The Flight of the Valkyrie

[ladydeathfaerie]

Title: The Flight of The Valkyrie
Chapter Six: The Art of Observation
Fandom: something like the Marvel Universe
Rating: 18 and up
Warnings: lots of sex and violence, language, anything else i can toss in. flagrant abuse of a Scots accent and loads of pirates. much badly mangled pirate speech
Disclaimer: the recognizable characters and places contained herein are the property of Marvel. i'm merely borrowing for the sake of entertainment. no money is being made from this venture. the Sues are the sole property of their originators, Ginevra, Dazzledfirestar, Nanaea, SilverFoxChan and ladydeathfaerie. the concept and title of The Mary Sue Virus are used with permission from Dazzledfirestar.

The Flight of the Valkyrie - The Index

Rosemary stared around the large hall with a smile plastered on her face learned at the hands of her father's wife. It was not a genuine smile, but it gave the impression that she was enjoying her time at the feast. There was too much going on in the hall to allow her to be at ease. Too many people, too many scents, too many sounds. She'd never been able to stand enclosed places or the press of too many bodies. That was why she'd gone back to the sea upon the death of her father. Well, there was the fact that his wife had evicted her from their home. But she'd never belonged there anyway.

The noise was giving her a headache. And her nose, always sensitive, twitched with the layer upon layer of scent in the air. The mix was almost more than she could handle. The smell of roasted meats fought with seasoned vegetables and fresh bread, copious amounts of mead and smoke, and beneath it all, the odor of the unwashed. There weren't many. But her nose still caught the uncleanliness. She thought she was going to go mad with all of the sensory overload and had to force herself to move with slow, deliberate motions. To push as much of what was around her aside. To keep herself from being swept away by it all.

She occupied her mind with thoughts of James for a time. Naturally, she'd thought of him as the storm had battered her, her friends, and the sloop and crew they commanded. He was a well seasoned sailor. She knew that, had known him when she'd been growing up, sailing at her father's side. He'd been part of the crew for a while. Then he'd left and taken to his own decks. For a time, she'd forgotten about him. And then their paths had crossed once again. Everything about him looked the same as when she'd last seen him. He hadn't changed one bit.

But she had. And she'd understood then what had driven him into the arms of his own ship and crew. The first time he'd seen her, clad in her pirate's clothes, she'd seen the signs. His nostrils had flared and the blue of his eyes had darkened. And his scent, something that she could remember as well as her name, had changed. Become muskier. More masculine. He'd been hungry with lust. For her. She'd known then that he'd taken to the seas on his own vessel because of the changes her body had been going through. The two of them had shared a berth every time they'd seen one another since that day.

So it was that she'd worried for him when the storm had overtaken The Valkyrie, had hoped that he hadn't been caught in the same howling winds and slashing rains that they had. But something told her, some sense that she couldn't put a name to, that all was well with him and she'd see him again. As a means of distracting her thoughts from the crowd around her, she let her mind drift over their last night together.

James was ever a considerate lover even though she knew that there was a more animalistic side to him. She'd seen it once, a very long time ago, when some pirates had tried taking one of her father's ships. She'd seen James do things that no man should have been able to do with his bare hands. She'd never spoken to him of it. Not until much later, when her own gifts had come to her. It was simply one more thing that helped bind them together. They both shared the same wildness inside. She thought that perhaps it was what had drawn them to one another.

He'd been as considerate as any other time back at The Black Unicorn. Ophelia had given them one of the better rooms to use and he'd spent the entire night reminding her just how much he enjoyed spending time with her. His hands had been everywhere, touching every part of her until she'd fallen headlong into brilliant, pleasurable madness. Then he'd done the same with his mouth. And, finally, he'd buried himself deep within her and done it all over and over again. She'd fallen asleep in his arms, exhausted and sated, happy and content.

Laying in James' arms was like coming home. She missed him so much.

The sensation that someone had joined them pulled her from her thoughts. She turned in her seat and glanced over her shoulder to find that a rather attractive blonde had joined them. She'd seen him talking to Anthony Stark not that long ago. Obviously the man was part of Lord Stark's crew. Why he was there? Something told Rosemary that the man wouldn't have joined them without reason. She could see confusion on his face as he carefully regarded each one of them. There was also a sense of curiosity to him. He wanted to know something. She was sure of it.

The stranger approached with intent, his eyes raking back and forth over the five of them. He was obviously studying them, though she could find no reason for such scrutiny. Especially when he turned that intense gaze on Dare where she sat with Remy. The two of them had been wrapped around one another all night, as if she was trying to prove a point. And perhaps she was. Stark had been glaring at the two of them ever since the show had started. Could it be that he'd sent his man over to discover what was going on? She wouldn't put it past Stark to resort to such tactics.

The blonde finally made his choice and approached Haley. She gave her attention to him, smiling and presenting a coy appearance. Rosemary nearly snorted at that. Haley was far from coy. She was obviously intent on playing some kind of game with the man. The redhead had been paying attention to Anthony Stark off and on during the evening. Perhaps she was as curious about his behavior as he seemed to be about Dare's.

There were strange things going on in Thor's hall tonight.

The man introduced himself as Clinton Barton, then asked if he could escort her on a walk around the grounds. Haley smiled and fluttered her lashes, hemmed and hawed and generally did her best to flirt with him. He took it all in stride, his gaze only leaving her face once to look over the rest of them one last time. As if he wasn't sure about his choice. But the moment passed and he finally offered his hand to her. After a moment of pretend hesitation, she put her hand in his and allowed him to pull her to her feet. The two of them slipped away into the night, leaving Rosemary to wonder just who would come out victor between the two. Both had an agenda, it was obvious. Given the scents coming off of the blonde, she didn't know where to put her money.

Rosemary turned her attention back to the room around her. With Haley gone, her mind focused on the other big problem at hand. Dare and Remy. And Anthony Stark. She could see that problems would explode there if something wasn't done and done soon. The scent of jealousy had been strong on Stark back on the ship. He obviously thought that Dare belonged to him. Whatever was going on between the two of them was about to explode in their faces. Someone was going to get hurt. She didn't like the fact that her instincts told her it was her friend that would be the one who suffered from this.

