Death Blow by Jianne Carlo Page B

All woman, with a hint of soap, and some spicy seductive musk. I but wondered if you had found the aphrodisiac oil and touched a dab here.”
    When he traced the whorls of her ear, fingered her lobe, and then thumbed the soft spot behind, a shock, sharp and prickling, ran straight to her nipples and they throbbed and pearled ’neath the soft velvet of the cyrtel. She flexed her hands and wondered anew about the strange fluttering low in her belly.
    “Aphrodisiac oil?” She had ne’er heard the term afore.
    “An oil used by the harem masters of the Saracens. ’Tis used to awaken slumbering lust and dull the pain of breeching a maiden head.”
    His intense stare sent an uneasy shiver up her spine and when the meaning of his words sank into her head, she gaped at him.
    “Come.” He linked one hand with hers and tugged. “We have much to do and talk about afore dawn.”
    She stumbled forward, her knees shaky, and bent her head when Konáll lifted the canvas flap covering the entrance. Her mouth fell open. She had not known such luxury could exist in a mere tent. ’Twas night and day to the one she had been in earlier.
    “Grelod insisted we use their quarters this night. Meets it with your approval?” He captured both her wrists, twisted her to face him, and their gazes met.
    She had never seen him so afore. No lines marred his forehead, his mouth held no strain, and the slight curve of his lips showcased soft dimples on either side. He had scraped the growth of hair o’er the last few days from his jaw, and she marveled once again o’er his striking male beauty. She had ne’er seen an unscarred warrior afore.
    “Nyssa? ’Tis to your liking?”
    All thought fled, and try though she did, Nyssa had no notion of to what he referred. “I…what is to my liking, Konáll?”
    The back of his hand brushed her cheek and his smile widened. “My name from your lips is a sound most sweet and arousing, wife. All day I have recalled the way you screamed Konáll when your women’s pleasure hit you on Thrimilici. This night I will hear my name from your lips when we both find our pleasure and I am buried deep inside you.”
    Cert flames licked her head to toe, Nyssa ducked to check whether she stood on a lump of fired coal, but soft pine needles littered the tent’s floor.
    “Know you why I chose this cyrtel?” He trailed a long finger around the scooped neck of the gown.
    Her sex clenched, and she could not tear her focus from his slow tracing.
    “Breathe, mìlseachd.” His hot palms cupped her cheeks, and he tilted her head back.
    Once again he confounded her, his stare so fierce and predatory she shivered. “’Tis necessary.”
    She frowned. “What?”
    “Breathing.” He grinned. “Methinks I have you all aflutter, handfast wife.”
    His reference to her status gathered her scattered thoughts. “You are not angry about the handfasting?”
    “’Tis done. On the morrow, I will speak with Thōrfin and Grelod and learn more of the custom. Understand this, Nyssa: I have claimed you. You are mine. Both King Kenneth and King Harald have blessed our union and naught will take you from me. Naught but death, and I am not yet ready to ascend to Valhalla.” He turned her around.
    She bit her lip and then glanced over her shoulder at him. “You are addling my brains, Konáll.”
    “I chose this cyrtel over Grelod’s objections, because of the laces. They are easy to remove and I long to hold you naked in my arms.”
    Afore she could utter a protest, he quickly worked the laces loose. She grabbed the bodice when he began to draw it down and whirled about. “We do this now?”
    “Aye. Now. And when you have recovered later, and before dawn.”
    Thrice? Her mouth went dry. She swallowed.
    He tugged her hands away from the gown and with a few deft moves slipped the cyrtel away. With a soft whoosh the dress puddled around her feet. His deft fingers made quick work of the ribbons tying her transparent chemise together and