Viking Saga II

Viking Saga Chapter 10:



Innesfain Castle: Lovers



Fiona woke the next morning with a sigh of contentment. She sleepily burrowed nearer the source of warmth in the bed. She woke up with a start when her face brushed up against her warm breathing pillow.

Fiona raised her head and looked into the sleeping face of the man beside her. She licked her dry lips as she eased away from Leif. She knew his name now -Leif Gunnarson, a Viking and her lover.



Fiona hitched the covers around her naked breasts and looked around in the morning sunlight with trepidation. Somehow she had to get the large man in her bed out of her chamber without being seen. She looked back at the sleeping Viking then blushed. He was awake.



Leif tugged the covers away from Fiona with a sleepy grin.



“You have to…you can’t…” stuttered Fiona as she recognized the passionate look in his eyes. She gasped as a large hand slid under the covers and grasped her backside possessively.



“Leif,” hissed Fiona. “You have to go. Someone will see you.”



“Is the door closed?” asked Leif lazily as he smiled into her flushed face.



“Yes.”



“Do servants have a habit of entering your bedchamber without leave to do so?” asked Leif as his fingers slid into her moist cleft.



“No,” whispered Fiona as his fingers lightly caressed her.



“Then what exactly is the problem,” asked Leif as he slid his other hand into her disheveled dark hair and pulled her down on top of his sprawled nude body. His mouth slanted over her own demandingly. Fiona opened her mouth under his insistent lips and moaned as he explored her mouth with his tongue. After several long heated moments, Fiona tore her mouth away with a groan.



“I must pay heed to my reputation,” panted Fiona.



“I will not let anyone see me leave your chamber, my sweet Fiona,” said Leif as he ran a teasing finger down her torso.



Fiona blinked as his wandering hands sent chills down her spine. She blushed as she realized that her body was making demands on her. Her body was asking her to shut up and let this man take her. Her eyes fluttered closed when Leif dipped his head and took a rosy nipple into his mouth. She opened her eyes with difficulty. She could feel him long and hard against her thigh.



“You make me forget myself,” whispered Fiona as he transferred his hot tugging mouth to her other nipple. He lifted his head and pulled her against his chest. Fiona was sprawled on top of his hard body.



“I thought you were going to be obedient,” teased Leif with a hungry look in his eyes.



“You are very domineering,” rejoined Fiona tartly.



“You are a woman who craves a strong hand,” said Leif with lazy passionate eyes. He shifted further on to his back. He slowly but firmly maneuvered Fiona’s knees until she was straddling his thighs.



“You are a man who will not take no for an answer,” said Fiona as she wriggled against his strong hands. He held her firmly on his hips.



“Why say no when saying yes will be very very rewarding,” asked Leif as he pushed her by the shoulders until she was sitting up. Fiona looked down at his red weeping erection that was sticking straight up and licked her lips unconsciously.



Leif reached down and stroked himself under her watching eyes. He then took her hand and wrapped it around his throbbing penis. Both lovers were panting hard.



“Put me inside you,” coaxed Leif.



Fiona took his cock and rubbed it against her throbbing cleft then eased him inside her sheath. They both groaned when he sank inside her. Fiona looked down at Leif and smiled. He was just so beautiful with his smoky blue eyes and dark hair that shimmered in the morning light with an auburn sheen. She ran an admiring hand down his smooth hard chest and wriggled on top of his throbbing thick cock.



“Have you ever rode a stallion Fiona,” whispered Leif as he shivered with repressed need. Her light brown curly hair was tumbled around her shoulders in a wild disheveled mess. Her clear blue eyes that usually snapped with keen intelligence were misty with passion. Her nipples were hard and red.



“Onceaid aid Fiona as she wriggled against the shaft that was buried deep inside her.



“Ride me,” urged Leif as he showed her hips how to move.



So, Fiona rode him. A feeling of bliss flooded her senses as she rocked on top of the Viking. She watched as his face contorted with delight. Fiona arched her back as stabs of pleasure ran down her spine with every upward jab of his slim hips. Both lovers were so intent on one another that they failed to hear the soft knock on the door. Leif had his eyes tightly closed as he savored the feel of Fiona’s wet cleft. Fiona’s could only see her lover’s impassioned face. Neither saw the door open.



Margaret stared at the tableaux in shock. She had never seen Fiona like this. Her face was alight with passion and her hair was wild around her face. Margaret’s heart raced as she realized that Fiona and the Viking were making love. She opened the door quickly and left the room.



Margaret leaned against the closed door in surprise. She never thought Fiona would do something like this. If she was not mistaken, Fiona had been a virgin. Margaret wondered briefly if the Viking had forced her friend but then dismissed the idea as melodramatic. Besides, judging by the scene that she had interrupted, Fiona was a willing partner to the handsome Viking.



The lady of the castle wandered back to her solar in a slight daze. She had gone to Fiona after a sleepless night. She could not stop thinking about what the Viking had told her about her sister. Moira was alive. The Viking had introduced himself as Leif Gunnarson and had said that Miora’s name was Kati now. She was the wife of a Viking warlord named Bulwyl Tssejem. This warlord was Leif’s overlord. Margaret’s mind was still spinning. She had wanted to discuss this situation with Fiona. Her lips quirked up in a smile. Fiona was better occupied at the moment.



