Heart of a Viking (22 page)

“Are we to go?” she asked.

“Aye.” He snapped his head around and near raced to the door. If he wasn’t careful, he’d throw the woman down on the bed and make those imaginings real.

He strode ahead for a while, not checking if she was following. How much longer did he have to suffer this? A Norse ship would come by at some point but it could be sennights, maybe longer. This had to be his test—putting such temptation in his way to see if he had reformed. Once he had believed great courage and daring would lead him to Valhalla but the gods had abandoned him the day they sank his ship and drowned his friends. New land and a new life was his only chance now. And Ilisa had no part in that.

She caught up to him, hands clutching her skirts and breathless. “What is the matter?”

“Naught.” What to say? That his lust for her grew with every passing moment? That her panting breaths made him wonder what she sounded like when she climaxed. He continued walking up the hill toward the stone wall.

“Are you unwell?” she persisted.

“Nay, I am fine. Cease your worrying, little Pict, and let us see to these…” He trailed off as they reached the stone and turned to view Ilisa’s reaction. His stomach clenched.

“Oh.” A hand rose to her mouth and she wavered.

Alrek shot to her side and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “Come, you do not need to see this.”

Several sheep carcasses lay scattered across the land. One was close enough that he could see it had been torn apart. Blood and wool mingled in the grass, a macabre sight even for one used to battle.

“Who would…?” Her voice wobbled and Alrek glanced down to see the tremble of her chin.

“No one, Ilisa. This was wolves.”

“Wolves? But they do not normally come out so far.”

“If they are hungry, they will do anything.”

“It could be Vikings.” Her voice sounded small.

He let his brow furrow and reminded himself she spoke out of shock. “Few Vikings would take pleasure in killing animals such as sheep. Even the most bloodthirsty would rather go against a foe that can defend itself. Look, Ilisa, ‘tis the work of a wolf.”

Her shoulders softened beneath his arm and she leaned into him. “Aye, you are right. Forgive me.”

“Come, they have enough water. There is little you can do. I shall discard the carcasses shortly.”

“I must check on the rest. Many graze further up,” she insisted, her quavery voice betraying her.

“Nay, I will do that. You have had a tiresome night looking after an ailing Viking and a shock this morning. Let us return to your cottage and I shall make up for being such a burden to you by seeing to your flock today.”

Ilisa peered sideways at him, eyes glimmering slightly. “You are a good man for a Viking, Alrek.”

He smirked. Would she think the same if she knew all the heated thoughts that had been plaguing him? He doubted it.

Raised voices roused Ilisa from her sleep. She squinted and focused on the timbers of the roof as she struggled to clear her mind of a sleepy fog. Rubbing her eyes, she sat. When had she fallen asleep? And why was she in her bed during the day? The last thing she remembered was returning home to do some weaving. She had started on a blanket and when she peeked at the table, she saw it there, patiently waiting for her. Alrek must have put her to bed. Something warm sparked in her chest at the thought of the powerful Viking lifting her and cradling her in his arms. Alrek was indeed a good man.

The shouting pierced her dreamy thoughts and she thrust back the blankets to step outside. She paused to listen. Was Alrek in danger? She didn’t wish to put him in further peril by distracting him. And she would need her brother’s sword. Not that she could do much with it. Perhaps an eating knife would be more effective.

“Where is she, Viking?” she heard a man spit. “Have you harmed her? I shall run you through.”

Ilisa stepped out as soon as she recognised the voice. On his horse, a hand to the pommel of his sword, was Galan. The dark-haired Pict was dressed in a long tunic and mantle, and he barely glanced at her when she stepped out, his full focus on Alrek who stood near the chopping block, axe in hand. She drew in a sharp breath. The fury on his face, the wide stance and confident way he held the weapon… he looked like a Viking again. No amount of Pictish clothing could disguise the fact. And a coil of awareness and excitement fluttered in her belly. In spite of Galan’s threats, she found she enjoyed the sight.

“You will do nothing,” Alrek responded. “Be gone before I remove your head from your shoulders.”

Galan slipped from his horse and drew his sword. Ilisa stepped forward. “Galan, put your weapon down. There is no need for fighting.” She held up a palm to both men and gave Alrek a pleading look. His jaw tensed and he flicked his gaze between her and Galan before dropping the axe to this side. “Galan?” she prompted.

“Has this savage harmed you?” he demanded.

“Nay. He had done naught.”

“Why do you have a Viking in your home?” He peered at her down his nose, flicking a disproving look at Alrek. She thought she heard Alrek growl.

“He washed up on the shore, nearly dead. I nursed him back to health.” Galan kept his blade aloft so Ilisa pressed a hand to his wrist to urge him to lower it.

“You have been alone with this man, Ilisa?”

“For several days, Galan.” She lifted her chin. It might ruin her but if Galan wanted to stay in her good graces he would tell no one else of the Viking in her home. Dear God, she hoped she was right. If the villagers discovered Alrek they would send a mob out.

“Your brother would be deeply ashamed.” Galan peered at the Viking once more before lowering his sword. “You should not be alone with him,” he hissed.

“Come, Galan, let us walk for a while and I shall explain all.” She slipped an arm through his and began to draw him away

“Ilisa,” Alrek warned, voice tense. Did he fear for her safety? Did he not realise her countryman was a far safer escort than a Viking? And while Galan still lusted after her, she could convince him to stay quiet.

