Lord of Raven's Peak - Catherine Coulter [130]
It was over, yet he knew it wasn’t, it would never end, this sorcery between them. And he was content.
It was then, in the fading afternoon light, that his vision cleared and he looked up to see Helga standing at the edge of the shadows, gazing at him, her lips slightly parted, her eyes avid on his face.
He went still as a stone in shock. Very slowly, Merrik shook his head at her. She turned then, looking at them one last time, and disappeared from his sight. He felt his heart pounding, not from the wildness of his release, but with the utter fury he felt. Helga had watched them, had watched him bring Laren atop him, watched him slowly thrust upward into her, watched Laren yell in her pleasure as his fingers caressed her, watched his face turn bloodred as he reached his own release.
He wanted to kill the bitch.
“Merrik?”
“Aye?”
“You are all stiff. What is wrong?”
He forced himself to ease, forced the muscles in his arms to loosen, forced his legs to sprawl. She raised herself atop him again, placed her hands on her hips, and smiled down at him, a superior smile, one filled with satisfaction. “Now I know how it is that you feel when you are above me, the one who decides when one is to do what and for how long.”
“Do you really believe that, sweeting?” As he spoke, his hands stroked up her legs, upward until he was touching her and himself still inside her. He felt the dampness of her and of his seed and closed his eyes a moment against the deep, deep joy it brought to him. Then he touched her again and she lurched over him and sucked in her breath.
He laughed. “So, you still believe that you are the one who controls?”
She said nothing. Then she leaned forward, splaying her hands wide on his chest. She kissed his mouth, then his chin, his throat, downward to his chest. She raised herself, felt him swelling within her again, and grinned as she came down on him very slowly. She raised herself again, then came down on him even more slowly.
Merrik’s eyes nearly crossed. He moaned. His hands tightened about her hips as it began again, only this time, after letting her do as she wished, he lifted her off him and came over her, to cover her and stroke her and kiss her until he was deep inside her once again, and he brought her again to pleasure. He held her, feeling the sweat on her soft flesh, the giving of her, and he managed to forget for a while longer that Helga had been there, watching.
Merrik sat with Otta and Rollo in the private chamber set apart from the great hall. He and Laren had dined with Rollo, then Rollo had sent Laren to await him in his chamber. Now Otta was to tell Merrik about the court of King Charles.
Merrik listened carefully to Otta as he said, anger lacing his voice now, “There are factions in the court, and I wonder still how the king controls them.”
“Wonder not, Otta,” Rollo said and laughed deeply. “The king acts stupid, it’s that simple. He looks blankly from one set of opinions to the other, and smiles and nods, as vacant as a longhouse at the night of the summer solstice. I thought you understood that.”
“I understand that he is stupid, but it is not a ruse, sire. Sometimes he is lucky, that is all, just lucky.”
Rollo stared at Otta, surprised that he dared to gainsay him, but then he only shook his head, looked bored, and rose. “I will leave you two together now. I wish to have Laren continue the story of the mighty Danish king, Gorm, and how he lost his life only to gain immortality as a god.”
Otta watched Rollo leave the chamber. He looked troubled. Merrik said nothing, but he wondered. Did Rollo really have no interest in this? Were his old man’s wits gone begging? Was it true what the man had said? Had Rollo hired him and his friend to kill Merrik?
No, he couldn’t, wouldn’t, believe it. It made no sense. And what about Fromm? An accident?