Margaret sat down and thought about the accident of fate that had brought her sister back to her. She wondered if the young men that accompanied Leif had personally knowledge of her sister. She would have to talk to one of them later today.



Margaret picked up her embroidery and stared sightlessly at the stitches. Her husband would be back in a week. She had made arrangements for the Vikings to borrow a few carpenters and craftsmen. She and Leif still had to work out the details. Her guardsmen would run amok if they knew that a Viking ship was moored just miles up the coast. Leif had said that his captain was Bulwyl’s son, Haarald. Margaret was hoping that she would have the opportunity to meet this Haarald.



Even thought Margaret was the lady of the castle, she was in fact, the head of the MacLean clan by blood. Her husband had been her closest male cousin. He had taken over the clan by virtue if his marriage to her, the heiress. Their marriage had been a rather uneventful one.



Margaret ran a finger down the delicate cloth as she thought once again of her longing for children. She had been thirteen when she became pregnant for the first time. She had been married for less than a year. The midwife had said she had been too young to birth a child successfully. The child was stillborn. Yet her husband had tried again against the midwife’s advice. Her pregnancies had never worked out.



In the past few years, her husband had rarely come to her bed. He blamed her for the lost children. She had gone to see a famous midwife in Carlisle. The woman told her that there was nothing wrong with her but maybe the fact that she and her husband were so closely related and the fact that she had tried to have children too young. She had told her husband what the woman had said but he had just scoffed at her and said it was her fault that they had no children. Margaret mused that it was hard to have children if she did not share his bed.



“I wonder,” thought Margaret. “If Moira has any children with her Viking?”



Over the years, Margaret had toyed with the idea of cuckolding her husband with one of her guardsmen. After all, it was her clan. They looked to her for leadership. Her husband was uninterested in clan matters. He had married her for her inheritance without knowing that with the money came great responsibility. One day, Margaret knew that she would do it. Take a lover and try to have a child for the good of the clan. When she had been younger, she had not understood why her father had send Moira away. Now that she was older, she knew why – for the good of the clan. She had a little affection for her husband –Lachlan. He could not help the man he was after all. She would take her lover discretely.



Margaret eyes the morning sun with a sigh. She was hoping to speak with Leif and Fiona. But she had better give them time to tidy up and maybe sleep. She picked up her embroidery and went out to sit in the garden while she still could.



She had been silently working for nearly an hour when she heard a slight sound to her right. Her ladies knew not to disturb her in her garden so she was a little annoyed. She was surprised to see the dark haired young Viking man.



“My lady,” said Olaf hesitantly. “I am sorry to disturb you.” He made a move to go but Margaret stopped him.



“You are one of the Vikings,” said Margaret quietly. She gestured him to stand closer.



Olaf’s heart pounded as the lady urged him closer. He stared into her green eyes and gave a faint smile. In his fantasy, this is the part where she would begin to take her clothes off. Olaf looked at the ground so Lady Margaret could not see his blushes.



“What is your name?” asked Margaret with a slight smile. The young man was a little shy.



“Olaf Hoiby,” said Olaf as he looked up into her intent gaze. His eyes dipped to her bodice.



“How do you know Gaelic so well Olaf Hoiby,” asked Margaret gently. She never thought a Viking would be a little timid.



Olaf eyed the swell of her breasts and tried to shift so he could see better. “My mother was Gaelic and from the Scottish Highlands,” said Olaf. “Her name was Megotta Campbell.”



“Megotta Campbell,” asked Margaret as she sat up straighter and afforded Olaf a better look down her bodice. “Are you sure?”



“Yes,” said Olaf with surprise. “Do you know her family?”



“You could say that,” said Margaret with surprise. “I have heard of her. Megotta Campbell mysteriously disappeared nearly twenty years ago during a trip to her grandmother’s. I remember my mother saying that if I did not behave I would disappear like Megotta Campbell. The Campbell clan is a very powerful family. I wager that they would like to know what happened to her. She was the only daughter of the clan chieftain. But you do not look like a Campbell.”



“I look like my father,” said Olaf defiantly.



“But you certainly act like a Campbell,” said Margaret with a snort. “Is she in Denmark?”



“No,” said Olaf as his defiance died away. “My mother died when I was twelve.”



“I am sorry,” said Margaret kindly. “Maybe we could send word to the Campbells?”



“I am not of the Campbell clan, my lady,” said Olaf firmly. “I am Norse and my father’s eldest son. She called me John. But I am not John Campbell, I am Olaf Hoiby.”



“You are a very determined young man,” said Margaret with a note of admiration. He reminded her of a younger more forceful version of her husband. It was his hair, it was the same color. But this young man had backbone. He had a firm sense of self. Not even the riches of the Campbells could shake this confident young man.



Olaf eyed her soft curves with a man’s possessive glint. “Yes,” said Olaf. “I am.”



“Just as I am my own person,” thought Olaf. “She is not Lady Kati. She is Margaret - a woman alone with no husband in sight. I will have her. My father always told me when I saw a woman worth having, to take her by any means. I mean to have her.”



Then Olaf blushed when Margaret offered her hand to him to help her to her feet. His hand trembled when he touched her soft skin. He laughed at himself for his brave words. This woman had the ability to make him blush like he was a young inexperid bod boy.



Margaret smiled to herself when she saw his blush. This young man was on the verge of adulthood. You could see the strong willed man under the blushing boy. She hoped that they could talk together again later.