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An Honorable Union Gone Awry

He watches, faintly amused, as the surprised guard stumbles, spear falling from his hand, when that arrow thuds into the dead center of his shield. His own voices rises in a bellow, "Hold your arms - it is me!"

And with that simple call, his attention is suddenly raptly fastened on his young wife, taking a step toward her with a single hand extended to brush her upper arm, urging her with a little nudge of his fingers, "You see the other guard? Put one between his legs, in the dirt."

There is excitement in his voice - a strange change from his normally lazy drawl - as he watches her with the bow.
 
She nods silently and turns back to face the other guard. She crouches down, draws her bow, aims, and shoot. The arrow flies silently through the air, unseen except for the glinting silver head. It lands directly between the second guard's legs, tip lodged firmly in the dirt. This time she only turns her head up to look at Canute. She sees the amusement on his face and had heard the excitement. Elsa is pleased with this, but hopes that he is not going to try to abuse her ability.
 
His amusement is replaced by something else as he watches her nock and fire that second arrow; this time, there is no shouted warning to his men, nor requests for Elsa to shoot the weapon again.

Instead, she suddenly finds herself wrapped up in the big Viking's arms like never before. As soon as he sees that arrow bury itself in the dirt between the second guard's feet, he takes a step toward Elsa, curling one big arm around her waist to yank her toward him, head leaning in to plant a kiss of surprising passion on her tender lips, a low growl rising from within the warlord's chest.
 
She yelps in surprise when he curls his arm around her and pulls her towards him, her body slamming into his. She drops her bow and flails for a moment before he presses his lips against hers. She's completely taken off guard and her eyes widen for a moment. She wants to pull away from him, but she remembers everything he said before. So she kisses him back a little, though with no where near as much effort or passion that Canute is giving.

The low growl frightens Elsa a little bit, but she tries to deal with it. She lifts and hand and puts it on his arm gently, trying to give him a hint that he's holding her extremely tightly and that she doesn't exactly like it.
 
That arm around her waist loosens as the kiss parts, the big Norseman towering over little Elsa, his arm remaining about her, but not clutching her against that big chest anymore. His head tilts down, eyes wandering over her for a long, silent moment, before his voice rises in a hoarse murmur, "Odin and Thor, wife, you are beautiful."

More than any passionate kiss, the compliment is likely to be off-putting, to say the least. There is something different to his lusty look this time - perhaps admiration, even respect? Indeed, his compliments only continue, "You've a finer night eye than any of my archers, and certainly you're finer on the eyes while shooting."
 
She stares up at him when he compliments her, his words completing throwing her for a loop. Is he being serious? Did he really just call her beautiful and compliment her skill? Elsa opened her mouth to speak, but she had no words. She couldn't believe that he was actually saying those things to her. Maybe he was just saying them so that she would put out...but she didn't think so.

Her cheeks flushed and she smiled sheepishly. She lifted the one hand that wasn't on his arm to touch his cheek very lightly, gently. She leaned up on her tip toes and kissed him again, very softly. She didn't love him, by any means, but if he could at least respect her markmanship, then maybe this marriage wouldn't be so bad.
 
He accepts that gentle kiss, but is not quite satisfied enough, it would seem. Elsa finds her back up against the battlement as he steps nearer to his young wife, letting that kiss part, but leaving his lips upon her, trailing down the line of her jaw toward her slender, delicate throat. Both hands have fallen to her hips, propped neatly on their curve.
 
"Canute..." she chides quietly, placing both of her hands on his chest lightly. "Canute, we're outside..." she wriggled a little bit, her head automatically turning when he kissed down her neck. She had to admit that she was a little bit turned on, she didn't want to be intimate with him outside. She didn't even like him enough to truly want him while she was inside, let alone outside.
 
His head leans back away from her, that those sharp eyes can examine her intently, a curious frown pursing his lips slightly, "I thought that was the way of you Celts? Seems your Druids love their forests... is that not the way of the rest of you?"

He seems, strangely enough, genuinely curious.
 
She had to supress a giggle. "The forest and atop battlements are two very different places. It's also a little cold out here," she was leaning back against a small column, her hips pressed up against his as she looked up at him. She felt a little bad for him at this moment. He'd truly wanted her for her, but she still didn't want him that much. She decided to compromise, "But...if you want to here...then we can,"
 
Momentarily, their hips separate, one big, callused hand sliding its way between those warm thighs of Elsa's, sliding their way upward along the inside of her leg, a little grin crossing the big Viking's features again, quite satisfied with his wife's reply, for once, "Mm, and where would you rather, my archer bride? The forest...?" His hand presses against her warmly.
 
Her eyes grow wide when he slides his hand up in between her legs. He's being incredibly playful, she thinks to herself warily. She hopes that this isn't going to become a norm, it'll be harder to pretend that she likes him if he always shows that he actually likes her. Her cheeks flush a little at the mention of the forest. She'd rather do it inside, away from everyone and anyone who could possibly see them, if they had to do it. But she already knew that wasn't possible. "The forest might be fun," she whispered to him softly.
 
