Da at the forefront. “Are we besieged?” Magnus eyes moved between Da, Valan, and her seven hulking siblings. “Aye. By your wife’s pets.” Da stood at the top of the stairs glowering at her, his hands folded, legs spread wide, bushy eyebrows forming a fierce line atop his narrowed eyes. “Good morn, Da.” She curtsied and beamed at him. “She is yours now and good luck to you.” Da addressed Magnus over her head before fixing a hard stare on Deidra. “The bear and the cats are loose, daughter. Warriors are ensconced in treetops. The children and women are shrieking hard enough to deafen an entire village. Go.” Kieran rocked on his heels behind Da signaling her frantically, flashing counts on both hands. She sighed; such a fuss about nothing. Deidra straightened her crumpled skirts. “Kieran, will you accompany me to the bailey?”

Before Deidra could make a quick escape, Magnus curled his fingers around her wrist. “Bear? Cats?” “The peacocks, hens, and the snakes too.” Kieran’s loose lips had earned her many a sleepless night. She had to move fast. Deidra tiptoed and whispered loudly enough for all to hear, “We have to hang the stained sheets, my lord, so that all may know I came to you as a maid.” He had to let go of her hand when she gripped both his arms and kissed his neck. “I will tend to the pets.” Twisting and breaking into a sprint, Deidra paused on the first step, and looked over her shoulder to catch Magnus scratching his jaw. “Kieran, make haste.” She fair hissed the command and color left the boy’s face, but he followed her down the stairs. “How did the pets get free?” “That witch Moira.” “And where is Fiona?” Deidra raced through the empty hall, noticing the scattered ale horns, the smashed trenchers littering the floor, and the overturned platters scattered near the kitchens. “Hunting down that witch, Moira.” Deidra glanced at him. “What did she do?”

“Unbarred the cages. Set the keep’s dogs on the snakes. Had the ruffians shoot arrows at the bear and the cats. The bear is in the pigsty eating their peelings. The pigs are squealing all over the bailey. The peacocks are in the hen house. The roosters attacked them and there are chicken feathers scattered everywhere. The peahens are screeching at any that moves. The cats have treed the wenches and most of the warriors.” “My poor babies.” The snakes would be no match for the keep’s mangy half-starved dogs. “Where are the snakes?” She skidded to a halt after throwing open the hall’s doors. That the keep was located in a valley became at once obvious, for the echoes of growls, howls, roars, hisses, barks, screams, bellows, all wrapped around and around and around the bailey, the keep’s walls, and the mountainsides. The din was indeed deafening. Deidra spied the dogs at once. They formed a circle around her beloved Venus and Mars. The snakes’ bright stripes were clearly visible as they arched and hissed at the circling curs and bitches. “Fetch the meat from the spilled trenchers. Lay down a trail and get the dogs into the hall. I will calm my wee beasties. Where are the wagons?” “Beyond the stables.” Kieran darted back into the great hall.

She’d managed to cage the snakes and bear, and had corralled the peacocks and hens into a horse stall before Magnus found her. His expression halted her in midstride. Had she thought him a berserker when he’d thought Da about to strike? Deidra shivered, for he looked about to burst out of his skin. She tried for a smile. “My lord, ’tis nigh under control. My pets are well behaved. Unless provoked…” “I have seen but one tiger in my life. Pray, tell me how my wife comes to possess not one, but three?” His bellow near raised the rafters. “Mother Mary, thank you. They are still alive?” She had been so afeared of an arrow wound. “I must go to them at once.” “Are you daft?” His roar rivaled her big cats’. “Idun, Sif, and Loki would ne’er harm me, Magnus.” She strode to him and placed her palms on his chest. “I have had them since they were cubs. I beg you. Let me gather them afore some dense warrior decides to harm them.” “Nay.” He gripped her waist. “I will not risk your life.” “Did you not see the bear in his cage? I held his paw and led him there. My cats but needs see me and they will follow my lead. I will not have my babies hurt.”

