Page 10 of Merciful Seduction

He gritted his teeth. The last thing he expected was to find a girl outside this late at night. “Where are your parents?” She looked so young in the moonlight.

“I’m old enough to take a walk, Captain Marteinn,” she retorted, stepping closer.

“Lady Mercia?” The dark-haired beauty who’d stared at him so long and hard he’d thought he might turn to stone? Did she know what she risked being here with him? Especially in the cover of darkness, when his body screamed for the relief only a woman could provide? “Get back to the house.”

She laughed. “I’m afraid you have no authority over me. Save your orders for the boys you’ll be training.”

He was not completely surprised by her sharp tongue. He’d give her one last warning. “I’ll make poor company tonight. I suggest you return to the great hall.” He turned away.

“Do you prefer doing everything alone?”

He growled, wheeling around. The gown she wore differed from the one she’d chosen for the feast in Lagenheim; it hugged her slim body, revealing generous breasts and a tiny waist. He licked his lips, imagining his tongue slipping up the valley between those milky white mounds. “If you want to know something, ask me directly.” Questions about her pounded in his head like a goddamned drum.

“Why are you here when the celebration is still underway? Didn’t you enjoy the laughter or the epic our celebrated skald shared? Surely you appreciate a good tale.”

The only kind of tail he could tolerate was the one attached to a pair of long, silky legs. “I prefer stories about warriors, not simpering over love.”

“I am truly sorry Lady Kara hurt you.” She stared right through him. “I’d give anything to know the sting of love.”

The sting? Is that what this foolish chit truly thought heartbreak felt like? Betrayal pained him more than a gash from the sharpest blade. He’d spent months walking around in a half-daze, bleeding out little by little. “You know nothing.”

“I know loneliness.”

His eyes narrowed. “Tom tenkende tosk,” he chastised. “Can you not see I suffer enough without talking about my past? Leave before you taste my misery.”

“I am willing.”

She’d made her intentions abundantly clear; Mercia was no lady. As tempted as he was to rip her bodice open and suckle her nipples while he plunged inside her, he refused. “Du har drukket deg dum.”

“I am neither drunk nor silly.”

He surged forward, trapping her between a tree and his body. Her sapphire eyes locked on his. Heat radiated off her like a goddamned bonfire. He closed his eyes, wishing her gone. When he opened them, she was still there.

“Kiss me,” she said.

He shook his head.

“Please.”

No woman had ever pleaded for his affection. Why was she taunting him? Any other man would carry her into the woods and do as she asked. “No.”

“I want to feel your lips on mine.”

How could he resist? He cupped her throat. “Is this what you desire?” He shoved his knee between her legs; the linen barrier couldn’t contain the fire raging between her thighs, so hot and likely slick. He rested his forehead against hers. She moaned, her eyes fluttering shut.

“Go back to the great hall before we both do something we’ll regret in the morning.”

“No.” Her eyes popped open. “Imagine I’m Kara. Use me to sate your desire.”

Before he could take another breath, she stood on her toes and slanted her mouth over his.

Mercia had made up her mind to kiss Marteinn after he left the great hall. Although he smiled occasionally and spoke respectfully to everyone, she sensed his agony. His beautiful eyes were devoid of light, and throughout the meal, he appeared to be somewhere else. Excusing herself from the table, Rachelle had stopped her. It took only a whispered word to win the right to go outside alone.

If she didn’t listen to her heart, she’d likely never get another chance to touch the only man who’d ever haunted her dreams. From the first time she’d seen him in Lagenheim, she’d woken that very night sweaty and breathless. She’d relieved herself earnestly, moaning his name as she peaked. Marteinn Dalgaard, the fearless captain … the broken-hearted warrior no woman could call her own.

She understood him more than he’d ever know. Although Jarl Erik claimed him as a son, he had no family—no blood ties. She endured the same loneliness he did, never truly belonging anywhere.

His tongue invaded her mouth, spiraling softly with hers. She moaned as his hands skated up her sides, then to her front, loosening the ribbon that kept her bodice laced tight. He tugged it open wide enough to slip one of his big hands inside and cupped her left breast. Then he pinched her nipple, rolling it between his fingers.