Naughty Temptations

Chapter Six

Chapter Six

Had someone punched her in the stomach it couldn’t hurt worse. This was no such responsibility she would want. Though she had to wonder if she just imagined the voice and the promise it implied. Perhaps it was just her imagination? But if it were so?

Temptation slashed a burning path into her gut. He was so very ill, so very close to death anyway. His passing would likely bring her what she wanted most in the world right now. She wouldn’t have to do anything at all, in truth, save fail to pray for his life. She could gain so much by it.

But Henrik would lose so much. His dream of travel and adventure would be smashed. And clearly he cared much for his brother. Ranulf’s death would devastate Henrik.

Fianna shut her eyes but she couldn’t shut out the vision of her patient dying and what it would mean for her. Tears leaked from beneath her lids and traced burning streaks down cheeks.

“Nay.” She said that word aloud, the rest to herself. I cannot wish for his death. I’m a healer. Do I not give my best effort to help him recover, I lose more than a patient. I lose the most important part of what I am.

She would lose her soul.

She sheathed the dagger, closed her eyes, and prayed to whatever gods might be listening for Ranulf’s healing. When she heard Henrik speaking to someone in the next room, she wiped the tears off her face with the sleeve of her dress, and resumed sponging off the patient. He continued to mutter and occasionally writhed or flailed his arms.

Henrik came back into the room, bearing blankets, clean linen, and a bucket of water.

He knelt next to her. “How fares he?”

“Holding on. I fear his fever is rising.”

Henrik took the cloth from her. “I’ll stay with him for a time. There’s food, drink, water to wash with, and some fresh clothes for you in the other room.”

Startled that he would think to do all that for her, she looked up at him. Shadows lurked in the depths of his light eyes, worry and concern for his brother, but there was also a hint of care and concern for her. It warmed her right down to her toes.

“I won’t be long,” she promised as she stood up.

No one else was in the other room, but a trencher bearing bread, fruit preserves, and strips of dried meat waited for her. The water in the pitcher was warm and bore a light rose fragrance. Fianna splashed it over her face and hands, used a cloth nearby to clean the rest of her body. It felt wonderfully refreshing. A plain, clean linen blouse and skirt hung over a chair. By drawing the ribbons on them tight, she was able to fit them to her body. Even the length was right. Someone had gone to a good bit of trouble on her behalf, and it wasn’t hard to decide who it must have been.

His kindness and thought for her increased the guilt that unworthy thoughts about his brother had even entered her mind.

She thought more on that as she ate the food left for her. The Church taught that the devil was ever ready to pounce on one’s weaknesses to tempt one to evil. She’d never faced that sort of temptation before. Was it a weakness that she was coming to care for Henrik too strongly? Possibly, but she had to believe she could find strength there as well.

She ate quickly, only realizing how hungry she was when she began and could barely get the food to her mouth quickly enough. Once it was gone, she went back into the other room.

Henrik swabbed Ranulf’s face while the man tossed and turned on the mat.

“We need fresh water and more fuel for the brazier,” she told him.

Henrik nodded and went to get it. When he returned, she prepared an infusion of bark and herbs that was often effective in fighting fever and set it to heat. While the mix boiled over the brazier, she sponged Ranulf off yet again. When he suddenly started shivering, she wrapped a blanket around him.

“Why do we make him cold with the water then make him hot with blankets?” Henrik asked. “This is good for him?”

“We’re not making him hot or cold. His body does that itself as it tries to fight off the illness. We’re trying to keep him from getting too hot or too cold. Those are not good for him. So when he gets too hot, we cool him off, and when he gets too chilled, we make him warm.”

Henrik nodded. “That seems right.”

Ranulf was calm for the moment, so Fianna used the time to change the dressing on his shoulder and inspect the wound. The swelling didn’t look dangerous. The discoloration remained in the vicinity of the injury and didn’t seem to be spreading. The red streaks radiating from it had gotten neither worse nor better. Before she put on a new bandage, she spread more of the salve she’d used yesterday on the wound. The recipe for both the salve and the infusion had come from Marla.

Henrik wrinkled his nose at the odor of the salve. “What is in that? It smells worse than the pig stocks.”

“If I told you, you would not permit me to use it. ’Tis a healer’s secret. But it is often helpful in preventing ill humors from gathering in a wound such as Ranulf has.”

He looked dubious. “Your infusion smells almost as bad. Must all medicine reek to be effective?”

“Be glad you don’t have to drink it. It tastes worse than it smells.”

“It will truly help him?”

She heard the plea that underlay the question but wasn’t sure how to respond. “These medicines are often helpful,” she answered carefully. “But nothing can guarantee a cure.”

Pain lanced through her when she saw the way he looked at his brother. The anguish in his face cut into her heart. Clearly there was more here than just his wanting Ranulf to recover so he could go his own way. He cared desperately for this man he hadn’t seen for so long. She wished there were something she could say or do to ease him.

She stood up, moved closer to him, and put a hand on his arm. When he turned toward her, she leaned into him and wrapped her arms around his waist. Her head rested against his chest.