She watched as Remy stood and left the table. She thought that the chances were good he'd had to go make use of the privy, That left Dare by herself and Rosemary considered, briefly, joining her shipmate and asking a few questions. But the idea was pushed aside when their host strode up to the table, hoisted Dare up in his arms and tossed her over one shoulder. She kicked and screamed bloody murder the entire way to Thor's room.

She was still mulling over everything she'd seen when she sensed yet another new presence just behind her. Looking over her shoulder, she found herself face to face with a stranger. He had brown hair and blue eyes. He was slightly wobbly on his feet and the thick, heavy scent of mead clung to him. Obviously he'd been deep in his cups before coming over. He was smiling at her, as if she were the most amazing or most beautiful thing he'd ever seen in his life. Rosemary returned his smile, her nose telling her that there was more to him than she could see with her eyes. She motioned with a hand to the seat beside her. He sat, took her hand in his and pressed a kiss to it.

"Good eve, fair maiden. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Henry McCoy and I am very pleased to make your acquaintance."

~*~*~*~*~

Remy returned from the privy with a frown upon his face. He'd known, of course, that there was little by way of running water and plumbing like he was used to. But a hole in a stone bench? How could anyone call that a toilet? He'd rather use the bushes. In fact, he'd given it serious thought. But need had overcome dislike. When was he going to get back home? Was he even going to get home? Were they looking for him? Or had everyone simply gone on with their lives and forgotten about him? Written him off as a lost cause? He'd only just started his relationship with Morgan. He didn't want to lose her. Not now, when he knew that she had feelings.

It might not have been so bad in this time if the Morgan here hadn't so completely brushed him aside. The past was barely tolerable. Chances were good he'd have lost his mind or gotten himself killed by now if Dare hadn't taken pity upon him. At least he had one familiar face in this hell that cared. Even if it wasn't the one he wanted...

Thor's hall was still bustling with activity when he returned and he immediately sought out the woman who'd so blatantly claimed him as her own. Dare'd made no bones about just who she wanted to be with. Almost to the point where she'd tossed her skirts up in a blatant invitation right there upon the trestle table where they'd eaten their evening meal.

The girl was a jumble of confusing emotions. It had been so easy to read her from the very first and each time he delved into her mind, he found the same things. Love, guilt, pain, sorrow, confusion and hope. They'd been there from the beginning and he wondered who she felt them for because he didn't think that mess was for him. Not completely.

He searched the faces on the end of the table and frowned. Dare wasn't there. Maybe she'd gone to the privy? No. He'd have seen her or passed her. Sensed her. Maybe she'd stepped outside to clear her head. She'd complained more than once that the room was too hot, too smoky, too loud. It gave him the impression that she'd spent quite a few years on the open seas and being confined within an enclosed structure like Thor's home was hard on her. He scanned the entire room and failed to find her. Even worse, Tony Stark was glaring holes through his head and Thor was nowhere to be seen. Remy wasn't sure he liked that.

He took his seat at the table and looked at the girl beside him. Jehnna was busy ignoring the brave soul who'd dared come to her side and attempt to entice her into his pallet for the night. She'd obviously already told him no because he kept telling her that she'd have a good time and that he'd satisfy her better than any man she'd ever known. It took a glacial look upon her face and her dagger to convince him that she truly meant no. The man slunk away, muttering to himself about cold bitches and cold fishes. Remy couldn't help but chuckle at that.

Jehnna turned to him. "You find this funny?" she asked, her tone mild even though her eyes burned with anger.

"Non. I find him funny. De man don' lose gracefully." He motioned after the topic of discussion with one hand to emphasize his point. Jehnna nodded and laid the dagger back on the trestle table with a sigh.

"The men here are little more than pigs. They look at us and see a body to slake their lusts upon. They do not see women or people. Only vessels." Disgust poured off her in waves, letting him know that she'd been subject to such events before. Remy suspected that someone had hurt her deeply once. He offered her a faint smile and reached for his mead.

He never thought he'd miss bourbon so much. "Where Dare go to?" he asked after sipping at the brew in his tankard. Jehnna sniffed and he was once more assaulted with that same disgust.

"Our heathen host came to our table, scooped her up and threw her over his shoulder like a sack of flour. He carried her off that way." She punctuated her words by waving a hand toward the doorway that he knew led toward the private chambers.

"An' how she take that?"

"She kicked and hit him the entire time. I do not think she was happy."

Remy frowned at that. Thor had taken her. If this Thor was anything like the Thor in his world, Remy was more than certain he knew what the Viking god had on his mind. It wouldn't be anything good. The blonde usually only had two things on his mind. Fighting and sex. Dare would likely give him one before the other. Merde.

It was going to be a long, long night.

~*~*~*~*~

Dare landed another fist against Thor's back even though she knew it wouldn't do any good. The man had ignored her efforts to convince him to set her down. Already, he'd taken the liberty of laying his big hand against her backside. It was a liberty that would see him missing said hand. She had absolutely no intention of letting the barbarian touch her any further.

From her position, she'd seen the feet of several people as he'd left the hall and followed a corridor. She could well imagine just what those people they'd paraded past had thought. Anger swelled again and she curled her hand into a fist, then slammed it into the hard muscles of his back. "Put me the bloody hell down! Now!" she ordered.

"Hold thy tongue, wench," he told her in what sounded more or less like a conversational tone. His words brought to life a spurt of Gaelic insults that would have blistered his ears, had he completely understood it. But he seemed oblivious. Dare tried reaching for a sword, but couldn't get to it because of the man's arm, its thick girth curled around her waist to pin her blades inside of their sheaths. "We shall discuss matters when we reach my bed chambers."