“You led the bear by his paw?” Magnus drew back, shook his head, and his expression reminded her of Da before he tore at his hair. “Please, Magnus. The longer we tarry, the more danger for my cats.” She met his stare full on, pleading with her eyes for him to understand. His nostrils thinned, his lips flattened, his jaw clenched. “I will be bereft if my cats are injured. They are toothless and cannot defend themselves if attacked.” His eyes narrowed. “Toothless?” “Aye. They are of an old age for cats, nigh on a decade.” “I would have your safety first, wife. You will follow me and do exactly as I say.” She flung her arms around his waist. “My great thanks. I love my babies and my heart would wither should harm come to any of them.” “She cried for weeks when a peacock died.” Kieran had slipped silently into the stable. “And refused to eat for days when a visiting warrior wounded Sif.” Magnus tucked her behind him and signaled Jarvik and Garek to his side. The three men led the way with Deidra and Kieran following their wake. The tigers scented her afore the group even reached where they were sprawled ’neath a mighty oak and scurried her way. Before Magnus could stop

her, she darted around him and spread her arms wide. Loki set his big paws on her shoulder and licked her cheeks. She whispered, “‘Tis fine. I am well, see? Come, meet your new master.” When Deidra twisted to introduce man and beast, her heart nigh stopped. All the color had drained from Magnus’ face. He stood two paces to the right, sword raised, head flung back, teeth bared, and at the ready to strike a deathblow. Deidra flinched. Loki growled. She gripped the skin of the tiger’s neck. “Sit. My lord, Loki would shake your hand. Loki, paw.” The big cat sat on his haunches and raised a paw. Magnus did not move. Her heart raced. “Kieran, shake Loki’s paw.” The boy strode forward, bent on one knee, and shook the cat’s huge paw. Loki purred, slurped the boy’s throat, and nuzzled his neck. Magnus lowered his weapon. “Wife. To our chamber.” “I needs take my cats to their cages first. I will be there anon, my lord.” Her stomach plummeted and for the first time she feared Magnus, for his expression spoke of thunder

and lightning, He held the sword so tightly the skin stretched across his knuckles was white.

***

“She is not to beaten.” The Falcon and his sons surrounded Magnus as he watched Deidra lead the tigers away. “I will have your vow on this, Destroyer.” “I would not harm a hair on her head.” He collapsed on a tree trunk. “By Odin. Ne’er have I felt such terror as when that beast reared and put his paws on her chest.” The Falcon squeezed his shoulder. “As have we all. Deidra has had the tigers for nine winters. Their teeth are so weak she feeds them porridge.” “And the bear has no teeth at all. The trader who owned the bear and her cub had them pulled.” A large bird perched on Kieran’s forearm flew up to settle in the boy’s mop of red curls. “She wanted the trader flogged. And cried for a fortnight when the bear cub died. She ate but bread and broth that entire winter. Had it not been for the other animals, I know not if she’d even have eaten at all.” The Falcon sighed. “My daughter cannot walk in

the forest and return without a wounded creature or two in her arms.” Magnus scratched his jaw. He knew not what to think. The fear-fury still coursed through his veins. Half of him yearned to hold her, to sheathe himself in her heat, to prove she remained safe and whole. The other half wanted to shake her senseless, to force her to vow never to go near such dangerous beasts again. “Come and spar with me, brother. ’Twill clear your mind.” Jarvik grasped his forearm. They sparred until neither could heft his sword, then found a river and swam and floated. “She will give up her pets if you ask. ’Tis plain.” “How is it so plain?” Magnus stared at a raven sunning on a rock, blue-black wings flapping in the breeze, jigging in fits and starts over the rippling water. “You see not the way she stares at you. I heard her speaking with Fiona. She thinks you the handsomest, noblest warrior in all kingdoms. That she has met her true mate.” Magnus stood. “Jarvik, ’tis no time to soothe me.” “Nay. ’Tis no soothing, but her exact words. Your wife cares little for gowns or rings. She will be of little use to you at court.” His eyes narrowed. “Methinks you judge Deidra too lightly. Think you a woman who can charm a tiger cannot a man or king? Say you no more.”

