Viking Ecstasy (5 page)

His hands roamed from her shoulders down her back, forcing her to arch backward, demanding that her body mold to his. Everything that Tanaka thought she believed grew faint and indistinct as she feasted on Tabor's mouth, dancing her tongue against his. When she felt Tabor's hand sliding lower, rounding the curve of her buttocks then moving back upward only to slide beneath the shirttail to feel her silken nakedness, she knew that she should protest.

But to what good? She could no more stop Tabor than she could stop the sun from rising on the morrow.

Telling herself that she had no choice in the matter helped salve Tanaka's conscience when Tabor's hand cupped her more firmly against him, forcing the strangely moist petals of her femininity to press intimately—pleasantly—against the hard-muscled surface of his thigh.

When at last the kiss ended, Tanaka felt as though some unseen force had mysteriously stolen all the strength from her body. Her heart raced in her chest; and, though she still held her hands passively at her sides, she longed to have the courage to reach out and explore Tabor's body precisely as he now explored hers, running his powerful hands over the backs of her thighs and the smooth curve of her buttocks.

"Tanaka . . . Tanaka . . ." Tabor whispered, his lips caressing the velvety arch of her neck.

Tanaka tilted her head to the side, giving Tabor more room. It was surely madness, she told herself, that she assist him in his decidedly unwelcome — though erotic —quest. The tip of his tongue, moist and pink, traced the outline of her ear, sending hot waves and cold chills racing through her. His hands never left her, exploring the contours of her back, hips, thighs, and buttocks, never lingering long, igniting a nameless fire wherever he touched.

Raising up on her tiptoes, Tanaka slipped her arms around Tabor, touching him cautiously, mystified by her behavior, yet helpless to stop herself. This was folly, she knew. An insanity of sorts. She tried to tell herself that Tabor was forcing her to kiss him, but when she thrust her tongue deep into his mouth to kiss him with as much intensity and yearning as he had kissed her, she knew it for the lie it was. Her breasts throbbed with desire, aching to be touched by the demanding hands that were so capable of such exquisite tenderness.

It wasn't until Tanaka felt Tabor's hand, the fingertips trailing featherlight caresses, slip around her hip and move toward the front of her body that reality at last registered in her brain.

"Wait! Tabor, wait!" Tanaka said in a breathy whisper, twisting until she slid out of his embrace and away from his touch. She felt warm and wet, oddly sensitized by this man's embrace. Her heart hammered, and she knew that she would not think clearly as long as she allowed Tabor to touch her, as long as she could taste the sweet, intoxicating nectar of his kisses.

She took another step backward, colliding with a shield that leaned against the wall. Startled, she turned to Tabor, silently pleading that he understand actions she herself could neither explain nor comprehend.

Her palms pushed at Tabor. "Please," she implored, the single word a tremulous plea that pulled at Tabor's heartstrings. Only once or twice in his life had Tabor questioned whether or not his personal code of honorable conduct was correct. But as he looked at Tanaka, he wanted to ignore the fear he saw in her eyes. Her slender, naked legs drew his gaze, and she wrenched sideways as though to protect herself from him.

It would be so easy,
he told himself. She was small and wore only the shirt he'd given her. And she was his slave, properly given to him by her previous master, Ingmar the Savage. If he raped her, no one in Hedeby would think the lesser of him for it.

No one, that is, except himself.

Tabor growled, "Stand aside. I need to walk."

Two long strides brought him out of his hut, and he inhaled the cool evening air and wondered why a copper-skinned beauty from a faraway land called Egypt should captivate him so thoroughly. He thought, too, of "visiting" one of the women he knew. There were several in Hedeby —women who would take him into their homes, their arms, their bodies, at a moment's notice, never complaining of how long he had been gone, only happy that he had returned to them. Though he always brought gifts, they were happy just to have Tabor to themselves for an hour or two —or perhaps an entire evening.

But, somehow, the thought of satisfying his lusts with one of them no longer appealed to Tabor. As he looked up at the moon glowing pale in the dark sky, he cursed Tanaka because she had bewitched him and no other women could spark the fire of want within him.

I
ngmar was restless, and not even the young woman slave beside him that he'd just purchased could take away his sense of foreboding. It wasn't so much concern for his brother's safety that stirred a sour brew in the pit of his belly but knowledge of what would happen if Hugh had failed in his attack on Tabor's men. Since nightfall made sailing or even rowing through the fjords to Hedeby virtually impossible, Ingmar knew that there was nothing to do but wait until morning to find out if his plan to divide and destroy Tabor and his Viking warriors had proven successful.

If Hugh had failed, if word of the unprovoked attack should reach Tabor's ears . . .

