15. Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Fifteen
Brun felt his presence behind her, and shivered when she sensed the stir of air as he lowered his head. “I would retire, mate. Shall I do so alone?”
No, she resolved, he wouldn’t go to bed alone. “I shall join you,” she told him as she slipped her hand in his.
The crowd that surrounded them would interpret her gesture as a concession, but Brun found she didn’t care what the repercussions would be.
His hand cradled hers as she lightly brushed her thumb across the smooth calluses on his palm.
She’d come to realize her husband was nothing like the man who’d raised her or the brothers who’d refused to protect her.
He respected her strength and would lend her his when she needed it, and he’d earned her trust.
When they entered the sanctity of their shared chamber, where they'd be undisturbed, she pressed her hand in the middle of his chest and gently pushed him against the wall.
“Will you show me?”
He raised a brow, playing the fool. She knew he simply wanted her to tell him exactly what she wanted. "What would you have me show you, wife?"
"I want to see your each uisge form."
“You've already seen it. I was in my beast form when I rescued you.”
She placed her hands on her hips and shook her head. “That was only a brief glimpse and I had neither the time nor the opportunity to appreciate your transformation. I was overwrought and exhausted from my captivity.”
"My beast and I both have need of distraction this night, be certain what you ask for, Valkyrie."
She deliberately brushed her fingers over the scar his teeth had left on her neck and stepped closer. "I know what I'm asking for, Barbarian."
***
“My beast is not easily tamed,” Tor warned as he gathered her in his arms. He wasn’t inclined to inform her that whether or not the taming had been easy, his each uisge would roll onto its back or fetch her dinner in exchange for nothing more than one of her smiles.
“I trust your ability to control that side of your soul," she taunted.
Her trust was humbling, and this teasing side of her ignited his yearning. Tairneanaich was impatient to make more than a passing acquaintance and Tor wanted to set him free.
He bent his head and brushed his lips over her scar, faintly scraping it with his incisors, and set her down.
When he slowly began unwrapping the plaid he’d wound around his waist after his bath, she clasped her hands in front of her, and the occasional twitch of her fingers was the only thing that belied how eager she was to meet his beast.
Her gaze went half-lidded and her breaths turned visibly short when he tossed aside the plaid.
His manhood responded to her arousal, rising to the occasion, and he was tempted to stalk forward and bear her down to the mattress.
If he was certain his beast wouldn't punish him for thwarting their meeting he'd do just that.
The metamorphosis from man to beast was swift, and when Tairneanaich’s will rose to the surface, clamoring for control, Tor tried to calm him. She’s ours for now, lad. Don’t scare her away with your gnashing teeth.
His each uisge shook its head in disdain, but Tor could feel him quieting.
“You are beautiful,” she crooned as he pranced toward her.
When he lowered his muzzle, she swept her hand down his face. The human side of him that watched felt her touch like an echo, and Tairneanaich whicker of approval became Tor 's mental growl. His fierce beast nuzzled his mate’s palm, swaying on its feet, bliss oozing from its very pores.
“You’re not scary at all, are you boy? Just misunderstood," she crooned.
If it were possible, Tor would have rolled his eyes. He knelt on the floor, and when she settled gracefully behind his withers, her hands curling in his mane, he trotted toward the hidden tunnel entrance.
When they reached the wide expanse of moonlit beach just beyond the tunnel exit, Brun slid from Tairneanaich’s back and curled her toes in the sand.
The cold grit of each pebble grounded her as she closed her eyes and felt the sting of the salt spray on her face.
She'd just tilted her head toward the stars when her mate’s arms curled around her waist.
“My beast is as captivated by you as I am,” he murmured as he pushed aside her braids and kissed the side of her neck.
His confession made her blush. Brun had never sought the attention or admiration of others for anything other than her skill on the battlefield, and his praise made her squirm. "You exaggerate, husband. We are merely compatible behind closed doors."
"It is more than that, and one day I'll persuade you to admit it."
"Always so sure of your charms," she muttered, even as she relaxed into his embrace.
"It's not charm, Fireheart, it's affinity. Your soul calls to mine as mine does to yours, and I long for the day you can see past your fear."
She tensed in response, because admitting fear meant admitting weakness. She'd learned at a very young age that any weakness was an invitation for others to exploit her. "You'll be waiting a very long time, Prince of Seaweed."
He ducked his head, and the shadow of his beard scrubbed against her skin. "You always resort to the most ridiculous epithets when you feel threatened."
Brun wasn't accustomed to lighthearted teasing, and even when she knew her husband was goading her, she had no idea how to respond. "You've yet to complain of my thorns," she fussed.
He bit the tip of her ear. "Nay, I relish them. They make finding your nectar all the sweeter."
Heat spread from her neck to her face, and she elbowed him in the ribs. "Do not call it nectar."