“You will keep her then?” Jarvik shouted as Magnus hurried up the riverbank. “She is mine.” Magnus dressed and made his way to their chamber. He hesitated at the door, only to have it opened by Deidra. Her damp hair flowed around her shoulders. The stain was now completely removed and the color reminded him of the molten gold Napoli artisans used to fashion exquisite treasures. The gods had gifted him with this most precious of all treasures, his wife, and by Odin he would have her bubbling and joyous and flitting from one thought to another by his side. Her upturned face begged for his touch, He cradled her cheeks and sought to reassure the desperate question in her fearful stare, the tremulous quivering of her berry lips. “Tell me how you came to have the bear and the cats.” She blinked, a mist dampened the gold of her eyes. One tear plopped onto her wan cheek as she covered his hand with hers, drew back, and kissed the center of his palm. When their gazes met again, she whispered, “I knew I could not give my heart to any but a king of all men.” Magnus swallowed, too choked to speak. She loved him. This beautiful, brave maid loved a coarse, ugly, ungainly warrior. He hauled her high against

his chest, his mouth dry, and his mind full of all he should say but could not. He knew not how he made it to the bed, for all he could see, feel, or smell was his bride. “I shall find a place to keep my pets where you do not have to gaze upon them daily. I will obey all the rules you set. I will free all the injured creatures when they are well. ’Tis what I strive for. But my cats and Sirius cannot survive amongst their own. The cats are too old and the trader removed Sirius’s teeth and claws. ’Tis the cruelest, vilest torture. He should have been flogged.” Magnus unlaced her cyrtel during her breathless explanation. “Sirius?” “The bear.” Her lithe fingers worked on his tunic. “Who is Elaina?” He sighed as her firm breasts came into view. Bent to lick a nipple. “‘Tis amazing. Ne’er would I have thought a tongue could work such magik.” She traced his mouth, dipped a finger inside, and explored said body part. He nipped her forefinger. “Elaina?” Before she could distract him further, he pulled her cyrtel and chemise over her head. “Our healer.” She spread the material of his tunic wide. “Truly, there is no part of you that is not magnificent. Particularly your manhood. He is such a proud fellow. See?” She cupped his stalwart cock.

“He but rises to the occasion. Think you I might cleanse him this time?” She would kill him, send him to Valhalla before he was called, with her sweet torture. For while distracting him with such dulcet praise, Deidra had unknotted his breech rope. His pecker sprang free of the wool; Deidra beamed and grabbed his eager prick with both hands. “Hands, nose, lips, and mouth, Elaina said. Methinks one should add teeth also, no, my lord?” He had found Valhalla on earth. Magnus could not utter a word. She gazed at him, her eyes twinkling, and a mischievous smile curved her lips while awaiting his approval. “Honning,” he croaked and attempted to lift her onto his lap, but she scooted between his legs and shook her head. “Nay, Magnus. You have had two turns and I none. ’Tis mine.” She set her hands on her hips and her chin jutted. “‘Tis only fair.” ‘Twas at that moment he realized that his gentle, innocent bride had stubbornness a mule could learn from, and the negotiating skills of the snake charmers of the east. “What would you have, Deidra?” “I would have you without clothes.” She scrambled to one side, tugged at his breeches, pushed up his tunic, sighed, and then kissed his belly. “You

are so beautiful, Magnus. The color of your belly is like that of heated honey.” His balls burned and his cock twitched. Blood drained to his groin. His brain registered only the necessary. Shed garments. He lifted and kicked his unlaced boots flying, shoved off the breeches, and tore his tunic over his head. She clapped, briefly grinned at him, and then her gaze roved over his torso, returning to his cock so oft he had to bite his tongue not to grab her and plunge into her puss. “Perfect. Oh my lord, you are a feast, a banquet to my eyes. Pray, lay your head here.” She had plumped the bed cushions, now patted the fat pillows, and sat on her haunches giving him an unfettered view of her puss, the swollen glistening folds, her enticing rosy center. Magnus’s mouth watered. His sac flamed and his cock, thick and engorged, ached. “I will not last long like this, honning.” He fisted his hands, saw her fat nipple looked right at him, and he could not resist. He laved the taut bud, worshiping the point, licking and rolling, before grazing the tip. She moaned and held his head to her breast. “‘Tis such magik. Your teeth send fire straight to my core. See you, how wet I am?” Magnus’s pecker wept as she took his hand and set his palm to her mound.

