Heart of a Viking (19 page)

“Well, more of a mess than it already is. I do not have much time you see…” She snatched the cloth from him and urged him to the bed. “And ‘tis only me…”

“Ilisa…” He sat and she positioned herself behind his back.

“I am not strong enough for a lot of the things that need doing…”

“Ilisa.” His hand gripped hers suddenly and she stared at it. “It is well enough, Ilisa. You need not offer me any apologies.”

She straightened. “I wasn’t apologising. I just…” With a sigh, she turned her attention back to the grazes on his taut skin. Why did she care what a Viking thought of her dwelling so much anyway? He shuddered when she pressed the wet cloth to his back. His skin rippled with the movement, his muscles undulating. What would it be like to press herself against that back?

“I must have scraped my back on the rocks. It feels as though I have a thousand cuts there.”

Ilisa chuckled. “Not a thousand. Just a few. I fear they might be from me dragging you, though I avoided all the very sharp rocks.”

“Oh, well that is good to hear.”

“Anyhow these grazes are but small compared to some of the injuries you have clearly suffered in the past.” She dabbed away the crusted blood on his shoulder and scrutinised the cut. She’d been right—most were tiny and likely caused by her rather than a meeting with the rocks. But the many scars slashed across his skin reminded her of the warrior behind the jovial manners.

“Aye, well I don’t intend to gain any more injuries.”

“What do you mean?”

“My life as a warrior is far behind me. This was to be my last voyage.”

Ilisa gulped. Coldness seeped into her bones and pooled in her stomach. “And what was your intention behind this voyage?”

He glanced at her over his shoulder. “To gain supplies and…”

“And?”

“Naught more than that really.”

“I see.”

She shifted away and placed the cloth on the table. Had he and his crew intended to raid the coastline? Had she been wrong about Alrek? It stood to reason he’d be no different from any other Viking she’d encountered—bloodthirsty, dangerous, greedy. Still, she had committed to aiding him and Ilisa always saw things through to the end. Rummaging through the coffer at the end of her bed, she found an old shirt and trews and handed them over.

His brow creased. “What shall I do with these?”

“Wear them.” Frustration and a deep well of anguish burned in her gut. How much longer she could endure the sight of his gleaming skin and muscles she did not know. The last thing she needed was to throw herself at him again.

“I shall wear my own clothes.” Alrek fingered the coarse plaid, barely disguising a look of contempt for her departed husband’s clothes. His lips—those lips that had touched her own not long ago—curled down as he lifted the shirt. “This will not fit me. Bring me my garments.”

A burst of anger sparked in her chest. Heat flowed freely through her and she threw up her hands. “Your clothes need washing and these are all I have. By God, I should have left you where I found you. You cannot go walking around dressed like a Viking! You have no idea what sort of danger you would put us in. You will wear these clothes and you will be grateful!”

Alrek blinked at this hissing and spitting woman in front of him. Where had his sweet siren gone? He’d offended her, he realised belatedly. His contempt for the garments she’d so graciously given him had angered her. His chest deflated. Bitterness sat in his throat. What an ungrateful fool he must seem? First he kissed her and now he had upset her. But he had to admit, with her hair aglow in the candlelight, her cheeks rosy with anger and her eyes wide with indignation, she made for a tempting sight.

He doubted Ilisa would appreciate him saying as much. A loose curl of hair snaked its way over the curve of her breasts and his traitorous gaze followed it as she drew in several deep breaths. She wasn’t wearing a chemise. He knew mostly because he’d seen her dress. Another dishonourable act on his behalf, but after all he was just a man. Perhaps the glimpse of a well-rounded, pale rear and gently curving spine had addled his mind and forced him to forget his manners. He had even been lucky and caught sight of the curve of one breast. Even now, her nipples pressed against the blue wool of her gown and he knew if she bent just right, he would have a wonderful view. The woman was made for a man’s hands. Made for holding, and caressing and loving.

Not that he would do such a thing. He had already trespassed on her time and insulted her. The last thing he needed was to upset her further by suggesting a tumble and he still didn’t know if she was an innocent or not. The man’s clothing and her circumstances hinted at a man in her past and her reaction to his kiss had not been one of a virgin.

By the gods, he was getting hard again. He gathered the clothing and slipped on the shirt. “Forgive me,” he murmured as she clenched and unclenched her fists. “You must know I am most grateful for your help and I know I am impeding on your hospitality. I swear as soon as I can, I shall be gone and no longer be a burden to you.”

Her answering breath was low and slow, like a lover’s after a climax. Alrek itched to know if that’s how Ilisa responded after she had been brought to the peak of pleasure. Or maybe she cried out, like the siren she was.

“You are no burden, Alrek.”

“But I have put you in danger?”