The thought sent a shudder through Ingmar. He well knew the tales of what happened to the enemies of Tabor, particularly to anyone foolish enough to hurt one of his Vikings. Tabor's wrath was legendary, and it was something that Ingmar had no desire to witness firsthand.

Pushing the disquieting thoughts from his head, Ingmar concentrated on what pleasures he would know when Hugh returned with his full fighting force intact and with fully half of Tabor's men killed. The remaining rival force would be outnumbered four or five to one, and Ingmar and his men would make short work of Tabor's warriors. Perhaps in the end, when Tabor was thoroughly vanquished, Ingmar would slaughter the tall, powerful Viking himself. He had always resented how the villagers in Hedeby, and even in Kaupang in Norway and Birka in Sweden, feared yet respected Tabor, but only feared and despised Ingmar the Savage.

A smile curling his mouth into a hateful sneer, Ingmar promised himself that he would personally execute Tabor. He would do it publicly, at the slave auction block where so many people had seen him give Tabor the Egyptian slave. That would prove to everyone that he — Ingmar the Savage — was the ultimate Viking who ruled the lands and the seas.

The woman beside him in the bed shifted slightly, and Ingmar glanced at her. She wasn't bad-looking, but she certainly wasn't as beautiful as Tanaka. Why had he given her to Tabor?

Ingmar knew why. It was because her skin was dark, not pale like Scandinavian women, and he was afraid that his men would talk behind his back about it. He had pretended that her dark skin made her ugly, but now that he had given her away, he was angry with himself. Something about the Egyptian fascinated and aroused him. In all the time that she had been his captive, her spirit had not broken. Tanaka had not been defeated by her master's open contempt of her. Nor by his physical and sexual demands. Nor the humiliation he had heaped upon her. Even when he sent her to the slave auction she had held her head high, unsubdued, dressed in regal pride no rags could obscure. Perhaps that was the reason she had caught Tabor's interest.

A new burst of anger fired to life within Ingmar's breast as he thought about Tabor and the Egyptian woman lying in bed together at that very moment. And, as it always did, anger fueled Ingmar's desire for women. He rolled over, cruelly entwining his fingers into the blonde hair of the heavy set woman at his side.

"Wake up, wench! Wake up and be of use to me!"

And Ingmar was upon her even before she stirred.

❧

Tabor squinted to see better in the moonlight and recognized Sven's familiar stride. He saw a smaller shape to Sven's right and knew that his friend had found a woman to keep him company while he kept guard.

"Hail!" Sven called out quietly as he approached.

"Hail!" Tabor returned, letting his friend know in the age-old sailor's tradition that it was safe to advance.

When ten yards separated the two men Sven motioned for the woman beside him to stop. Then, coming forward, he spoke privately with his leader. The smile on Sven's face told Tabor he thought the Egyptian woman beautiful and he considered his leader lucky to be the one who shared her bed.

"You think too much," Tabor said, accurately guessing Sven's thoughts.

"Out here to catch your breath? I thought you couldn't get tired out until the dawn."

"I haven't touched her," Tabor replied, his anger aroused, though he couldn't exactly say why. He realized, too, that he had not spoken the truth, and this was particularly disturbing since Tabor never lied.

Eager to change the subject, he asked, "You've got men watching Ingmar? When did they last report?"

Sven would not be so easily diverted. "I'll find quarters for all the men. You'll have the hut to yourself all night long."

"That won't be necessary." Tabor looked away and a muscle flicked in his jaw. "You know my rules. No slaves. No rape. If I should lie with her, it would not be with her consent. I will not violate my law."

"Aye, your law . . ." Sven replied, letting the words trail off. He cocked an eyebrow to suggest that while laws should not be broken, perhaps the bending of them by the man who had made them might not be altogether unforgivable.

"Ingmar—I want to know what he's up to. I don't trust him."

Sven nodded at last, his smile disappearing. It was time to be serious. Ingmar's name caused trepidation in even the bravest man's heart. "I have two men watching him at all times, and they are relieved every two hours by two fresh men. There are also men moving throughout Hedeby looking for signs of whatever plot the Northman has concocted."

"Good man," Tabor replied. He could always count on Sven to follow his orders to the letter. "What is Ingmar doing?"

"He's with a slave—has been for several hours now. No sign of his brother Hugh. That worries me."

"Me, too. Ingmar never lets his brother far from his sight."

"Hugh would get lost if Ingmar weren't holding his hand." They laughed briefly, then Sven nodded toward trees to their left. "I've got men in those trees as well as two groups of two men in each roving patrol. If Ingmar's planning to pounce, he's going to meet with great resistance."