His fingers explored her slick folds and the middle one slid inside her sheath. A whimper escaped her lips, He suckled hard, dragging his tongue over the furled peak, nipping and soothing. “Magnus.” She gasped when he plunged his finger in and out of her sheath, letting his thumb hit her woman’s nubbin, alternating the pressure, light, hard, lighter, harder. She met him move for move, spreading her legs wide, tipping back on her bottom. He smiled against her flesh when her inner walls trembled, a single shudder, then a harsh clamping. “I cannot wait.” He rolled her over, snatched the bed cushion, and slid it under her hips. He then slipped his finger from her heated clenching walls, knelt between her thighs, cupped her ass, and drove to the hilt. The bliss of being seated so deep as to touch her womb had him reeling. Magnus bit his tongue, gripped her waist hard, and rested his forehead on hers. Pray Thor, give him strength. Remember her smallness. Stay still. Let her grow accustomed. “‘Tis no better feeling than when you first plunge into me.” She lifted and wrapped her legs around his back, squeezed his ass, and bit his shoulder. “Save for when you move.” He rocked into her.

“Aye. Like that.” Her head rolled from side to side. She sent him a sultry siren smile, her halfhooded eyes unfocused. “Oh. Oh.” She bit her lip and threw her head back, exposing the long line of her tempting neck. Magnus bent to nip the side. Her walls sucked at him and she found her pleasure, short, sharp convulsions that fisted his girth. He roared, his sac contracted, and semen burst forth, spewing in spasms with each rippling clench. The climax went on and on. Her sheath refused to subside, the tremors more acute, almost painful at the end when his cock went dry. Magnus buried his head in the mass of her hair and inhaled the sweetness that was his wife.

Chapter Seven Deidra stretched her arms over her head, pointed her toes, and arched. She glanced at the open shutters to see the sun at the midaft position in the sky. What wisdom she had gained since wedding Magnus. Pecker, dick, willie, cock, stones, nuts, balls, sac— words she had never even known existed she now understood. Wicked, delicious words. Wicked, delicious actions, cock sucking, puss eating, swiving, bedsport, and Magnus had said ’twere many more to be learned. He had agreed to let her keep the pets, but insisted he be present when she was with them. She’d been so thrilled with him when he said ’twould be a pleasure to meet them all on the morrow. And when they reached their new keep, he would build a stable for all. Truly, her pets liked not to be too confined, but in time, she would accustom him to them, and all would be well. Deidra could not shake the nagging feeling she had forgotten something. But ’twas still much to do this day, so she dressed quickly and opened the door

to find Kieran plastered against the opposite wall. When he saw her, the boy blew out a long breath. “My lady. You must come at once.” Kieran’s voice was changing from boy to man and he either squeaked or growled. Squeaking meant something was amiss. “What is wrong now?” “I have not seen Fiona since she went after the witch, Moira. I am afeared the witch has done away with her.” Kieran wrung his hands. “Athena!” She smacked her forehead. How could she have forgotten her pet monkey? “I cannot believe I did not remember Athena.” “In truth, I have not seen her either, but my lady, your sister is of more import than a monkey.” “You are right. Where did you last see Fiona?” “The copse of trees to the east of the keep.” She sighed. Neither Magnus nor Da and her brothers knew of her new pets, two wolves she’d rescued and tended for the last three fortnights at Elaina’s cottage. ’Twas naught else to do but call on the wolves’ tracking skills. “Fetch Beauty and Beast and take them just inside the forest. I will bring one of Fiona’s garments and we will set them to finding her. Go through the kitchens and take care not to let any of the men see you.” “Aye, my lady.”

