Magnus cursed Jarvik until he mounted his destrier and galloped up the sloped beach.
Jarvik waited until he could no longer see Magnus and his steed before gathering his clothes. Three sennights. For three long sennights, he had not sheathed his cock in Elaina’s sweet puss. Each eve and each morn they loved each other, but she would not let him in her until he was fully healed. And indeed, until today an hour of swordplay had nigh exhausted him for the rest of the day. But, his vigor and strength had returned with daily practice, and this eve he intended to tie his sweet wife to the bedframe.
’Twas sheer pleasure to return to his keep. Not only was Skjebne a magnificent holding, it was nigh impossible to invade or besiege. Entering the bailey, Háski reared when Jarvik slowed to a walk. Torsten had told Jarvik of the destrier’s defense when he had fallen. And the steed’s behavior had tempered since the battle. Jarvik’s lips twisted as he glared at the horse.
For, in truth, Háski now tolerated Jarvik because of Kateri.
The second she’d set eyes on Háski, Kateri’s eyes had lit up, and before Jarvik could snatch her away, the little girl had tangled herself in the horse’s forelegs. Jarvik had been prepared to slay the destrier, but the stallion had stilled, then gently nuzzled Kateri. From that moment on, the toddler insisted on taking an apple to the horse first thing in the morn and last at night. The horse appeared fascinated and bemused with Kateri.
Of late, they played a game of bump and follow whenever Háski was in the bailey. Kateri bumped a foreleg, skipped a few steps, and then shot him an impish look over her shoulder and waited for the steed to catch up and nuzzle her neck. Jarvik shook his head. Never would he understand this friendship between the horse and the child.
The women planned a feast for the returning Njal and the bailey bustled with activity. Women and men went to and fro. Children played with a ball of straw in one corner. He spied Kateri and Kitti toddling along carrying a basket filled with yellow and white daisies. He dismounted, avoided Háski’s bared teeth, and threw the reins to a stable boy. Háski neighed his displeasure.
Kateri twirled and the basket flew sideways. Kitti stumbled. Jarvik scooped her into his arms.
“Háski.” Kateri squealed, and she skipped, arms outstretched, to the destrier.
The horse stilled, not even flicking his tail, and when the little girl hugged his foreleg, he gently nuzzled the back of her neck. Odin’s toes. Kateri would not say papa, but she had learned the steed’s name at once. The warhorse followed the little girl everywhere. Jarvik grimaced.
“Papa?” Kitti’s grubby, plump palms cupped his face. His daughter jealously strived for his sole attention. “My daithieth are thpilled.”
While he had been too weak to do much but lay in bed, the two girls had insisted on making cert he was not lonely. They played in the room, took over the bed, and brought him driftwood to carve into toys. He loved children and had adored spoiling his niece and nephews, but had not anticipated the fierce pride he would feel for his two daughters.
Never had he expected such differences between the two girls. Headstrong Kateri plunged into every activity. Kitti held back and watched, but always followed Kateri’s lead.
“Aye, but we can put the flowers back into the basket.” He kissed Kitti’s soft cheek and set her on the baked dirt. “What do you with the daisies?” Jarvik reached for the basket, righted it, and began collecting stalks and heads.
“For our hair.”
Not many moments later, Jarvik gathered both the girls and the replenished basket into his arms, then ventured into the Great Hall. Torsten and Ruard sat at a table nursing horns of ale.
Gæierla, her stride quick and long, approached them, but spotted Jarvik and his burdens. She turned in their direction. “Uncle Jarvik, Catriona wants me to take the girls to the nursery. We are to make the young ones rest so they can be present for the feast.”
No one disobeyed Catriona’s edicts, not even Ruard. Jarvik set the girls down, gave the basket to Gæierla, then joined his brothers. He settled onto a bench and scanned the enormous room before focusing on his two brothers. “Magnus?”
“Came up here roaring for Deidra. Last we saw him, he was carrying his wife to their chamber.” Torsten wore a smug smile. “They will leave on the morrow.”
Jarvik’s cock twitched happily. Alone at last. “How know you this?”
“I found Deidra crying yester eve.” Torsten swallowed a mouthful of ale.
For the life of him, Jarvik could not follow his brother’s reasoning, but, then again, he had also found Deidra crying. “Does this mean you will torture me and stay here until Ainslin cries?”
“Nay.” Torsten shook his head. “You will soon learn. Women are weepy when they are with child.”
“Magnus will not survive her confinement.” Ruard slapped the table. “Mayhap Catriona and I will stay awhile to enjoy his torture. Think you, he will allow her any freedom of movement now?”
Jarvik laughed. “He already hovers over her like a mother hen with her chicks. How can he do more?”
“Aye. She twists him around her fingers.”
“As if you are any different. Ruard will also leave on the morrow.” Torsten’s smug grin could light up the stormiest night.
Ruard frowned and wiped foam off his lips. “You are ordering us to leave?”
“Nay. Ainslin told me this morn that Catriona ordered cook to bake a dozen apple pies.”
Ruard spat ale all over the table. He greened. “She is with child.” With that he lurched off the bench and sprinted to the stairs.
“’Tis strange.” Jarvik stared at Ruard as he took the steps two at a time. “I will not so be affected when Elaina is with child. I will be like you, brother, calm and reasonable. Where is Ainslin?”
“Locked in our chamber.” Torsten called for another horn of ale.
A cheer from the bailey drowned the sounds of pots clanging in the kitchens. One of the kitchen boys placed a pitcher and two horns on the table. Torsten poured one, handed it to Jarvik, filled his own, and put down the jug.