"Ye mean I'll be cuttin' yer heart from yer chest when we reach yer bed chambers. Ye'll no' lay a hand on me." He chuckled at her order, prompting another string of Gaelic cursing. They turned a corner and she caught the shifting glow of flickering light. They'd obviously come to his private chambers. Dare tried to kick and punch again, but he ignored her as if she weren't even there. The door closed with a sound thump, a noise that she took to mean no one would be disturbing them. Not that it mattered. She could handle him on her own. "Put me down! Do it now!"

"As my lady wishes," he rumbled. The next thing she knew, she was airborne. She landed on the mattress with a soft whuff of air, letting her know that the man slept on nothing but the finest material. She was fairly certain that the tick was filled with feathers. Soft linens and furs were piled high on the thick bed, along with a giant mound of pillows that screamed of luxury and wealth.

Bastard.

Dare rose up onto her knees, hand going for one of the swords at her side. Thor looked distinctly undisturbed by the knowledge that he was about to be run through. As a matter of a fact, he merely crossed his massive arms over his massive chest and lifted a golden colored brow in response. "You will find, my lady, that I am not so easily frightened as Lord Stark. Leave the blade sheathed. There will be no violence this night."

"Ye dinnae own me. Nay mon owns me," Dare snarled at him. He only smiled at that. The smug look on his face made her temper boil.

"I believe that Lord Stark feels differently upon the subject."

"Stark," she sneered the name and curled a hand around the hilt of her cutlass. "I think `twould be best if ye were tae understand that I'm no' his property. Nor am I yers."

"And the man you spent the night with?" he asked quietly enough that she had to strain to hear him. "Does he hold any claim on you?"

A surge of guilt and confusion poured through her. She had to shove the feelings down, deep inside of her where they couldn't see the light of day. She couldn't afford to let herself be distracted by things she couldn't change. "`Tisnae yer business. Dinnae fash yerself over it."

"You are a guest in my hall." He said it as if it was the answer to everything. "I offer you and your friends my hospitality. And you offer my friend your disrespect by flaunting that man in front of him. Do you do so because you feel genuine affection for him? Or is he simply a tool used to torment Lord Stark? Do you always treat men so callously? `Tis unbecoming behavior for a lady."

Dare stared at him. He was calling Anthony a friend. And, to top it off, he was politely suggesting that she was little more than a tart. No one, man or woman, had ever dared suggest such a thing to her. The anger came back, quick as a storm on the sea and hot as the flames that she could call into being. She didn't think about what she was going to do. She didn't think about anything. One moment, she was on the bed staring at him. The next, she was flying across the room with a sword in one hand. A string of Gaelic fell out of her mouth, a battle cry of curses and promises.

She wasn't sure what happened. It was all a blur. Her sword arm swung down, the blade flashing in the light of the fire in the hearth. The blow was supposed to land on his shoulder or possibly the muscles in his arm. He batted the blade away with one meaty hand and she vaguely registered the clatter of the weapon as it hit the floor. The slap of his palm against her clutching fingers jarred all the way up her arm. So she curled her hand into a fist and swung that at him. And found her hand caught in his, the arm stretched up high over her head. She could feel the muscles in her shoulder protest.

Everything moved far too quickly after that. His grip on her arm tight, he spun her around until she was pinned against the wall. When his free hand reached for the buckle on her sword belt, she jerked into motion and tried to fend him off with her free hand. He solved that by taking hold of it and raising it up until he could grasp it with the hand that already held her other wrist. Then he leaned in against her so that she couldn't squirm. The buckle gave way easily under his questing fingers. He tugged the belt from around her hips, then tossed it carelessly across the room, where it joined her lost blade on the floor.

"Let me go!" she hissed at him. It was all she could do. When she tried swinging her leg out to kick him, it got caught up in the skirts of her gown and then she found it caught between Thor's thighs, held in place by the strength in them. "Let me go now!"

"I will release you when you have calmed and are willing to listen without acting rashly," he told her, voice low and calm. "I can hold you here for as long as it takes, lady."

Dare stared up into the man's face. He meant what he was saying. He was more than willing to keep her pinned as she was until he was sure she settled down. Which she had no intention of doing. The man had another thing coming if he thought she was going to give in to his high handed methods. He'd damn near kidnapped her from her friends moments ago. She couldn't even begin to guess what Remy would think of it. He hadn't been there when Thor had slung her over his shoulder and something told her that he might not be pleased about this. The blonde had no right to treat her so... brutishly.

And the bloody English liked to say that the Scots were barbarians.

She tried pulling her leg from between his, tried tugging it out of his hold. Nothing happened. When she made another attempt at removing her leg, he simply smiled at her. He was lucky that she had too many friends here or she'd set his entire compound on fire. Nothing would be safe. But she couldn't risk the lives of so many people who were guilty of little more than being in the way of her temper. The temptation was there, though, and it was strong. She clenched her hands into fists. "Ye're a bastard," she snapped at him.

"I would love to see you make such a suggestion to my father," he replied with a smirk. Dare spat another curse in Gaelic, all the while trying to pull her hands from his hold. His grip was secure. He shifted a leg, allowing her imprisoned foot to drop back to the floor. Before she could use it in any way, he stepped forward and closed the distance between them. She found that she had to tilt her head back to look up into his face. He towered over her. Why hadn't she noticed he was so tall? "You are far too tense, my lady."

With those words still ringing in the air, he closed the distance between them until his body was pressed against hers. He made sure that she knew just how muscular he was, as if she hadn't noticed it when she'd been hanging over his shoulder. Every last inch of him was rock hard. Including the thick length of his cock. It was caught between them, digging into the soft flesh of her belly, as big as the man himself. He was taller and stronger than she was. He'd already disarmed her, had batted her sword aside as if it were nothing and then rid her of her sword belt. He held her still with one hand and the press of his body. And finally, in that moment, she realized just how much trouble she could be in.

Their gazes locked for a brief span of time. There was something going on behind his eyes, but she wasn't sure what it was. And before she had the chance to figure it out, his image blurred as he moved closer and dipped his face toward her. His lips took hers in a soft, gentle kiss. She could find no deeper intent in it, just a simple press of one mouth against another. The gesture came as a shock that left her limp and pliant in his hold. When Thor drew back, she could only stare up at him. He let go of her hands, then scooped her up in his arms and carried her toward the bed. She was too astonished to even consider fighting.