Deidra tarried on her way down to the hall hoping that the men would have gone off to practice their warrior skills. She was in luck. The chamber was empty, save for the tabbies perched along the upper shutters. Nary a soul occupied the bailey. Keeping close to the walls and the shadows cast by the fading sun, she made it to the forest before Kieran and sat on a fallen tree trunk. Fortune had indeed shined on her for all had gone smoothly thus far. Mayhap none would need know of the wolves until she arrived at her new home. She cringed when Kieran came pelting through the trees, screeched to a halt, and hopped from foot to foot. ’Twas never a good sign when the boy hopped. “They’re gone. Their cages smashed, my lady. To bits.” “Nay.” Bounding to her feet, her heart leaping in her throat, she forced herself to stand still. “Who would do such a thing? It makes no sense. I can see a panicked warrior shooting them with an arrow, but to destroy their cages? Rest a moment while I think.” The wolves trusted her and Kieran, but would attack all others. “Nay my lady, we cannot rest. The stable boys said the men are hunting the wolves.” Her heart hammered her chest. The bitter taste of fear coated her mouth. “Why?”

“They say one of the wolves tried to attack a young girl. The villagers raised an uproar. They fear for their young.” “‘Tis so frustrating. Beauty loves children. She plays with Elaina’s two little ones all the time.” Deidra stamped her foot. “What fool did this?” “My lady, calm yourself. What will we do?” “How many hunt them? Are they skilled or the drunken louts that were in the hall the first eve?” “Your Da, brothers, Valan the Viper, and your lord. They said your husband is famous for his crossbow skills. That he won the king’s favor by winning tourney after tourney. That he smears poison on the arrows.” Poison—her heart jumped to her throat. Nay. Nay. She could not afford to panic. “Which direction did they go?” “North.” A familiar high-pitched chattering reached her ears and relief surged through her veins. She hugged Kieran and whistled for her monkey. “Athena. Come to me, dearling. We need you.” “I see her. Behind you.” Deidra spun around. The impish creature swung from one branch to another and hurled herself into Deidra’s open arms. Athena had found the wolves and the beasts adored her. She rode on their backs,

hung upside-down from their necks, and followed the animals when Deidra allowed them to roam. “Where are Beauty and Beast, girl? We need to find them and no wandering now.” Deidra repeated the question three times before the monkey leapt to the thick carpet of rotting leaves and twigs coating the forest floor. The creature ran to the left, glanced over her shoulder, and jumped up and down, chattering nosily. Kieran and Deidra ran after the prattling animal, threading their way through the narrowly spaced pines. The light grew dimmer and Deidra knew dusk would fall soon. “How long will the men hunt, think you?” Shaking his head, Kieran said, “Till the wolves are killed, the stable boys said.” “We must go on then. ’Tis my fault. I should have told Da and Magnus about my new pets.” They came to a clearing and Deidra spied four figures in the distance. The monkey headed straight for the huddled group. As they neared the crouched figures, the fading rays of the sun sparked their last brilliance on a shock of golden locks. “Fiona.” “And the witch.” Kieran panted, but he kept up with Deidra. “I do not understand.” “‘Tis Hamish the Horny. The lout. And Moira’s lover.” Deidra burst out laughing. “I do not believe

my eyes. Beauty and Beast have the men by the throats. And Fiona has a knife at Moira’s.” Though her lungs burned, she continued sprinting and shouted in between gulps of air, “Fiona. We are coming.” They halted when they reached Fiona’s side. Her twin did not waste a moment. “Witch. Vixen. Slut. Tavern wench. Can you believe she and these creatures thought to kidnap me for ransom?” Deidra caught her breath and didn’t bother to ask a question, for she knew Fiona loved the drama of telling a tale. “I thought to help you with your beasts afore your husband decided to set you aside and Da finally tears out what is left of his sparse hair. I knew Kieran had hidden the wolves in the stables. And I knew Athena had disappeared, so I set them loose and told them to find the monkey.” Athena, who hated the word monkey, jumped up and down and let out a furious rant. Deidra picked her up and petted her absently. “These simple-minded fools followed me. Ha! Can I not track a handsome warrior for hours to steal a kiss or two? Think you I know not when someone tracks me?” Deidra frowned, for the ground vibrated as if pounding hooves raced nearby.