And this is how Elsa finds herself suddenly lifted bodily from the ground. Both his strong arms are used to scoop her against his chest, like a bride and groom crossing the threshold for the first time together. It offers, at least, some warmth against the chill in the air as she is drawn in against him, to be carried from the ramparts. None of his men ask any questions when they pass, even after strolling through the gates to the city's wall, wandering toward the darkness of the forest beyond.

"Mm, not afraid of wolves, wife?"
 
Elsa's a little surprised when he scoops her up like that, it always shocks her just how strong he is. She rests her head against his shoulder lightly as he carries her, trying her best to seem relaxed. When they get to the forest she takes a deep breath, smelling the sweet pine smell. She laughs softly at his question, "Of course not. Wolves are only dangerous if you provoke them."
 
He grins, peering down at her in his arms, "With loud noises, maybe...?" There is a momentary sense of dropping as she's lowered to the soft earth beneath, a thin coat of green moss making the ground of the forest strangely comfortable beneath the princess. His arms find their way to either side of her body as she is laid upon the earth, his own lips suddenly meeting hers, too quick for her to ever answer that question, kissing deeply.

One hand remains on the ground to hold him over her, while the other slides its way up the outside of one sleek thigh.
 
She opens her mouth to answer his question, but she can't even get a syllable out before his lips are against hers. She murrs softly, a tiny protest that he would cut off her speaking like that. She allows her body to relax against the soft moss beneath her. She shivers lightly as his hand slides up her thigh, her legs automatically spreading open some. She hadn't meant to spread them, it had just sort of, happened.

Elsa didn't stop to think about that though, at least for the moment she was caught in his kiss. When he wanted to be, Canute could be incredibly charming and seductive. Though she would never admit it to him or herself, she had grown to like the fact that he was rough with her at times.
 
Predictably, Canute takes the spreading of those legs as an invitation. While his hand had previously travelled its path up the outside of her thigh, now it shifts, sliding around that soft flesh, that rough, callused palm trailing its way between her legs. That roughness for which she has grown so fond is revealed in the press of his kiss - not tender, but full of passion, pressing hard against her lips with his own.
 
While Canute is touching her and kissing her with such fierce passion, Elsa is busy thinking. She has begun to realize that she is enjoying her time with him a little bit. That's bad. Extremely bad. You have to hate him, she thought to herself adamantly, you have to, he ripped apart your family and he took over your life. And yet, to protect her kingdom she had to continue to pretend that she was fond of him.

So, despite her inner battle, Elsa lifts her arms and wraps them around Canute's neck, pulling him down closer to her.
 
Her inner battle is not made any easier with the sudden tender press of the hand between her legs, a single thumb's tip stroking its way gently across her sensitive flesh, teasing his young wife as she tugs him into that fierce kiss. His tongue darts its way past her own lips, to find her own and entangle itself with hers.
 
Her entire body tenses for a quick moment when his thumb presses against her. Her hips rise up an inch off the ground and a soft moan escapes from her lips into his mouth. Her fingers dig into his neck lightly, her arousal suddenly skyrocketing. She hadn't been very into him a moment ago, but after that so very tender and gentle press, she cannot deny that her body wants him. She opens her eyes and pulls away from his kiss for a moment, her delicate hand running down through his hair as she looks at him.
 
He allows that kiss to separate, his own gaze intent on Elsa's as she looks over his face. For a moment, he is totally still against her, the hand between her legs excruciatingly still, before again that thumb moves against her in its tender little stroke. His voice comes in a low, deep rumble, almost hoarse, "...you want me, don't you, wife?"
 
Elsa wants to say no. She wants to say no, she doesn't want him. She hates him. But as she opens her mouth to say no, her body is riveted by his thumb teasing her still. She nods her head slowly, her eyes resting on his finally. "Yes, husband." she says softly, knowing that at least in this moment, it is the absolute truth. Maybe, though her mind hated him, having sex with him wouldn't be a bad habit to have.
 
It certainly doesn't feel like a terrible habit to have at this particular moment, as his warm hand remains between her soft thighs, teasing his young wife to his will. As soon as the words leave her mouth, his own is occupied, lips trailing along her jawline and down the hollow of Elsa's throat, kissing down her body. The tortuous hand slips away, sliding up her body with its twin, along her sides, the fabric of her garments bunching up with the soft pressure.
 
She lifts her arms up and lets the garment slide up her body. She lies back down, her bare back laying against the soft green moss. Her soft breasts bouncing a little as she moved. She looked up at Canute again, the look in her eyes evident that she was aroused. She glanced down his body and lifted up her hands to pull down his pants. This was being bold, she'd never actively stripped him before.
 
And it's quite obvious her boldness is appealing to her muscled husband. Already, as her delicate hands slide to those soft leather trousers, the shagreen strains with his arousal, and his hips press forward toward the wandering digits of her little hands. His own hands, once the work of disrobing Elsa is done, take a pause, letting his eyes do the work dragging slowly, hungrily, down that curvy and bouncing form.

"I'll never have you anywhere but the forest again," he growls, a slow grin spreading over his face.
 
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