Page 20 of Merciful Seduction

“About as good as I know how to fuck.” He took a long swig, then handed the wineskin back.

Tyr roared with laughter. “That reveals little, considering how long it’s been—”

“I never shared details about that, milord. Know I am not dead from the waist down. I may have lingering feelings for Kara, but my pikk still works.”

“So you admit it finally?”

“There’s no reason to lie. If I did, you’d see through it. Feelings fade with time.”

“But bitterness doesn’t. It festers.”

“I will be a gracious guest, drink and dance with all the women. Lady Rachelle will never know how unhappy I truly am.”

“And Mercia?”

Marteinn’s voice dropped. “I will pay her special attention.”

“Good.” The jarl capped his skin, then slapped him on the back. “Your recruits were exhausted after they returned from their run.”

“Aye.” Marteinn grinned. “I doubt we’ll see them in the great hall.”

“I’ve word they ate early and collapsed on their pallets afterward.”

“I’m pleased to hear it. You won’t recognize them in a fortnight.”

“I don’t doubt it, Captain Marteinn. Ah …” His attention shifted suddenly.

The sound of music wafted from the great hall. Standing together on the crest of the same hill, Marteinn directed his recruits to run every day, the longhouse and surrounding valley below looked mystical in the fading sunlight.

“If I owned these lands,” Marteinn said. “I’d never leave.”

“A home of your own changes the way a man see’s the world.” Tyr started down the hill. “The offer I made you in Lagenheim stands. Serve me well, and I will help you establish your own steading.”

Marteinn walked silently to the longhouse, contemplating the jarl’s generosity. Although Erik had always dealt justly with him, Tyr had a way of making him feel at peace. Something he deeply appreciated after spending a lifetime feeling restless.

As they entered the great hall, Marteinn scanned the chamber. Dancing couples whirled across the stone floor. The harp, accompanied by drums, eased his spirit. He carefully bypassed the dancers and headed for the high table. His stomach growled with hunger as he found an empty chair.

Lady Rachelle smiled at him. “So glad our guest of honor finally made an appearance.”

Tyr leaned close, kissed his wife, then plopped down on the seat beside her. “Blame me. We were discussing our plans for my personal guard.”

“Amongst other things, I’m sure.”

Marteinn smiled, appreciative of her wit. “The food smells delicious,” he said, taking a bite of bread. Then he served himself a generous portion of roasted pork, mushrooms, beans, and fruit. Looking up, he spotted Mercia dancing.

A growl escaped his lips.

“Captain?” Rachelle stared at him.

“Tis the meat—I am unusually hungry.” He cut it with violent fervor, shoveling it into his mouth while he watched every move Mercia made.

Her long black hair was combed to a rich luster, her cheeks pink from exertion. The smile on her lips should be reserved for him. But no, her gaze was locked on the young warrior who held her close.

Marteinn’s gaze slid lower, admiring the sea green gown she wore. A perfect fit. Displaying her attributes so superbly, he suddenly regretted not making love to her in the woods. With her nipples standing as erect as a soldier, he found it hard to concentrate on anything. He gripped his cup of ale, guzzled it, then slammed it down and signaled for a thrall to refill it.

“Do you dance, Captain?”

Marteinn met Rachelle’s gaze. “When the opportunity arises.”