“I bided my time. Let them take me. Then I whistled for your wolves. Look you, sister—they soiled their pants. Not once, but thrice. As for the slut, she will not ever judge so poorly again. Twice my size she may be, but has she had to wrestle seven hulking brothers? Bah!” “What did you do to her?” Dusk had announced its presence and Deidra peered at the tall woman kneeling on the grasses. “Why naught of import. I may have shorn a lock or two.” Fiona shrugged. “‘Tis late. I am weary and in need of a scented bath. Who approaches?” “Da, the boys, Lords Magnus, Jarvik, and Valan.” “Fie on you Deidra. Valan. And look at my hair. Here.” She handed Kieran the knife and went into a flurry of activity, finger combing her tresses, pinching her cheeks, smoothing her dress. “Bitch. You will not have him.” Moira spat. “Aye. I will. Did he not dismiss you and your whores when I told him I would not countenance your presence for the meal? And did he not set his ruffians to scouring the hall when I suggested ’twas filthy and stunk?” Fiona turned to Deidra, who could barely make out her face. “How do I look? Quickly.” Before Deidra could answer, Moira kicked Kieran in the balls, grabbed the knife, and spun around. She drew back to strike Fiona in the back.

Beast loosed his prey, reared, and went for Moira’s neck, jaws wide, ferocious teeth bared. Right then, the men and horses arrived. Magnus had his bow primed and took aim. Deidra tossed Athena aside screaming, “Nay!” Deidra jumped around Moira, leapt into the air, and wrapped her arms around Beast’s back.

***

Magnus loosed the arrow, saw his wife protecting the wolf, and spurred his steed with a cruelty born of desperation. The destrier reared and screamed in agony. Magnus jumped off the stallion, and ran for his life. Spreading his arms to provide as wide as a shield for his wife’s back, he screeched to a halt in front of Deidra lying on the ground. “Nay!” She rolled over. He fell to his knees and hauled her into his arms. “Did it hit you?” Running one hand over her body, he checked for a wound, all the while pleading for Odin to take him and not Deidra.

“Magnus.” She yanked his hair. “Magnus! I am unhurt.” Burying his nose in his wife’s hair he squeezed her, inhaling the lavender scent, relishing the feel of her warm body, and vowing to never leave her side again, not for a moment. “Husband, I cannot breathe.” She wriggled, freed one hand, and patted his cheek. “I am unhurt. But I would see that Moira has not stabbed my sister, and that Beast is not wounded.” He blinked as her words penetrated his receding panic. “Stab? Moira? Beast? “The valiant Lord Valan rescued me from Moira’s attack, dear sister. She is properly bound and cannot harm a flea. Worry you not. Your Beast is hale and hearty. Lord Jarvik has Hamish the Horny and Moira’s, um, friend trussed.” “My thanks Lords Jarvik and Valan. Magnus, may I stand now?” Deidra kissed his chin and nose, and brushed her lips over his, giving him a tiny lick. He stood. “Nay.” “Daughter. Wolves eat sheep and chickens. Think you to tame these two?” The Falcon paced a circle around the trussed attackers and the bound Moira. He dragged his hands through his hair over and over. Halted. Swung about and declared, “Wolves. Wolves.”

***

“I understand why Ian’s hair is sparse.” Magnus groaned when Deidra descended the keep’s stairs accompanied by the wolf pair. “How am I to ever sleep knowing I will have enormous tigers, bears, and now wolves roaming my keep? For I fear she has begun to mention how terrible a plight it is for her pets to be caged all the time. By Loki’s arse, brother, I am doomed.” “You are calling The Falcon Ian now? ’Tis progress.” Jarvik poured another goblet of ale. “The tales he told me when we were hunting the wolves.” Magnus shuddered. “She has no fear of any wild creature. When she was but seven summers, she raised a pet boar. And refused from then to eat any meat or fowl. She eats her meals with Elaina, the village healer. Am I to go without meat from now on?” Jarvik’s laughter crackled through the hall, and he pounded the table with tears streaming his cheeks. For he knew Magnus salivated at the scent of boar roasting. “My lords.” Deidra curtsied. Her father, brothers, Valan, Jarvik, and Magnus rose and bowed from the waist.