“The villagers do not like Vikings. I do not know how they’ll react if they discover you here. I shall probably be accused of harbouring the enemy.”

He nodded. Of course the locals wouldn’t appreciate his presence. The Norse had an ill reputation with the Picts and for good reason. In his earlier days he had taken part in enough raids to understand why, but that was behind him now. It was important to him Ilisa knew that.

“You understand I mean you no harm?” She chewed her lip, leaving it glossy and plump. Ripe. Delicious. He shook away the images that assailed him—of where he’d like those lips. “And that I intend to protect you from any danger while I am here?”

Ilisa relaxed her hands and offered a reluctant smile. “Aye, I believe you, Alrek the Bold. But just because I do, doesn’t mean anyone else will. Dress as a Pict and stay out of sight should anyone visit.”

“I am lucky indeed that you found me, Ilisa,” he said softly.

Her eyes crinkled with amusement. “Aye, that you are. Now, I have no fire thanks to you but I have some bread and honey that will do nicely for our supper.”

She turned before he could respond, so he instead took the moment to admire her. Alrek meant what he had said. He had been lucky. Any other man—or woman for that matter—would have left him for dead. Nothing more than a watery grave for Alrek the Bold—like his fellow shipmates. A pang of grief struck his heart but he refused to contemplate it. In battle and life there was little time for grief. For now, he had to consider what the future held for him. Somehow he needed to get off this island and continue his journey to Iceland. And leave Ilisa behind…

He studied the curve of her rear as it pressed against the gown while she busied herself smearing honey onto chunks of bread. Ilisa clearly worked hard and from what he had seen, he liked her temperament. Alrek admired that fiery spark of independence, and enjoyed the softer side that had saved his life. He’d be hard pressed to find a better woman with beauty that equalled hers. He let his lips twist while he pondered the possibility of persuading her to accompany him to Iceland.

A marriage to a Norseman? By the gods, he must have hit his head harder than he thought. A woman like Ilisa—one with a fighter’s soul hidden beneath that woman’s touch—would never consider betraying her heritage by marrying a Viking. And he barely knew her. That hadn’t mattered much to him anyway. He was fully intending to find a useful, attractive woman and take her out with him whether he knew her well or not. He needed heirs and help building his farm. Many Pictish women would jump at the chance of seeking out new lands and he’d always had a fondness for them.

But never had he been so entranced. He’d been staring as she busied herself. He must have traced that soft profile, from the red lashes to the point of her chin and that graceful neck hundreds of times in that instant. To see her, it seemed, was necessary to him. As necessary as his heart beating in his chest. Then words flowed from her mouth and he wasn’t sure he even needed his heart to keep beating. Perhaps Ilisa could sustain him. Her soft voice streamed through his veins as she sang, entrancing and energizing him. The cuts and bruises on his back still throbbed, his head panged, but a few moments of listening to her and he felt ready to run into battle. Something he had not had the will to do in a long while.

However, for Ilisa… for Ilisa, he would die.

He scrubbed a hand across his bristled chin and stared at her. Alrek smirked. For this woman he barely knew, he would do what he had vowed never to do again. Fight, spill blood, take a life. What power did Ilisa have over him?

She faced him and handed him a platter with bread on. She cleared her throat and dropped her shoulders. “Forgive me. I do not even know when I’m singing. It’s a habit… If it irks you, just say.” She seated herself on the chair opposite and picked at the bread.

“Nay, you do not irk me. I enjoy hearing you sing.” He lifted the bread to his mouth and paused. “I would happily listen to you sing every day for the rest of my life.”

Before he could spill another confession, he jammed the bread into his mouth. What had got into him?

Alisa dropped her lashes and a tiny smile curved across her face. “I thank you. I love to sing but my brother and husband always scolded me. I annoyed them I think.”

So she had been married. Jealousy curved into his gut and cinched it tight. Who was this man who had such a treasure yet scolded her for her talent? “You should not be ashamed of such a skill. Where I come from, a beautiful voice like yours would be treasured. You would be asked to sing at every feast.”

She laughed through a mouthful of bread and swallowed it. “I do not think I could do such a thing but I am curious, what else is so different where you come from?”

“We are not so dissimilar to you, Ilisa.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “That I cannot believe. Picts do not raid others’ land.”

“Yet you fight amongst yourselves.”

Her tongue darted out to sweep across her lower lip. The simple movement caused molten heat to boil through him to his core.

“We do, that is true.”

“For little more than land and riches,” he pointed out. He did not enjoy being tarred as a demon.

“Aye, but ‘tis the manner of which you Vikings go about it. Men will always be driven by greed, I do not doubt that, but you Vikings are ruthless. You would cut down a woman to take a trinket.”

“You believe I would do such a thing?”

“I… I do not know,” she replied quietly.