His rusty laughter surrounded them. "Fine, I'll call it ambrosia."
"That sounds just as insulting," she groused.
"Not an insult, wife," he protested as he latched his arm about her waist and toppled them gently to the shore.
His knees bracketed her waist as he rose above her. The moonlight gleamed over the carved hollows of his naked body, and Brun was compelled to deny the way the sight affected her.
"Prince of Seaweed," she repeated as she wrinkled her nose and tried to dislodge him.
He lowered his body until they were hip to hip, and she could feel him at the juncture of her thighs. "Care to repeat that, Cutthroat Maid?"
"No longer a maid," she taunted as she rolled against him. "Not in a long while. And certainly not since I welcomed a monster to my bed."
"Prince of Seaweed and Monster," he winced and came to lie beside her, his hand over his eyes. "I fear my amorous attentions have sunk me lower in your regard."
Brun turned to face him, pillowing her chin and cheek. "Perhaps if you told me more of your history, and the full story of what happened to your brother, I'd be more inclined to welcome your attentions."
He sighed and pinned her with an inscrutable gaze. “You tell me virtually nothing of your sorrows, yet expect me to speak of my deepest wounds?”
Knowing he would relent, Brun kept her silence as he stretched his arms and crossed them behind his head.
She studied his hawkish profile and tense jawline, the way his bicep flexed in frustration and his mouth set into a grim line.
She waited, because she knew he would answer her questions whether or not she reciprocated with her own admission of vulnerability.
“I was never meant to inherit the throne or rule in my father’s stead.”
She twisted into his side and curled her hand on his chest, urging him to continue.
“My brother Eodhann should be wearing the crown. He was the diplomat and I was the warrior.”
“I don’t think a diplomat would have fared well against your enemies. They seek domination, not negotiation.”
He snorted. “That is true. But nevertheless, I never expected the burden I bear.”
“Where is he?”
Her mate visibly swallowed, his throat bobbing as if he were holding something at bay. “He is at his final berth, in the embrace of Lir with his wife, daughter and son.”
“You mean he is dead.”
Tor squeezed his eyes shut. “Aye, he is dead,” he rasped.
The pain in his voice was raw and unmistakable, and she laid her hand on his chest in sympathy.
"This is why you're determined to defeat the Kraken, why you'll stop at nothing to reclaim what they've stolen?"
"How do you know what they've stolen?"
"People talk. Especially vindictive shrews like your aunt. She said you have plans to rescue the women and children the Kraken have taken captive in their raids."
"My plans are not yet final."
She drew a tentative line down his chest, and kept her gaze downcast. "Will you allow me to help?"
He pulled her atop him with no warning and kissed the tip of her nose. "Nothing would make me happier, wife."
"Not even a new nickname? Or a new position?" She teased.
"The new nickname, no. 'Tis likely to be another foul insult. But the new position? Mayhap."
The sparkle in his eyes lit her from the inside out as she tossed her head back in laughter.
Einar Bhaltair walked into the crashing waves with all the unflinching courage he’d shown in his life. His stride was steady and purposeful, and though tears stung his eyes, Tor kept his gaze fixed on his father.
When the wave of the storm rose over his head and he disappeared, grief swept over Tor, and the tears he’d been holding at bay slid silently down his cheeks. The salt of them mixed with the sea spray as his grief overwhelmed him.
His mate had been quiet, but when his arm tensed she laid her head on his shoulder, and inched her fingers over the fist clenched at his side. As she brushed her thumb back and forth over his knuckles, the tension eased from his body and he relaxed into the sorrow he was unable to deny.
“Your father was a good man and a respected leader and his legacy lives on in you,” she said.
“I never wanted the crown, and I’ll never forget what he told me the day he set it on my head.”
He blinked fiercely against the well of tears, and swiped the corner of his eye with his free hand.
“He said there was no one better to lead our people, because I wasn’t seeking glory or power.
When he told me he was walking into the arms of Lir, he said he was proud of the way I’ve stood for what is right and just and shown wisdom and compassion in the choices I’ve made. ”
“Including your choice to wed a bloodthirsty shield maiden?”
Tor gave her a wry smile. “He said you were the wisest choice of all, that you were loyal to your depths despite our inauspicious beginning.”
“I will be at your side when we defeat your enemy, and if we are to emerge victorious when that day comes, I need to hone my skills.”
Her unexpected admission of anything less than perfection roused his curiosity, and he raised a brow. “I have witnessed no such need for improvement.”
She squeezed his hand. “My skill with a bow and arrow has been in disuse. I challenge you to another wager, husband.”
Tor sensed her challenge was an attempt to distract him from his sorrow, but dismissed the suspicion. Brunhild Ranulfsdottir would not expose her weakness to comfort someone else.