He dropped her almost casually on top of the thick mattress, then climbed up next to her. Before she could move away from him, he laid one hand against her chest, just below her throat. When she tried shrugging him off so she could get up, she found that there was a good deal of strength behind the way he held her pinned. The scary thing was that she knew that he wasn't putting all of his strength into his hold. Dare could try and fight and look like a fool or she could lay there and let him say whatever it was he wanted to say.

"The stranger who came to my hall with you. What do you feel for him?" Thor asked her quietly. Dare stared up at him, trying to figure out why he would ask such a thing while struggling to hold on to her temper. She was sure, if she attempted bodily harm on him again, that he would simply hold her down until she wore herself out. She didn't know what he was getting at, but it was obvious he was trying to make a point. When she didn't answer right away, he pressed on. "Do you feel anything for him? Or do you use him as a means to an end, as a way to keep Lord Stark at arm's length."

"I dinnae think my relationship with Remy is ana of yer business," she replied carefully.

"You have made it my business. Lord Stark is my friend. I will not see him hurt by a heartless wench, no matter how much he might care for her."

"Stark doesnae care aboot me. He's onla using me."

The man chuckled at that. "When news of the storm came to us, his only concern was for you. He sent me after you and your friends. He wished you to be kept safe."

That bit of information was enough to put a halt to her temper and her thoughts. Stark had sent Thor after them? After her? She wasn't sure if she should take that as a good thing or a bad thing. For as long as Stark had been in her life, it felt as if he had been trying to control her. And she'd fought heartily against it. For her, this thing with Thor was just another example of his need to keep a tight hold on her reins. Why would he send a man she'd never met after her? What could he possibly hope to accomplish by having some stranger keep an eye on her?

It took everything in her not to let her temper run away with her. Her first impulse was to let the flames loose and burn every last thing down. Once again, she smothered the desire. She couldn't risk any of her friends. Nor would she risk her crew and the innocent people she'd seen in the hall earlier. She was going to have to find some other way to deal with her temper. Besides, it wasn't Thor's fault that she was angry with Stark.

Stark. Damn the man. He was to blame for all of this. The bloody fool couldn't keep his nose out of her business and she was bloody well tired of it. For far too long, he'd been keeping tabs on her. That was bad enough. It was worse to know that he'd apparently had someone else looking after her, too. She owed him some retribution for his constant meddling. She just wasn't sure what it was she should do to him. It was something she'd have to think about for some time. An image or two of the man roasting in her flames made her want to smile, but she was acutely aware of her companion. How could she not be with his body pinning hers to the bed? Everything about him was much larger than the men she was used to. And everything meant everything.

That everything gave birth to a rather evil method of paying Stark back in kind for his treatment of her. But she would have to play this little game with a great deal of care. Turning eyes filled with real confusion to his face, Dare stared up at the burly man. "Why would Stark send ye after us?" she questioned, careful to keep anything she was feeling out of her voice and off her face.

"Lord Stark would like you to stay safe, lady. It is his concern that prompts me to watch over you as I do." There was no guile in Thor's face, nor in his words. He meant what he said. She wasn't sure how to take that, so she brushed it aside with practiced ease. Better to think about Stark in a manner that would keep her anger fresh and on top. If she started wondering at his motives, she might not be so willing to keep hating the man.

"Obviously, Laird Stark has fergotten that I'm capable of takin' care o' m'self," Dare replied, doing her best to ignore the fact that his body was pressed up against hers. "I'm a pirate. One o' the best. I dinnae need his help."

"You are a woman and, as such, require extra care," he told her. There was a sense of smugness that made her want to plant her fist in his nose. If there was one thing she despised, it was arrogant men. Fighting him would gain her nothing. Besides, he'd already proved to her that she was useless against his strength and size. Perhaps there was another way to tame the brutish oaf.

"Just what does this extra care entail?" Dare thought she managed to infuse the question with just the right measure of huskiness. His eyes darkened at the question and he shifted just that much closer to her. But then he narrowed his gaze on her and his mouth thinned.

"You try to trick me, wench," he accused.

"Why would I do that?" she asked as innocently as she could manage. He frowned and stared down into her face.

"You wish to distract me from the topic of our discussion. I will not be so easily swayed." Dare kept the disgust from her face. It was a struggle. She wanted this night over. She wanted to go curl up beside Remy, share in his warmth and his loneliness. She knew that there was something about him that he had yet to tell her. Some deep well of emotion showed in his eyes every once in a while. She caught glimpses of them when he thought she wasn't looking. She wanted to be with him, wanted to be there for him. And she couldn't because she had to play fair maiden to the Viking oaf. She wished she had a dagger hidden under her gown. She's show the man just how helpless she was. "You have been cruel to Lord Stark. You treat him as if he were meant to bear the brunt of your displeasure. He deserves far better than what you have shown him here this night."

Dare held on to her temper and pitched her voice low so she knew he'd be forced to actually listen to her. "Laird Anthony Stark haulds me in contempt. I am naught more than shite beneath his boots, a barbarian wench from the north. If ye feel I've done yer friend wrong, mayhap ye should ask him aboot what he's done tae me. If it pleases ye, I dinnae wish tae discuss this ana further this evening."

"As my lady wishes. What shall we discuss this evening?" he asked her.

"Mayhap we should discuss how I can repay ye fer watching over me and my crew." The comment drew forth a smirk, the big man's eyes lighting up in an ages old primal way that she'd seen time and again in the eyes of every man she'd ever come across. It was as good a way as any to distract him from a topic she had no desire to talk about.