For a moment, he just stood there, tense and unmoving. Then he sighed deeply, relaxing a bit out of his stiffness, and put his arms around her to hold her to him. His breath was ragged and uneven.

Her first reaction was a wave of tenderness, that he trusted her enough to reveal even this much of his pain and let her share it with him. But then, wrapped in his arms, tight against his body, a powerful tide of longing for more complete union suddenly surged through her, making her shake. Would it always be thus with this man? His mere touch sent ripples of awareness, like sparks snapping against her, all over her skin. Once he was gone from her life, would she continue to long for the sound of his voice, the way he looked at her?

He tipped back her head and kissed her, deeply, tenderly, hungrily, until her knees were unsteady, and all she wanted was to rip off clothes and impale herself on him. Would her body ever forget how he made the heat spread wildly through her, the way the pressure gathered in her loins when he held her?

Footsteps sounded from the other room, coming toward them. He released her when she backed away.

The older man who’d been in the other room when they’d arrived the previous day pushed the curtain aside and peered in. Henrik said something to him in Norse and the man entered. His gaze focused on Ranulf. When he noted he was no better, the older man’s shoulders slumped and his body tensed up. The questioning expression on his face turned to something harder and less readable, keeping his feelings shut inside.

He and Henrik exchanged words and glanced occasionally toward her. While they talked Fianna turned to the brazier and removed the small pot holding the boiling mixture to a clay plate set nearby for the purpose.

“Fianna?”

She turned to face Henrik.

“My father would like to make himself known to you and thank you for your care of Ranulf.”

The older man nodded and came toward her, took her hand, and struggled to say her name, “Fee-ah-na.”

She nodded and bowed her head, giving him the respect due his age.

He said something more to her in Norse.

“My father is Hjalmar, and he thanks you again for coming to care for his son,” Henrik translated. “He also wishes me to convey his apologies for my rude treatment of you yesterday.”

“Tell him there’s naught to be concerned about. I understand you were unhappy and worried about your brother, and so acted in a way not normal for you.” She shot a glance at Henrik. “It was not normal, was it?”

He shrugged. “I am not very trusting of strangers.”

“Except when she solicits you for a night of s*x?”

“Perhaps especially so then.”

“You didn’t act like you were suspicious of me then.”

“You may not have noticed how careful I was. Until I had you helpless in the throes of a need as strong as mine.”

Henrik’s father broke the tension building between them when he asked a question in Norse. He and Henrik spoke back and forth for a few minutes.

“He wants to know if there’s aught he can do to help?” Henrik translated.

Fianna was about to say no, when she had a thought. “Tell him it might help if he would sit with Ranulf for a while and speak to him of how much he wants him to get better. Though it seems not so, Ranulf might be able to hear and understand, and it might serve to draw him back and encourage him to fight harder to recover.”

Henrik relayed her suggestions to his father. The older man nodded and, with Henrik’s help, settled on the floor beside the mat. He took his son’s hand in his and began to speak, in a low, soothing, caring tone.

Fianna poured out some of the liquid infusion into a cup. “I have to get him to swallow some of this,” she said to Henrik. “It tastes terrible and he’ll resist. Can you help me get it into him?”

He nodded, but they waited while Hjalmar sat at his son’s side and pleaded with him to keep fighting for life. Finally the old man sighed and stood up again. He spoke a few words to Henrik, nodded to her, and left. “My father has things to attend to,” Henrik said, “but he’ll return after a while. He thanks you again for your efforts to save Ranulf.”

Fianna nodded and held up the cup.

Henrik lifted Ranulf’s head and pushed in lightly on his cheeks, while Fianna carefully dribbled the liquid into his mouth. Ranulf grimaced and tried to pull away, but Henrik held him firmly. Henrik closed his brother’s mouth when he tried to spit out the bad-tasting liquid, keeping his lips together until he swallowed. They repeated the process several times until Fianna was satisfied that enough of the infusion had gotten into the sick man.

For the rest of the morning and into the afternoon, they continued to try to keep Ranulf’s temperature stable. She was pleased when half an hour or so after they’d fed him the infusion, his fever abated somewhat and he slept quietly for a while.

Henrik left her, saying he needed to take care of some business, but he sent a woman who spoke a little of her language to stay with her while he was gone. He asked that he be notified of any change in his absence.

The room seemed darker and emptier without him. She hoped it was merely that he was the only familiar person in this settlement of strangers, but she suspected that wasn’t the case. Had this room been full of the townspeople she’d known all her life, his leaving it would still make it feel colder and lonelier. It disturbed her to consider how important he’d become to her in such a short period of time. She couldn’t afford it.

Henrik returned briefly early in the afternoon to let her know there was food in the other room. He looked at his brother and nodded when he saw him sleeping quietly.

“Come with me,” he said, looking at Fianna. “You need a rest. Erawyn can stay with Ranulf for a while. She’ll let us know if there’s any change.”

Fianna debated, but her patient was resting quietly and there was little more she could do for him just then. She let Henrik help her to her feet. As usual the sparks jumped between her flesh and his where they touched. Even with her worry for Ranulf, the pressure built in her loins from looking at him.

