Free Maidensong by Mia Marlowe

want to kiss you, Rika. One kiss. It’s such a simple thing. Don’t make it difficult. Remember Ragnar and Swanhilde. If we let the moment pass, it may never come again.”
      “Just one kiss?” Her voice tremored a bit.
      “ Say you won’t fight me. One kiss and I’ll blow out the lamp and trouble you no more,” he promised, shrugging his broad shoulders. “For tonight, at least.”
      “ Very well.” Rika couldn’t believe the words coming out of her own mouth. Magnus had been right to warn her of the unusual power of a maidensong. “One kiss.”
      A smile blazed across his face.
      As if she was as delicate as Frankish glass, Bjorn cupped her cheeks in his hands. He closed the distance between their mouths, stopping just before their lips touched. His warm breath swirled over her, tinged with the rich scent of ale. One of his thumbs traced the soft outline of her mouth as his gaze swept over her face and settled on her eyes. She felt herself being pulled into his dark depths and squeezed her eyelids shut.
      His lips covered hers in a caress as soft as a whispered endearment. He moved his mouth, lightly prob ing, as though waiting for her answer, patient, but insistent. When her lips parted softly, his tongue slid into her with the same caution and thoroughness he’d use to sound an unknown harbor.
      Rika could scarcely breathe. Her mouth sent some kind of undecipherable signal to the rest of her body, both frightening and exciting at the same time. Her skin tingled in anticipation of his touch. Their kiss deepened and it was as though a spark had been struck. Fire danced through her limbs and settled to smolder in her belly. All rational thought faded in the oblivion of his kiss, and the only truth in the world was the dizzying sensation of his mouth on hers.
      Bjorn cradled her shorn head in his palm as his other hand slid down her neck. Her skin shivered be neath his fingers. His hand brushed lightly over the iron collar.
      The hateful ring of metal yanked her back to reality. What was she thinking? To this man, she was no more than a possession to be used, like his bloody sword or humble piss pot, and cherished far less than his dragonship.
      And to think she’d been enjoying his company, mooning at him with calf’s eyes, and worst of all, answering his kiss. How could she have forgotten Mag nus? Her father’s blood was on Bjorn’s head. Guilt clawed at her. Rika put both palms on his chest and shoved with all her might.
      At least he had the wit to look surprised.
      “ There,” she said. “You’ve had your kiss.” She turned her face to the wall and drew herself into a tight little ball.
      Bjorn was silent for a moment and then blew out the lamp. “Good night, Rika. May you sleep without dreams.”
      Of course she would. All her dreams were as dead as her father.
     
     

Chapter 7
     
     
     
      When Rika woke again, Bjorn was gone. He’d lit the small lamp and left it burning on the wooden trunk for her. Without it, the windowless room was black as a moonless night. A trencher of bread and a salty wedge of cheese waited for her beside the lamp. She searched every corner, but her scratchy tunic was gone.
      Loki take the man! He knew very well she couldn’t venture out of his small cell in the short tunic she was wearing. He’d imprisoned her without so much as a bar on the door. She snorted in disgust, picked up the cheese, breaking off a small chunk with vehemence, and popped it into her mouth.
      Bjorn’s room was just a rectangle of space off the main hall of Gunnar’s longhouse, without a smoke hole or fire of its own. His bed was made of built-up earth on one side of the room, covered with a straw- tick, and then piled with furs and fine woven blankets.
      The one piece of furniture in the room was a heavy wooden trunk, which he used to store his clothing and personal possessions. A round, hardened leather shield leaned against the opposite wall. It was