"Mayhap I can think of a way, lady," he returned with a smile that would have stopped her heart, had she not been gifted already with the most amazing smile seen in Christendom. The hand that he'd had pressed against her chest lifted away. A moment later, it was on her thigh, stroking against her leg through the finely woven cloth of the gown she wore. Dare stared up into his face, her mind a blur of thoughts. Was she really going to do this? Perhaps a week ago, it wouldn't have been a problem. But now... Things had changed.

The movement of cool air across her thighs brought her back to the present. Thor had pulled her skirts up, exposing the paleness of her thighs to his view. She shivered when his fingers, calloused from hard work, grazed the softness of her flesh. His palm edged between her legs, pushing them apart so that he could slip a finger between the swollen folds of her core. She couldn't stop the moan that rolled up her throat.

He took the sound as encouragement and his finger dipped deeper. He added a second and a third in quick succession, then began stroking her, his digits sliding in and out of her body. Dare felt herself flush with need and building pleasure. Her body writhed in response. He spoke to her then, his words soft and low. She didn't understand any of them and vaguely acknowledged that he was speaking to her in his native tongue. She didn't care. She thought she heard her name in there. Perhaps it was only her imagination. But there seemed to be an earnestness in his tone.

She moaned, mouth hanging open, while her hands curled around the bedding beneath her. Impulse drove her to close her thighs around his hand, her nerve endings already sensitive and crying out for relief. He simply took hold of one of the closest ankle and shifted her leg around until he could catch it between his thighs. The position spread her legs wide and gave him further access. He took complete advantage and drove his fingers deeper, harder and faster.

Fire burned in her belly until she felt as if she were being consumed by the flames. Briefly, she wondered if she'd lost control of her abilities. But she could feel the cool kiss of air against her skin. She wanted to open her eyes and confirm it. Her muscles simply didn't respond. All of her energy, all of the strength she had, was focused on the thick, heady pleasure that was building within her.

Thor's fingers were long and thick, agile as they sought out every last place inside of her that would leave her limp and shaking and tense and still all at once. Dare couldn't hold back the noises she was making. He seemed to be drawing them up from her very soul and the look on his face told her, when she could open her eyes to look at him, that he was enjoying the vocalization of her pleasure. His thumb pressed down on that one spot and the pressure threw her into climax. She went rigid, back bowed up off the bed as the pleasure cascaded through her in a blur of prismatic, rainbow colors.

When Dare could see and breathe again, she found herself as limp as a coil of rope. The bed beneath her cradled her body. He loomed over her, another knowing smirk on her face. She knew that look, too, had seen it plenty of times on Stark's face after she'd given in to his demands. That look woke her temper. Bloody men always felt they were the ones in control. Of a woman's life, of her dreams and desires, of her pain or her pleasure. It was part of what had driven Dare to the sea in the first place. A sense of freedom that she knew she'd never find in the arms of a husband.

She was no man's toy.

Anger riding her, Dare pulled her leg from between his and rolled until she was sitting on top of him. Thor's mouth curled up at one corner. She stared down at him, almost certain that she knew what he was thinking. She thought she could see it in his eyes. He'd all but called her a whore earlier. And now, given her response to his... adequate attention to her needs, he was assured of his reasoning. He truly thought her to be a whore. Well, she'd been schooled in pleasure by one of the finest, and most infamous, rakes in all of England. She could show this stupid Viking a thing or two.

Silent as the grave, Dare reached for his tunic and gave it a light tug. He sat up and allowed her to pull it over his head. It landed on the floor, forgotten as she allowed herself to take in the entire expanse of his chest. It was broad, thickly muscled, and tanned. There were golden hairs curled here and there against his skin, but not so much that he looked like a bear. If she weren't so mad at him, she'd be able to admit he was quite an amazing specimen to look upon.

It wasn't hard to bring a look of lust to her face. She knew the instant he saw it, the moment he knew that he'd been right and she was going to give him what he'd brought her here for. When her fingers tugged at the ties on his leggings, he was quick to help her remove them. When he was naked, she allowed herself the opportunity to admire his muscled frame. His legs were thick, like ancient tree trunks. Despite the broadness of his shoulders and chest, his hips were narrow. A thatch of golden hair sat nestled above the obscenely thick root of his shaft. She found herself more than a little intrigued. If she wasn't out to prove a point, she might have taken the opportunity to really enjoy what was about to happen.

Thor reached for her, but she darted away from his hands. He watched her closely, his smile still genuine though it wasn't as bright. Tossing him a look, she motioned toward the bed with one hand. He climbed back up onto the mattress and settled himself down upon his back. She watched as he tucked his hands under his head, his expression so smug. He was thoroughly certain of himself. His cock was hard, standing at attention. The tip was coated in fluid. Men were so easy.

When he was settled, she carefully climbed up to join him on the bed. His eyes drifted to her hands as she bunched the material of her skirt in them, pulling it up until her legs were exposed to mid-thigh. She crept up, positioning herself so that she was straddling his thighs. The smirk on his face grew the second he figured out what she was going to do. Dare made sure her gaze held his as she reached for his cock, curled her fingers around it, and began stroking up and down with a slow, lazy pace. His eyes slid closed, a soft sound of enjoyment rolling up his throat.

He was hard as steel and smooth as silk in her hand. His hips lifted up into her fist when she brought it down to the base. Each time she did, she gave a squeeze. He groaned at that, drawing a knowing smirk to her lips. He'd thought to show her just how skilled he was in the art of pleasure. He had another thing coming. She'd been schooled by the best there was. She had a few things to teach the blonde.

He spoke to her, his words harsh and almost slurred. She couldn't understand any of it since he was using his native tongue, but she knew that he was uttering words of encouragement. She could tell by the tone of his voice. Low and sultry, meant to tease and entice all at the same time. If she hadn't been so determined to put the man in his place, she might have been affected by it. Instead, she applied herself to her task. And when he sounded as if he were begging for more, when his hips were rocking up into her hand, she knew it was time to finish it.

Dare rolled her eyes up to look at him at the same exact moment she wrapped her lips around the head of his cock. Thor groaned so long and loud that she thought everyone in his hall must have heard him. He stared at her across the golden expanse of his skin, watching her as she swallowed him down. He groaned, his hands reaching for her head. She caught them, a silent command telling him not to touch her. Holding still, she waited until he returned his arms to the bed before continuing her slow torture.