“I think you do, Ilisa. I have fought much in my past, I’ll admit that much. I have spilled more blood than I’d like to admit to, but I am not so greedy that it blinds me to what is right, whatever you might think. Just because one Norseman would behave so does not mean another would. Would you have me judge you on the behaviour of the rest of your countrymen? You Picts have killed many a Scot have you not?”

She blinked, opened her mouth and shut it again. “I… we are at peace now.”

He reached over and took her hand in his. Her fingers curled automatically around his and his palm tingled. How perfect her small hand fit in his. “I do not mean to scold either but I would not have you thinking me a savage.”

Head tilted back, she viewed him and slipped her hand from his. Coldness washed over him but the curve of her lips quashed the fear he’d offended her yet again.

“I do not think you a savage.”

“What do you think of me?” he asked, unable to resist.

Her grin widened, revealing even teeth. “I am not sure yet, Alrek the Bold, but I shall let you know.”

She took his empty platter from him and he returned her grin. He had no doubt Ilisa would always speak her mind to him. But how would she take to him if he told her what he thought of her? What would she say if he told her he’d never met a more beautiful woman, or that he longed to take her away from her drab dwelling and give her land and children?

***

One eye on the Viking warrior, Ilisa cleared away the bread and platters. The night had grown chilly and her teeth began to chatter. She unhooked her mantle from behind the door and threw it over her shoulders. However, in spite of how cold she was, the heat in the pit of her stomach refused to abate. With only two candles lit, the Viking’s eyes seemed darker, more intense. He watched her movements as if fascinated by her. If she didn’t know better, she’d think he’d never seen a Pictish woman before. Or perhaps a woman at all. But a man as patently virile as Alrek had likely known many women in his time. At what she concluded to be close to thirty summers old, he was likely an experienced man.

She still had yet to decide what to do with him. He seemed to have assumed she would shelter him for as long as necessary. But with one bed and little food, she hardly had the resources to take care of him for who knew how long. What else could she do though? Send him out into the wild where a Pict would likely find him and cut him down?

Nay, she could do no such thing. Her husband and brother would scold her further for such behaviour. Was she dishonouring their memory by harbouring the enemy? But her ethics would allow no other action.

“You are cold.”

She suppressed a smile. Alrek had an oddly blunt manner of speaking and she relished it. “A little.” She stacked the platters and swiped her hands over her skirts.

“Join me in the bed.”

Her breath stuck in her throat. Did he mean—?

“To sleep—nothing more. There is no sense in us both being cold.”

Resigned, she dropped her shoulders and edged over to the bed. He was right. And while he was under her care, she wouldn’t allow him to catch a chill. After being in the water for what could have been a day or more, he would still be susceptible to illness and she did not want to be caring for an ailing Viking.

He tossed back the blanket in invitation. Her head swam and she had to remind herself to breathe. She had not shared a bed with a man since Donnie’s death. And never had she shared one with a man so… impressive. Donnie was a pleasant enough man—if a little quick tempered. They had known each other since childhood and their match was, at the time, a natural one. But never had he stirred her blood by simply looking at her. Never had he started a torrent of desire without so much as a word. Her skin pricked, her senses ripened.

Unsteadily, she eased herself next to him and lay on her back. She kept her hands pinned to her sides and stared at the roof. Alrek rested on his side and she felt his gaze on her. The knowledge of him so close made her heart beat like the wings of a butterfly. When he pulled the blanket over them both, covering their clothed bodies, she feared her heart would fly out of her chest.

Ilisa persuaded her stiff limbs to move and rolled to blow out the candles on the table. Her rear brushed the top of Alrek’s thighs and she heard a sharp inhale as darkness swallowed them. Was he truly as affected by her as she was by him? Feminine pride swelled in her chest but she tamped it down. It did not matter either way. She would never give herself to a Viking.

“Look at me, Ilisa.” His voice rumbled over her, like a hot spring bringing promise of soothing away the aches in her body and her heart.

“I cannot. ‘Tis dark.”

His laugh made the bed quake lightly. “You are a stubborn woman, Ilisa. But you know what I mean.”

With a sigh, she rolled to face him. His breath caressed her face, bringing with it the scent of honey and ale.

“I shall do all I can to thank you for saving my life,” he promised. She imagined his sensuous lips pulled into a solemn smile. “And you need not fear me.”

“I do not fear you,” she said into the night but the lie burned on her tongue. She didn’t fear him. But she feared the lust rising between them, as unmoveable as the mountains. Could she conquer such need?

“Then let me warm you.”

One arm wrapped cautiously around her waist. Ilisa went rigid but he moved no more. His large palm rested upon the base of her spine and gradually her skin warmed. How long they remained like that, she didn’t know. For many moments, she listened to his steady breaths until they deepened. She envied the ease in which he fell asleep but he had been through much, so it shouldn’t have surprised her.