Page 20 of The Shipwreck (The Warrior Maids of Rivenloch)
It was only when his arm wrapped around her shoulders and his thigh curved possessively over her buttock, when he tried to roll her onto her back, that she stiffened.
Only once had a man ever dominated her. And that had been against her will. After she’d been raped, she’d never allowed a man to toss her onto her back. She’d been helpless once. She’d vowed never to be so again.
“Nay!” She dug her nails into his shoulders, ready to resist with all her might.
To her surprise, he responded immediately, relaxing his grip on her and withdrawing his hands. She searched his face, wondering what game he played.
But there was only patient affection in his eyes. And as he lay submissively beneath her, giving her time to reason, she was forced to confront her demons. It wasn’t long before she realized the truth—those demons clearly existed only in her imagination.
Brandr was not a berserker. He had no desire to hurt her, to demean her, to dominate her. He obviously cared for her. He’d confessed his love. He’d bared his soul to her. Hell, he’d even offered to fight for her. Why, then, was she reluctant to cede the tiniest bit of control to him?
If anyone was obsessed with power, Avril realized, it was she. After all, she’d held him prisoner. She’d kept him at her mercy. She’d had her way with him. What more did she want? Must he grovel at her feet, yielding to her in every way?
At her brooding silence, he smiled ruefully. “Maybe you don’t truly care for me.”
She frowned. How could he think that? She’d practically saved his life. She’d fed him and housed him. She’d set his arm. She’d protected him from her neighbor. How could she not care for the man who had promised to get her castle back? “Of course I do.”
“But do you trust me?”
She bit her lip. It was true she’d learned to be wary when it came to trusting men.
And yet Brandr had done nothing to deserve her mistrust. Even when she thought he’d betrayed her, he’d only been trying to protect her.
She looked into his expectant eyes—eyes as beautiful and unclouded as a summer sky—and then lowered her gaze to his inviting mouth.
She couldn’t let the damned berserker who’d raped her win. She couldn’t let her wretched brothers win. She wouldn’t let what had happened to her in the past ruin her chances at happiness in the future.
“Kiss me again,” she murmured, certain that she did trust him after all.
His touch was tender and coaxing, soothing and arousing all at once.
He cradled her chin and kissed her with care, as if she were a brittle seashell.
He stroked her hair with the gentle caress of the ocean combing the kelp.
His fingers swept over her like the incoming tide washing across the shore, exploring higher and farther with subtle stealth.
And this time, when she willingly rolled onto her back, it felt as natural as turning over in the sea on an afternoon swim.
And though he rose above her, as massive and menacing as an ocean wave, she felt no panic.
He moved with the steady languor of the sea, rocking her gently along the current until they floated there together in rising bliss.
Before long, she realized this was like no other voyage she’d taken.
The sensual weight of his hips, the tantalizing touch of his hands, the fiery caress of his tongue took her to a place she’d never been before.
Her breath expanded as an ember sparked within her, filling her with glowing heat.
Her body moved of its own accord, squirming in pleasure.
Her fingers pressed into the supple muscle of his buttocks, urging him closer, and when that wasn’t enough, she wrapped her legs around him, arching up against the divine pressure of his belly.
She closed her eyes tightly, relishing the erotic delight of his flesh on hers as he teased her lust to a fine point.
Farther and farther into uncharted waters they sailed, and Avril clung to him, half-afraid, half-obsessed, seeking…seeking…
“Look at me,” he suddenly breathed.
She couldn’t. She’d never felt so vulnerable, so exposed. If she let him glimpse the helplessness in her eyes…
“Look at me,” he softly urged, pausing to smooth away the crease between her brows with his thumb.
With a small whimper of protest, she reluctantly complied, and her face grew instantly hot with shame. But then she gazed into his eyes—his shining, smoldering, sea-colored eyes.
As he stared down at her with pure, beautiful, unflinching love, her fears vanished. A sweetness filled her spirit, softening her, comforting her. And when he moved within her again, the tenderness between them heightened her desire.
She sailed with him on the journey toward passion, and the lovely torment in his eyes fueled her own as they grew closer and closer to the edge of the world…
panting, gasping, then breathless with intensity as time froze and the earth dropped from below.
Lightning struck her with stunning force, making her cry out in shock, while Brandr echoed her with a low groan.
Their shudders of release made powerful thunder, and she held tightly to him as they careened earthward again, falling…falling…back into the deep calm of the sea.
For a long while she drifted on the lazy current, miles away from care, letting waves of contentment wash over her.
Gradually, the fog of sensuality receded, and she began to notice small details like the skirt rucked up indecently around her waist, the adorable lock of hair drooping over his forehead, the rock-hard object stabbing into her spine…
With a frown, she reached behind her back and dug out Kimbery’s slate and a piece of charcoal.
He lifted his head and grinned at the smeared slate. “You may have a new design on your back.”
She smiled back. “I suspect it may be a drawing of you.” She tossed the slate and charcoal aside and reached up to touch that irresistible blond lock. “You know, I think I could get used to these althings of yours.”
He turned her hand to kiss her palm. “Strange, but I don’t remember them ever being so…invigorating.”
She lowered her gaze to his delectable mouth, and he accepted her unspoken invitation at once. They were mid-kiss when there was a loud banging on the cottage door.
Avril gasped and yanked her kirtle up to her chin.
Brandr muttered, “My brothers no doubt fear you’ve thrust me through with your sword.” With a last light kiss upon her brow, he rose from the bed and pulled up his trousers.
As she worked hastily to repair her appearance, he retrieved Kimbery’s slate and drew a few strange runes on it with the charcoal.
“What does it say?” she asked.
He gave her a sweet, lopsided smile full of affection and mischief. “Da.”
Her eyes welled with joy and gratitude as she took his hand and tugged him toward the door. She couldn’t wait to tell Kimbery she’d been right all along.
Rivenloch was returned to its rightful heir.
And in that place, generations of Vikings and Picts intermingled and intermarried to create the sturdy stock of Scotland.
The descendants of Brandr and Avril upheld the honor in which their clan was forged.
Their veins flowed with the courage and loyalty of their Viking father and their Pictish mother.
For centuries, they bravely defended the land from invaders with an unconquerable army, an army made strong by the marriage of their two powerful and illustrious cultures.
But one day, their courage and loyalty would be tested, for there would come to Rivenloch an enemy so formidable it would take warriors of unmatched mettle to face the daunting challenge.
These warriors would be the progeny of a centuries old Viking invader and his Pictish bride, and the fate of the clan would lie in their unlikely hands. Thus was born the legend of the Warrior Maids of Rivenloch…