She kept her strokes long and slow, took him deep and swallowed around his head each time. He moaned and groaned and uttered what she thought might be curses. His hips rose with each of her downward motions, shoving his shaft as deep as she would let him go. The entire time, she kept her hands on his thighs, her fingers gliding lightly across his skin. Grazing his balls. Gauging his closeness. And he was so very close.

Already, she could feel the faint tremors that shook his muscles. And his balls were tightening, drawing up against his body in preparation for his release. If she hadn't had a full mouth, she would have smiled. She put more feeling into it, sucked at him harder. Brought a loud gasp out of his mouth. He muttered something, brought his hands up to grasp at her head. Dare pulled back, let him fall out of her mouth. Even as he was groaning in frustration, she threw herself from the bed and hurried across the floor toward her sword belt.

She would play the whore for no man. Ever. She heard him spit out a curse and new that her time was short. Dare put on speed as she ran for her weapons. Her fingers had just curled over the leather of her belt when his arms, thick as small trees and strong as anything she'd ever come across. She shouted at him in Gaelic, her hands clawing at the imprisoning flesh about her waist.

He tossed her onto the bed again. She'd barely landed when he was on top of her, his body a heavy weight that kept her pinned so that she couldn't fight him. There was a look in his eyes that was a mix of pleasure and anger. He looked upon this as a challenge and he didn't plan on losing. Her only saving grace at the moment was that she was still clothed. As soon as he released her arms, she planned on beating him senseless.

Things didn't quite work out that way.

He released her arms and she beat on him. But he ignored it, as if she were little more than a fly buzzing about his head. Instead, he curled his hands into the front of her bodice, his fingertips grazing the swell of her breasts as he did so. And he pulled. Hard.

The fine material of her loaned gown tore easily, no match for his strength. Even before Dare could move, he was on top of her. His hands reached for her legs, grabbed them and shoved them apart. With a single thrust, he was buried to the hilt inside of her body. His hips rocked and shoved against hers, his thick cock driving into her over and over again.

And her body, traitorous thing that it was, welcomed him each and every time.

~*~*~*~*~

The room was spinning. At least, he thought the room was spinning. Maybe it was him that was spinning. Anthony took a look around and realized that he was still seated in the same chair he'd occupied all night. No. He wasn't spinning. It was definitely the room. He reached for his tankard and found that his fingers couldn't quite close around it. The bloody thing kept moving on him. Perhaps he'd had a little too much mead to drink.

Bugger all. Why had he had that much mead to drink? He couldn't quite recall as the evening seemed a little fuzzy. He had to concentrate hard to try and figure it out. So hard, in fact, that he garnered odd looks from the men around him. It took a moment or two to realize that he was making a sour face. He brought a hand up to his face and tried to work the creases out of his skin.

There were a few low chuckles from his side. He did his best to ignore them. Instead, he tried to recall just what had driven him to drink. It took a while, but he finally figured it out. The pale oval of a face swam before his eyes, dark hair framing it. Shrewd grey eyes stared at him defiantly, filled with anger. Ah, yes. Alasdare. Cold, cruel, heartless bitch. She'd made it more than clear to him just who she was most interested in.

His gaze sought out the young man she'd introduced as Remy Le Beau. The young man who'd stolen his Alasdare from him. Bloody thief needed to taste steel for such a trespass. He came to his feet, hand grasping for his sword blindly. He was going to run the boy through, teach him a lesson. The world around him wobbled and he ended up sitting back down in the chair hard. A moment later, Rogers was at his side.

"You're drunk, my lord. Mayhap you should sleep it off."

Anthony stared up into the man's face. "Bloody hell, Rogers. When did your eyes get that blue?"

There were a few chuckles from the men around them. Anthony ignored them and made another grab for his tankard. Again, it moved out of reach and his fingers closed around nothing more than air. He muttered a curse under his breath. Rogers reached out and pushed the mug further away. "You've had enough tonight, Anthony," the blonde said quietly by his ear. "I think it would be wise if you were to find your bed. There's no need to make an ass of yourself before your men."

He wanted to argue that point, insist that he would never make an ass of himself before his men. But the soft snickers that echoed around him suggested such a thing might be possible. Anthony allowed himself to stare at those people still gathered around the tables. There were fewer men and women to be found. It was apparently late and many had sought out their pallets for the night. He might have argued with his first mate and insisted that he could stay and drink a few more pitchers down. But his head and hands felt curiously light, as if they weren't there. Such a feeling could indeed point to a wee bit too much mead. If this were the case, then he might just do as Rogers said and make an ass of himself. If he hadn't already.

"Right then." Anthony nodded and rose on unsteady feet. "Point me in the right direction, Rogers. I shall take myself off to bed. A pleasant evening to you all," he said, inclining his head in the direction of his men. They returned the gesture but said nothing. Anthony thought he saw a few too many smirks, hastily hidden behind mugs of mead or with fake yawns, on the faces of his crew. Bloody hell, Had he already made an ass of himself?

Just how much mead had he drunk?

"This way, my lord," Rogers said and turned Anthony in the right direction.

Stark took a step in the direction his first mate had pointed him. And nearly fell flat on his face. If not for the arm Rogers had hooked around him, he would have. Anthony had apparently had far too much to drink this night. He turned to look at the man beside him. He made sure to keep his voice low. "Mayhap it would be best if you were to show me the way to my rooms, Steven."

"As you wish, my lord," Rogers agreed. Anthony thought he heard a hint of amusement in the blonde's voice, but he could see nothing on the other man's face to prove it to him. Anthony didn't bother looking around to see if anyone marked their progress across the floor. He didn't want to know if anyone was laughing at his plight. Bloody women were more trouble than they were worth. He should be thankful that Alasdare had given herself over to the stranger. Fewer problems for him that way. Tomorrow, when he was clear headed, he'd tell her he was done with her.