They stopped to eat in the other room, where a tureen of an aromatic stew and several bowls waited. The food was as tasty as it was filling, but an even greater hunger was building in her as she watched Henrik. He ate with careful precision, and was unfailingly courteous, though he was also tense and worried.

When they were finished with the meal, he escorted her out of the building. Fianna blinked in the bright sunshine. Her eyes had difficulty adjusting to the light after so much time spent inside in the dimmer light. They made a quick trip across a piece of the open area at the center of the settlement, between two buildings to another one built some way back from the rest of the houses.

“This is mine,” Henrik told her with some pride as he ushered her through the door and into the structure. “I built it myself, though I spend more nights with my father than here. I’ve had need of a place where I could go and be alone to think and plan.”

They were in a large center room that had a firepit at the far side. Doors on either end, to her left and right, gave access to smaller rooms off this main one. The furniture wasn’t elaborate or extensive, but what there was appeared well-crafted.

As she was looking it over, he came up behind her and slid his arms around her, cupping her breasts in his palms.

“I want you so much I can scarce bear it,” he said softly to her. His tone sounded more pained than joyful, however. “I know not if I should do anything about it, though. My brother is ill and may be dying. Is it right that we take pleasure while he suffers?”

Fianna considered it, though thinking was difficult with his hands caressing her breasts, making the heat gather in her loins. “I know not. But…if you were in his position, and he in yours, what would you tell him?”

His hands stilled. “I suppose I would tell him to go on. Life does not stop because I am ill. Why should my brother be miserable because I am? It benefits me not that he’s grieving and unhappy.”

Fianna turned within the circle of his arms to face him. She reached upward to place her hands on either side of his face, running her fingers into his hair, and kissed him.

“Then so shall we respect him,” she said, “for I suspect you two are much alike.”

The fire of excitement raced through her body, sparking an explosion of desire in her loins. Moisture gathered between her legs. He adjusted his hold on her, swung her up into his arms, and carried her through the door at the far left, into a room that held a pallet big enough to accommodate two people easily. He set her down gently on it and began to remove her clothes. When she was bare to the waist he stopped to toy with her breasts.

“Your skin is like the finest silk,” he said, while stroking and tweaking the n*****s until she was squirming with desire. She lay back, and he leaned over her to use his tongue on one n****e while his fingers worked the other. He sucked the tip into his mouth with a hard pressure and rolled it around, working his tongue on it, scraping his teeth over it as he slowly released it. Then the other breast drew similar attentions.

She loosened the laces on his leggings enough to allow her to slip her hand inside and wrap it around his c**k. She’d been aching to touch him for so long. He moaned deep in his throat as her fingers explored along its length, dipping into hollows and brushing along smooth, satiny flesh.

In a frenzy of need, he began rapidly stripping off vest, shirt, boots and leggings until he stood over her in naked, rampantly masculine glory. She reached out to cup the dangling sacs of his balls. The pair filled her hand. His breath caught on a sharp hitch when she squeezed and kneaded them. Her other hand circled his c**k and rubbed up and down.

“You fit in my hands perfectly,” she said to him.

“I fit perfectly elsewhere as well.” He yanked off the rest of her clothes and pushed her legs apart. His fingers tested her readiness. When he realized she was moist and open for him, he lay over her and positioned himself. Their eyes met.

“Now,” she begged. “Please. I need you.”

With one hard thrust he pushed all the way in. For a moment it stung as she stretched to accommodate him, but when he began pumping in and out, the end of his c**k seemed to find a place deep within her that sent piercing shafts of pleasure exploding inside. It built the pressure in her quickly to a point almost past bearing.

“You feel so good around me,” he whispered, the words broken up by gasping breaths. “So hot and tight.”

He thrust firmly and fast, filling and stroking her until she was strung so tight it was a wonder she didn’t break. Then, with one strong, deep plunge he sent her spinning out of control into a universe of swirling colors and throbbing waves of pleasure washing through her. She drifted with it, plunging and bucking with the continuing spasms.

Henrik let out a loud groan as he spilled his seed into her.

They clung to each other in the aftermath, riding the continuing shocks and spurts of pleasure. Her breathing gradually slowed as the incredible peace spread through her. A wonderful sense of completion and connection made her cling to him. She clutched at him, bringing his torso right against hers.

“I wish we could stay this way forever,” she told him. “Only with you have I known such pleasure. And such peace.”

He kissed her gently before he rolled to the side. “Time will not cease its movement for us,” he said on a long sigh. “And I fear what its march might bring us. But for now, rest.”

He shifted her until she lay on her side, back to him, and he pulled her against his body, one arm under her neck, the other draped over her side so he could hold one breast. It felt remarkably safe, secure, and comfortable being sheltered in the crook of his big body that way. She quickly drifted off to sleep.

An hour or so later, they were awakened by someone banging on the door. Henrik rolled away and off the bed, dragged on a long nightshirt that hung to his knees and went to find out what was happening. Fianna heard a rapid-fire exchange in Norse. Suspecting the worst, she got up and began to dress.