Tabor was pleased with Sven's thoroughness. He never had to issue orders for his own safety—his personal security was something Sven had overseen for many years.

The leader said with a smile, "I see you found someone to keep you from getting too lonely."

"It is a cool night." Sven grinned rakishly and slapped Tabor lightly on the shoulder. "Go back inside. Well be fine. As I said, you have the hut to yourself tonight."

"It isn't necessary," Tabor said, finding it strangely important he convince his friend that he had behaved honorably, that he really hadn't forced himself upon the Egyptian slave who had been foisted upon him.

"Wait here," Sven said. He walked back to the woman waiting in the shadows, took something she handed him, then returned to Tabor. "We thought she might like this."

Tabor accepted the white cotton underdress from Sven, silently cursing himself for not having thought of it himself.

Sven said nothing more as he turned from Tabor, slipping his arm around the comely young woman before disappearing back into the shadows of the cool Danish night.

❧

Tanaka was sitting near the fire with her knees pulled up tight to her chest, her arms around her legs. It was difficult to tell how long Tabor had been gone, but each passing minute heightened her fear.

Had she made him so angry that he would sell her?

And what would happen to her if he gave her back to Ingmar and complained that she had not treated him properly? Ingmar was a cruel man even when no one had done anything to make him angry. What would he be like if Tabor complained of Tanaka's defiance?

Though she sat close to the fire, Tanaka shivered. She turned so that the flames could warm the rest of her body. A thousand unanswered questions danced maddeningly in her brain, preventing sleep despite her exhaustion.

The memories of Tabor's kisses came back in full force, haunting Tanaka, stripping away some once-comforting illusions that she had held about herself. No man's touch could ever please her, she had stubbornly maintained; no man's kisses would ever taste good upon her lips. While Ingmar's captive, Tanaka had found it easy —even essential —to hold onto those beliefs. His cruelty and unceasing need to dominate all those around him only reinforced her dark view of men. Now a different man —a man of gentle, fiery touches that awakened her, a man of velvet kisses, a man of warmth in a land of cold — had scaled the protective stone walls of her illusions, and she was left naked with her realization: A man's touch could please her; his kiss could taste as nectar on her lips.

She touched her lips softly with the pads of her fingers, as though to feel the kisses that had been there. She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue, and the small, insignificant act conjured up memories of how she had parted her lips to accept Tabor's tongue and how she had explored his mouth with bold curiosity that now made her feel so shameless she blushed crimson.

And it was precisely at that moment, while Tanaka relived her wanton behavior and her cheeks were pink with embarrassment, that Tabor chose to step back into the hut.

"Why aren't you asleep?" Tabor asked, his tone hard-edged. Tanaka's presence was a magnetic confrontation to his senses that he was not sure he could continue resisting.

Dominating her fear of Tabor's lust was her greater fear of Tabor's anger. She was determined to do something that she never had done for Ingmar: pretend that she welcomed his passion.

"I didn't want to be asleep when you returned," Tanaka said softly, her eyes uncharacteristically turned down demurely. "I thought you . . . you might ... require me."

Tabor saw through her pretense, sickened that she believed he would so use her. She had been taught by Ingmar to expect no better.

"I don't require you for anything." Tabor bit the words out caustically, making Tanaka wonder again if it was the olive hue of her skin that made her unacceptable in Tabor's eyes. He stripped off his vest and tossed it toward his bed, then pulled loose the tie that held his shirt closed. "It's time for sleep. Sven brought you something to wear." He dropped the white underdress at the foot of his sleeping mat. "You'll be more comfortable sleeping in this than in that scratchy shirt."

Her palms sweaty, her heart agallop, she looked at the underdress and realized what had been requested of her. Tabor seemed to ignore her as he prepared himself for bed, and she wondered whether he was being courteous of her modesty or snubbing her.

"Thank you."

She rose to her feet, unsure of what was expected of her. Then resolve and courage sprang to renewed life in her breast; and, without further hesitation, her lips tightened into a determined line, she pulled the shirt over her head and extended it toward her captor.

Tabor had removed his own shirt when he knelt to retrieve the underdress. He turned, about to hand it to Tanaka, and stopped, awed by her naked splendor. His mouth dry, he stood motionless for several seconds, transfixed by her beauty and unable to speak. This small woman had a greater impact upon his senses than any other he'd ever known.

Although totally exposed, she held her chin high. Her eyes, however, while retaining their vitality lacked the mocking insult they'd always turned upon Ingmar. To her surprise, Tanaka enjoyed the effect her nudity had on Tabor. She saw desire explode in his eyes, brightening them. His jaw clamped tight, as though he were undergoing a great physical strain.