Part of him rebelled at the idea. It most certainly did not want to be rid of her. Not now. Not ever. It was quite adamant about that.

Suddenly, the two different sides of him were having a full blown row in his head. One insisted that Alasdare Scott was a kind of trouble he no longer needed in his life. The other one kept harping on the fact that she was the one thing he'd really ever wanted and that giving her up to the strange man would be accepting defeat. Anthony Stark had never admitted or accepted defeat in his life. Ever. Why should he start doing so now?

The bickering went back and forth, each voice getting louder and louder until his head ached. Blinding pain shafted behind his eyes. His feet stumbled over one another and, again, he'd have been flat on his face if not for Rogers' assistance. "Will you bloody shut up!" he snapped.

"I... didn't say anything, my lord." The blonde said, something like concern filling his words.

"Not you. The two drunken sots arguing in my head. Its like listening to a pair of fish wives!" Anthony replied.

"Ah. Very good, my lord," Rogers replied, a hesitancy in his voice. Before Anthony could respond with a snappy, witty comment, they stopped before a closed door. Rogers reached out to work the latch and the panel swung open on silent hinges. A fine chamber lay beyond the door, with a welcoming bed. A single candle flickered on the stand beside the bed. "Here you are, my lord. Your chambers."

"You're a good friend, Steven. You know this, don't you?" Anthony turned to him with what was supposed to be a smile. He wasn't sure he managed it because he could no longer feel his face. "I don't say it often enough, but you are. A loyal and true friend. Were you a wench, I would bed you and make you my bride."

"Um... Thank you, my lord?" Rogers helped him into the room.

"You're quite welcome," Anthony replied, his mouth dropping open in a yawn. The blonde set him on the edge of the bed before leaning down to tug the man's boots off. Once disposed of, he removed Anthony's sword belt.

"Can you put yourself to bed now, my lord?"

"Aye, Steven," he nodded. "I want to thank you. You're a true friend." Anthony stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Rogers in a hug. To show his appreciation.

~*~

He wasn't sure how to handle this side of his captain. Oh, he'd seen Anthony Stark deep in his cups before. But never so deep and certainly never over a woman. Steven wanted to leave the man to his bed and go find his pallet before things got any stranger than they were. But it wasn't to be. Lord Anthony Stark, Earl of Whitmore and captain of The Avenger, passed out in his arms. He was glad no one was here to witness it.

Steven hefted Stark up and tried to settle him on the bed. The man's hands were curled into his tunic and refused to let go. Worse, when Steven tried to disengage himself from the man's embrace, Anthony tightened his hold and actually pulled Steven down onto the bed with him. He tried again to free himself but it wasn't to be. Anthony rolled and took Steven with him. He found himself cradled up against Lord Stark's chest, the man's arms tight around him.

He'd never realized that his captain was so strong.

Steven tried one more time to free himself. Stark's hold tightened. "There's no need to run off so quickly, my pet. We have the rest of the evening." The press of his captain's lips against the back of his neck had him panicking. Stark's hold became a vice and he tossed a leg up over Steven's hip. "Stay with me, my sweet. I promise you won't regret i..." The man's voice faded away, soft snoring replacing it almost immediately.

Bugger. He wasn't going anywhere tonight. Resigned to his fate, Steven settled himself down into the softness of the bed. If Anthony was so blind drunk that he didn't know who was in bed with him, the blonde didn't think it would be prudent to leave him by himself. At least the mattress beneath him was soft and comfortable.

Closing his eyes, he relaxed and sighed. "I'll stay here to be sure you rest without trouble. But if you dare lose the contents of your stomach all over me, I won't think twice about dragging you down to the docks and tossing you into the harbor."

~*~*~*~*~

The fire was banked, embers casting a red glow across the floor and room. A single candle glowed through the glass of the lantern that rested beside the bed, adding a mellow golden halo to things. There was a bench against one wall and four pegs in the wall for their clothes. Morgan had already stripped the gown off and it hung from its peg. The clothes she'd been wearing when Thor had come to their aid lay on the bench, cleaned and ready for wear. Her cutlass and the belt it hung from hung from another peg. Robert was working on adding his clothing to the pegs beside hers. She sat upon the mattress, golden light kissing her skin, and watched him as he shed his garments.

She enjoyed watching him strip. There wasn't an ounce of fat upon his frame, skin tanned to a rich golden brown stretched taut across the muscles in his arms and legs and chest. He was perfection and she couldn't take her eyes from him. They didn't get to do this often, move at a slow and leisurely pace. There was always some reason for them to hurry, some need that one or the other had to see attended to. It was always rushed and hectic with them. Quick. This unexpected stop was a blessing for them.

Robert turned to her, his brown eyes gone almost black with desire for her. The candle caught some of the golden highlights the sun had painted into the brown of his hair. His body was as eager as it ever was, his shaft full and hard. She shifted her legs apart in silent invitation. A smile slid across his face that sent shivers down her spine. He crossed the floor so that he could climb up into the bed with her. She went into his arms the moment he opened them wide. He caught her up in his embrace, pulled her to him and covered her mouth with his.

They tumbled back against the pillows together, his lips moving with certainty over hers. His tongue danced in and out of her mouth, teasing her own until her chest was tight with feeling and the need to draw air into her lungs. When he broke off, he reached up to brush her hair from her face. There was a softness in his eyes that she knew well. She put her fingers against his lips before he so much as opened them. "Do not ask me again, Robert. You know ze answer already."

"It isn't a good answer, Morgan. You need to find a better excuse to keep telling me no," he replied, not even bothered by her refusal. They'd been through this so many times before. She kept hoping that he'd drop it.

"But it is ze answer you will get, Robert. It is ze truth. Ze life we lead does not allow for ze fairy tale you want. I am sorry. My answer is now and will remain no." Morgan frowned at him. She wished he'd just accept her answer and be done with it. It hurt her every time he looked at her like that, like they could take on the world and conquer it together. Like, so long as they were a couple, nothing bad would happen to them. She knew it for the lie it was. Why wouldn't he accept that? "Please, Robert. Mon amour. Do not ask zis of me. I do not like `urting you."