“And why do you lock your wife in your chamber?” Frowning, Jarvik peered at the open doorway.
“Ainslin needs rest. And she is most stubborn and unreasonable when she is with child.”
Jarvik stifled a laugh, gulped ale, choked on the liquid, and covered his mouth.
“She has rested enough.” The sweetness of Ainslin’s voice belied the fury writ on her creased forehead, in her narrowed eyes, and quivering nostrils.
Torsten twisted around, fell sideways, righted himself, and bounded off the bench to loom over Ainslin. “Why are you not resting?”
Jarvik checked to see if the roof had withstood Torsten’s bellow.
“Am I to have five more moons of you trying to make me rest constantly?” Ainslin tiptoed and jabbed a finger into her husband’s massive chest. “I forbid you to lock me in any chamber.”
Elaina would never shame him so publicly. Ainslin would forbid The Bear of The North?
Torsten glanced at the doorway. He collapsed onto the bench. “I am afraid to ask. How come you from the bailey?”
Ainslin dusted her hands. “I am as sure footed as a mountain-goat.”
“You climbed.” Torsten shuddered and held his head. “You climbed three stories.”
Without seeming to move, Torsten had his wife over one shoulder, and strode in the direction of the stairs afore Jarvik could blink thrice. He could not stop guffawing. Jarvik chortled so long and so loud that he soon had an audience of spit boys and wenches.
As he dried his cheeks, Njal strode through the doorway.
“What amuses you, brother? Ah, ale. I am parched.” Njal emptied Torsten’s abandoned horn and poured another before settling on the bench opposite Jarvik.
“’Twould seem that a woman with child makes a man crazed.”
“You do not know the half of it, but you will soon learn.” Njal drained the second horn.
Jarvik shrugged. “Catriona is in the nursery, or she was before Ruard went after her. She ordered a dozen apple pies from cook this morn. And I found Deidra crying.” He laughed again.
“By Odin. All of them? At the same time? I almost wish the treaty hadn’t been signed. ’Tis easier to fight on a battleground than to have to watch a woman grow with child.” Njal shuddered. “Where is Bettina?”
Another cheer rose from the bailey.
Too curious to wait, Jarvik headed for the doorway. “Torsten would not have been so stupid as to leave rope about.”
“Rope?” Njal followed. “Torsten?”
“Torsten locked Ainslin in her chamber because she needed rest. She found she had rested enough and climbed out the window.”
Njal stumbled into him. “Nay.”
Jarvik steadied him.
Njal had turned the same shade of green as Ruard had earlier. “I will beg him not to visit us. Should Bettina hear of what Ainslin did…” Njal shook his head.
Another cheer, louder with shouted comments of encouragement arose from the bailey.
Jarvik spun and nigh raced to the entrance. Bettina, dressed in breeches and tunic and sporting a quiver of arrows, was mounted on Háski. The destrier reared and bucked kicking out his back legs as Bettina reined him in a slow circle, her head thrown back, black tresses whipping around.
Jarvik couldn’t repress his hysterical cackling.
“I…will…kill…her.” Njal, hands fisted and he hurdled down the stairs.
Bettina caught sight of him. Her eyes widened. Without a moment’s hesitation, she spun the horse around and kneed him into a gallop.
Njal leapt onto the steed he’d left standing in the bailey, and took off after his wife.
“What amuses you so, husband?” Two slender arms curled around Jarvik’s waist.
He turned around and drank in the sight of his wife. She looked radiant. Her dusky skin glowed. Her slanted eyes seemed more round than doe-like and the green in them appeared brighter. No longer forest but more a meadow in full summer.
“Tis eve, wife. I will wait no longer.”
“Aye. ’Tis time.” She traced the laces of his tunic, and her fingernails grazed his chest. “Though I have enjoyed our explorations, I yearn to have you inside me.”
His cock went rock hard, and his balls drew up tight. Why wait for this eve? He scooped her up and sprinted to the stairs.
“Right now?” Elaina fair purred the words. “I have cook making spiced chocolate balls. ’Twas part of the surprise I had planned for after the feast.”
“We will do that too, but I have a mind to tup the day away.” Jarvik kicked the door shut, raced to the bed, and placed her in the middle of the mattress.
The siren smile she wore did him in, and he set about shedding clothes and boots. When he pulled the tunic over his head, he stumbled and would have fallen to his knees had he not grabbed the bedpost. For she lay there naked, legs wide spread, and her mound… He gulped in air, but the room still spun.
“’Tis another surprise. The women of east bare their puss. ’Tis to your liking?”
’Twas near dusk before either of them were sated. Jarvik could not move a muscle. Elaina lay in his embrace, her soft cheek resting on his heart, and her bent leg curled around his groin.
“We are agreed… I am healed?”
“Aye. I know you have been patient, and I thank you for keeping your vow to wait until I believed your insides healed.” She nuzzled him. “’Tis one thing to nurse a stranger or even a villager you know. But nursing the one you love, ’tis pure torture. I have never been so fearful of your every move. ’Twas nigh impossible to say naught when I realized you had begun training.”
Jarvik held his breath. By Odin’s mercy. She had said the words.
He had to do this right. Though he tried to move as if he had not been struck by one of Thor’s thunderbolts, his hands shook when he rolled them over and framed her face. How he loved this woman. Never had life been so precious.
“Elaina?”
“Jarvik?” She rested her hands on his, and ’twas then he saw the luminosity of her eyes.
His own pricked, and he had never shed a tear in his life. “I would trade one of the boons you gave me on our wedding night.”
He smoothed her frown before it fully blossomed. “You may call me any name you wish. Oaf. Lout. Knave. Not boy, though, that never again.”