increased his rhythm. “Stay.”
Be with me.
He groaned, taking her down to the floor. Though she winced at the freezing earth, the thought vanished when he thrust inside her once more. Aisling lifted her knees, and he drove himself within, marking her as his own.
This was not about conquering her body, but instead a gift of himself. With each joining, she pressed herself closer, wanting to merge her body with his.
He never ceased the rhythm, pushing her higher while his shaft hardened even more. Unexpectedly, she crossed over the edge, her body gripping him in a rush of fierce satisfaction.
When at last he released his own desire, covering her with his weight, she held fast to him while he broke apart. Power filled her, knowing that she had made him feel this way.
He whispered against her skin, and no longer was he her master. Lying in her arms, he caressed her. As an equal.
Stay . The thought reverberated in her head, gathering intensity. A foreigner, he might be. A Lochlannach , and a man who knew nothing of her people.
But he’d sworn not to abandon her. And she held fast to her faith, hoping he would keep the vow.
Tharand didn’t move, resting his weight atop her. He still couldn’t understand why Aisling had offered herself, and though he wanted to believe she desired him, his common sense denied it.
She was an Irish noblewoman, a chieftain’s daughter. He hadn’t expected her to be any different from the other female slaves. But like a warrior, she had fought to survive. And she possessed the skills to kill anyone who stood in her path.
He rolled to his side, withdrawing from her warmth. “If a man tries to touch you, use the blade. Do not hesitate to kill.”
She traced a pattern over his chest. “You will be there to protect me.”
“Not always.” He could not be within the king’s private chambers. As time crept forward, he had no idea what he would do to save both Aisling and Jóra.
Her mouth covered his in a light kiss. “I trust you.”
Tharand closed his eyes at the words, knowing he was unworthy of her trust. And as he took her for the second time, it tormented him to imagine giving her up.
Chapter 4
A isling stood beside Tharand, her wrists lightly bound. She didn’t like it, but had not questioned him. He knew the king’s men better than she. Afterwards, he’d run his fingers beneath the ropes to ensure that they weren’t too tight.
She wore a new gown that he’d purchased, a saffron silk overdress and léine . Though slaves did not wear such expensive colors, she supposed it would help raise her status.
Tharand had also returned the two daggers. One knife was strapped to her thigh, the other near her ankle. Neither was easy to grasp beneath the weight of the skirts, and she prayed she would not need them.
“Don’t let anyone see your weapons,” he’d warned. “Slaves are not permitted to carry them.”
As they moved through the crowd, Tharand’s hand tightened upon her wrist. Aisling kept her gaze forward, but her skin prickled as the eyes of the Norse warriors watched her.
Among the men she also spied a few Irish chiefs, which startled her. Whether they were allies or enemies of the king, she couldn’t be sure. She doubted if any of them would help her escape.
“Why have you come to the north, Tharand? Have there been problems in Vedrarfjord?” The king sat upon a dais, a man of strength and power. Perhaps eight and twenty years of age, he held a determined air.
“No, my king.” Tharand knelt in deference, then stood when the king commanded it. “I have come for my sister, Jóra.”
The king’s expression turned displeased. “Jóra has received many marriage offers, thus far.” He signaled to one of his men and added, “She will make a suitable bride to one of my loyal warriors. I have seen to it.”
Aisling didn’t miss the way Tharand’s hand moved toward the handle of his battle-ax. Grim lines settled upon his mouth. “I am honored by your
Be with me.
He groaned, taking her down to the floor. Though she winced at the freezing earth, the thought vanished when he thrust inside her once more. Aisling lifted her knees, and he drove himself within, marking her as his own.
This was not about conquering her body, but instead a gift of himself. With each joining, she pressed herself closer, wanting to merge her body with his.
He never ceased the rhythm, pushing her higher while his shaft hardened even more. Unexpectedly, she crossed over the edge, her body gripping him in a rush of fierce satisfaction.
When at last he released his own desire, covering her with his weight, she held fast to him while he broke apart. Power filled her, knowing that she had made him feel this way.
He whispered against her skin, and no longer was he her master. Lying in her arms, he caressed her. As an equal.
Stay . The thought reverberated in her head, gathering intensity. A foreigner, he might be. A Lochlannach , and a man who knew nothing of her people.
But he’d sworn not to abandon her. And she held fast to her faith, hoping he would keep the vow.
Tharand didn’t move, resting his weight atop her. He still couldn’t understand why Aisling had offered herself, and though he wanted to believe she desired him, his common sense denied it.
She was an Irish noblewoman, a chieftain’s daughter. He hadn’t expected her to be any different from the other female slaves. But like a warrior, she had fought to survive. And she possessed the skills to kill anyone who stood in her path.
He rolled to his side, withdrawing from her warmth. “If a man tries to touch you, use the blade. Do not hesitate to kill.”
She traced a pattern over his chest. “You will be there to protect me.”
“Not always.” He could not be within the king’s private chambers. As time crept forward, he had no idea what he would do to save both Aisling and Jóra.
Her mouth covered his in a light kiss. “I trust you.”
Tharand closed his eyes at the words, knowing he was unworthy of her trust. And as he took her for the second time, it tormented him to imagine giving her up.
Chapter 4
A isling stood beside Tharand, her wrists lightly bound. She didn’t like it, but had not questioned him. He knew the king’s men better than she. Afterwards, he’d run his fingers beneath the ropes to ensure that they weren’t too tight.
She wore a new gown that he’d purchased, a saffron silk overdress and léine . Though slaves did not wear such expensive colors, she supposed it would help raise her status.
Tharand had also returned the two daggers. One knife was strapped to her thigh, the other near her ankle. Neither was easy to grasp beneath the weight of the skirts, and she prayed she would not need them.
“Don’t let anyone see your weapons,” he’d warned. “Slaves are not permitted to carry them.”
As they moved through the crowd, Tharand’s hand tightened upon her wrist. Aisling kept her gaze forward, but her skin prickled as the eyes of the Norse warriors watched her.
Among the men she also spied a few Irish chiefs, which startled her. Whether they were allies or enemies of the king, she couldn’t be sure. She doubted if any of them would help her escape.
“Why have you come to the north, Tharand? Have there been problems in Vedrarfjord?” The king sat upon a dais, a man of strength and power. Perhaps eight and twenty years of age, he held a determined air.
“No, my king.” Tharand knelt in deference, then stood when the king commanded it. “I have come for my sister, Jóra.”
The king’s expression turned displeased. “Jóra has received many marriage offers, thus far.” He signaled to one of his men and added, “She will make a suitable bride to one of my loyal warriors. I have seen to it.”
Aisling didn’t miss the way Tharand’s hand moved toward the handle of his battle-ax. Grim lines settled upon his mouth. “I am honored by your
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