"You aren't hurting me, Morgan. You only make me more determined," he informed her, then once more swooped down and kissed her so thoroughly and so soundly that she forgot what it was they'd been talking about. She was breathless, gasping for air, when he lifted his head from hers. When she focused on his face, she could see that he was confused about something.

"Robert. What is it?"

"Haley. Will she be okay with that man?" She could hear the concern in his voice and it made her heart swell for him. "I can't recall the last time I saw her in the presence of a man. What if he tries to take advantage of her? What if he tries to hurt her?"

"Robert, `Aley is very capable of protecting `erself. You `ave no reason to fear for her safety." Though they had spent a great deal of time together, very few of the crew knew of their secrets. The five of them kept such things under wraps as best they could. So no one had ever seen Dare call fire. They had never seen Rosemary take the shape of some large, exotic cat. They had never seen Jehnna control the very sounds around them. Faye was a stranger to them. And none had ever seen Haley turn into a living statue. Not to mention the fact that Haley was a pirate. Morgan chuckled. "She is a pirate, Robert. She will not be so easy to overcome. Even if ze man does have pretty eyes."

"Pretty eyes?" he asked and pounced on her, his fingers moving rapidly against her skin. It tickled and she squirmed, trying to find her way free. "I'll show you pretty eyes, wench. Before I'm through with you, you'll be begging me to leave off."

"Robert!" Morgan shrieked, laughter taking the sting out of his name. His fingers moved rapidly, tickling the hollow at her shoulder, the underside of her breast, her belly and across her thighs. Occasionally, he'd stop tickling enough to tease her. He tweaked her nipples, pulled at them until she moaned and arched up. He played his fingers along the swollen folds of her nether lips, allowing them to dip inside and stroke along sensitive flesh. Before she could find a rhythm or any real amount of pleasure in his touched, he would go back to tickling, his hand moving away from the needy spot in favor of another section of skin.

When he'd tickled her breathless, he took her lips again and kissed them. His tongue slid into her mouth and once more danced with hers. She moaned, her body begging for more than he gave her. Morgan's hands sought him, tried to curl around his cock. But he drew back, earning a groan of frustration from her. "You are cruel, Robert," she accused with a pout. He only smiled at her.

"I'm simply making sure that you are quite tired this evening."

"You do not need to play so for zat to `appen," she replied, shooting another pout at him. She ran a hand across the mattress beneath them. "Our `ost `as gifted us with zis fine bed. We should make use of it while we can, Robert. `Ooo knows when we will be `ave ze chance again?"

"Our host," he sighed and rolled until he lay on his back beside her. She frowned at that, then rolled up onto her side and propped her head in one hand. The concern was back. This time, he was frowning. "Our host is little more than a barbarian."

"`E is a Viking. Zey are known to be little more zan barbarians, Robert."

"He proved it with Dare tonight," he told her, turning to look at her. Again, she could see concern in his eyes. "How do we know she's not in danger with him?"

"Robert. You worry about too much. Thor would be very stupid indeed if `e were to try and `urt Dare. She is armed with two swords. And you know she `as a temper."

"That's what worries me. What if she looses her temper and pushes him. If he hurts her, we won't be able to do anything to help her. It'll be too late by the time we get there." She sighed and rolled on top of him. She loved his concern. She truly did. But trying to convince him that her friends would be fine when she couldn't disclose the reasons why she knew they'd be fine was maddening.

"Robert. Dare can take care of `erself as well as `Aley. You worry too much. Stop zinking so much of zem and zink of me." She pressed a kiss to his chest, her teeth nipping at his flesh. "I am ze one `ooo is in need. And you are ze only one `ooo can `elp me."

Robert laughed at that and rolled them both so that she was caught beneath him. She laughed with him, a free sound that came slowly. As if she wasn't sure she should let it out or she was rusty. He rained kisses down upon her face, across her cheeks and along her neck. Her shoulders, her breasts, her belly and beyond. His mouth touched every inch of skin from her head to her toes and back again. It stopped to pay special attention to her core, his tongue lashing at her sensitive flesh until she squirmed and writhed beneath him. Until she begged him to stop and she begged for more.

When he lifted his head, she spread her thighs for him. His hips settled between them, the hard shaft of his erection rubbing at her nether lips. She rocked her hips, sighed long and loud at the friction that she gained in the motion. Her hands sought out each indentation and line along his back, in his arms. They memorized the curves of his ass all over again. Her legs wrapped around his waist and urged him closer. Her whole body begged for him to make them one.

He took his time, pressed himself against her entrance and slid in a bit before drawing back to rub the head of his erection against the small bud of flesh hidden between her folds. She gapsed and sighed, rocked against him and tried unsuccessfully to draw him into her. He bent to suckle at her breasts, biting and licking the nipples possessively. It was only when he'd brought her to a fever pitch, when she mewled and whined and begged and her body was on fire with need, that he allowed himself to press into her body.

His cock fit her perfectly, filled and stretched her until she thought she'd explode. When he was fully sheathed, he stopped and held himself there. Their eyes met and he smiled down into her face. "Morgan. Please. Say yes."

"No, Robert. I cannot," she whispered in reply.

"Then I'm just going to have to try harder."

He tried harder. All night long. He left her body shaking after each round of love making. Her voice was raw and hoarse from crying out over and over again. Her most intimate parts were tender and sore. There were love bites everywhere. Never once during the entire night did he falter. Never once did he stop and hold her pleasure from her. Never once did he treat her like anything more than a cherished lover. He brought her over the edge time and time again.

Later, when she was laying in bed sated, when he'd finally drifted off to sleep, when her body was heavy and lethargic and sleep curled around her like a cloak so that she could barely keep her eyes open, when she was on the very verge of tumbling into slumber and dreams, Morgan lay there and wondered if the reasons she used to keep him at bay really mattered anymore.