Magnus quickly escorted her up the two steps and helped her onto the bench. His wife’s hair now matched the color of her twin’s and he longed to see the silken tresses on the bed furs. Black bear furs would make the golden color glisten. He stifled a groan. ’Twas no way Deidra would sleep on the skin of a pet. Would he have any furs on his bed at all? Fiona glided into the hall, her tresses gossamer, her lithe torso encased in a gown that sparkled as the firelight caught the fabric. She halted in front of Lord Valan, who had not taken his eyes off her for a moment, and curtsied. “Good eve, my lords all.” The men once again stood and bowed. “Lord Valan, I fear we must impose on your hospitality for a few more days. I am afraid my maid is abed and sorely ill.” The Falcon spewed a mouthful of wine over the table. “In honor of my sister’s rescue of me this day from a vile kidnapping attempt, I have ordered the kitchens to prepare a special meal.” The back of Magnus’s neck prickled. A wave of low groans swept through the hall. The Ferguson warriors one by one called for more ale. “Lord Valan, would you assist me to my seat by your side?” Fiona offered the doomed warrior her hand.

“I pity the man. He will never know what hit him.” Jarvik finished his ale horn and signaled for more. Not a word was said when the meal was served. The food was delicious, filling, and contained not a shred of meat or fowl, but different species of fish, cockles, oysters, and fruit from the sea that even Magnus, a Norse warrior, did not recognize. Surprised and pleased, he ate every morsel on his plate. Mayhap ’twould not be such hardship to go without boar meat. Another wave of murmurs filled the chamber and Magnus glanced up from speaking with his wife to see another course being served. “Are you enjoying the meal, husband?” She caressed his thigh absently and sighed. “I wish I had skill with drawing, Magnus, for I would draw your face over and over.” Magnus blushed, and not for the first time that eve. He had made a determined effort to keep her on one topic at a time, to no avail. He blinked, remembered her question, and answered. “‘Twas delicious, wife of mine.” She clapped. “Fiona, you are wrong. He likes my cooking. You owe my handsome husband three new tunics and I will choose the colors.” Heat scaled his face.

Not for the first time that eve, Jarvik laughed till the tears ran, and pounded the table. “You, I will see on the training fields on the morrow, little brother.” Magnus glowered at him. A page delivered a platter piled high with food to the table. Magnus eyed the unfamiliar dishes. “Treacle?” “Nay. Though we can serve that on the morrow. ’Tis a selection of pastries and sweets Elaina taught me to make. As are the other dishes we had for the main meal. ’Tis one I would have you try.” She picked up a dark ball and set it to her lips. “Bite the whole thing.” Magnus reeled at the explosion of sweet and spice that exploded in his mouth. Every bite revealed a new flavor, not that he could identify all but noted cinnamon, cloves, and a fiery spice that titillated his tongue. He chewed slowly, not wanting the sensual experience to end. “‘Twas exquisite. What is it?” Deidra’s cheeks turned rosy. She cupped her hand over his ear. “Puss eating balls.” In the act of wetting his mouth with a sip of ale, Magnus choked. She patted him on the back and the hand on his leg slipped up to his groin. Odin’s prick could not rival his at that moment. He glanced at the tray. “‘Tis only the one?”

“Nay. The other dozen are in our chamber,” she whispered.

~The End~

~ About the Author ~ Jianne’s an Iron Chef America and Law and Order addict who loves to cook, eat, read, and write. She wishes a body could burn a ton of calories being sedentary and eating. Don’t you? If only… Married for 34 years to an amazing man who still manages to sneak up on her every single day, she’s also the proud mama of three fantastic sons, all of whom are now of legal age. Now if only they’d stop changing majors in college… Alpha males, strong heroines, exotic locations, and cultural differences are her forte. She’s travelling the world and time through her books. From Manacled, which is set in modern day Monaco, to D is for Desire (set in Trinidad at Carnival time), to The Bear and The Bride, set in Norway circa 1029 A.D. Jianne’s writing career began in 2008, and since then she’s been lucky enough to have fourteen books published. Nothing makes Jianne’s day more than an email from someone who’s read one of her books. Jianne loves to hear what tickles your fancy. So far, she’s received emails from almost every continent on the planet. Almost…

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The Seducer © 2011 Jianne Carlo