“We shall not be long,” she said brightly and tugged on Galan’s arm again. She needed to diffuse the situation before both men decided to turn on each other. As much as she disliked Galan, she had no wish to see him dead.

Galan relented, slipped his sword into his belt and allowed himself to be drawn away from the cottage. They followed the cliff top away from the farm. Salty air blasted her face and whipped through her hair but the day had remained clear for a change.

“What were you thinking, Ilisa, allowing a Viking into your home?”

“I was thinking it was the right thing to do,” she replied without looking at him.

“He is a savage. He could have raped and killed you.”

“He has done nothing. He is thankful for my help and will be gone before long.”

“You are too trusting.” Galan’s tone was tinged with bitterness.

“I could not leave him, Galan. It was not the Christian thing to do.”

“Christian?” he scoffed. “Most are only Christian when it suits them. What appeal does the Viking have to you?”

Ilisa paused and tried to unhook her arm from his but he held it tightly in place. “Release me. I have no time for your insults. I took him in because he had nearly drowned. As soon as a ship is nearby, he will return to his home and we shall all forget a Viking was ever in our midst.”

“Ilisa, you of all people should not be harbouring a Viking. What of your brother? And Donnie? Not to mention you are alone with that man. You are too good a woman to understand but your virtue is at risk.”

“My virtue? I am a widow. I have little of that left.” She heard him grind his teeth.

“It is wrong. You should not be alone with a man, let alone the enemy. Remember the bloodshed the Vikings have brought upon us. Who is to say he will not turn on you? Send him on his way and we shall forget this happened.”

“You cannot command me, Galan,” she said lightly, not wishing to provoke him in spite of the rising heat inside her. She would not be told what to do, particularly not by Galan.

His jaw twitched as he stared at her. His grey eyes were cold. Though Galan was handsome—too handsome to her mind for it made him vain—there had always been something innately ugly to the man, as if his soul was rotten. She shuddered when he gripped her hand tightly.

“If it is discovered you have a Viking in your home, at best the village will turn their back on you. At worst they will burn your cottage to the ground and kill your Viking. I will not be able to guarantee your safety.”

“Then perhaps it is best that it is not discovered.” She arched both brows and eyed him.

He ran a hand through his hair and huffed. “If you had just accepted my offer of marriage, none of this would have happened.”

“Well, it did happen.”

“I vow when you are my wife I will not tolerate such talk.”

She resisted the desire to roll her eyes. The man refused to be dissuaded no matter how many times she told him she held no interest in marrying him. “I will not be your wife.”

“Surely you can see it is only right? You are a beautiful woman and I am the most eligible man in the village. You hold this vast land and my father owns much. Together we could be very powerful.”

“But I do not care for power.”

“Come now, do you not feel anything for me?” He tugged her into him so she sprawled against his chest. His arms crept around her waist while she struggled to push herself back. “Many women long to be in your place.”

“Release me,” she pleaded through gritted teeth. “You are behaving most dishonourably.”

He skimmed his lips across her ear and she trembled. “Tell me I do not affect you. Tell me you do not long for me. I understand and admire your loyalty to Donnie, but you cannot live alone forever. You cannot deny me forever.”

Ilisa shoved hard and managed to break his hold. She stumbled back and his expression darkened. “I do not wish to marry you. Forgive me, but I will not change my mind on that.”

“You shall regret denying me, Ilisa.” He stepped forward to grab her but she dodged him and edged back.

“I shall regret nothing.” Another step forward, another step back. Her heart began to pound. Galan had never been angry with her before but from the deep set of his brow and the clench of his jaw, clearly fury simmered beneath those fine looks. “Return home,” she insisted.

“I came to check you were well after the storm,” he pressed through a clenched jaw, “and now you will not even give me a moment of your time. Is it the Viking? Have you taken him as your lover?”

“Nay!”

He inched closer still. Ilisa darted a glance behind her and realised she had backed herself onto the ledge of the cliff. One wrong step and she’d tumble to her death. Wind caught her skirts, the roar of waves, so vicious and unforgiving made her heart stick in her throat.

“Galan,” she pleaded when he stepped close enough to push her or pull her into him. At that moment, she wasn’t sure what he would do. Deep, dark pools of passion swelled in his gaze. But it wasn’t a pure passion, a mere need for another. It was a wrathful, ugly desire that made promises of revenge if she did not do as he said.

“I shall run this Viking through and take you. I have tried being kind and patient but it has been too long. I need heirs and no other woman will do.”

“Y-you shall do nothing of the sort.” Her voice wavered, lost in the gusting wind and rolling waves.

He snatched her arm. His fingers pinched her skin and she wobbled on her heels. Awareness of the great drop behind her made her unsteady on her feet. When she peered down the cliff face, her head swam. She normally never stood so close, mindful of that fact she got dizzy when looking down from a great height. It would take a mere flick of a finger to push her over, she suspected. Ilisa stared into Galan’s stormy eyes, pleaded silently with him.

Galan’s grip loosened abruptly and she cried out as she faltered. Another hand gripped her arm and tugged her away from the edge. She slammed into a chest and let out another sound of surprise. Alrek tucked her into his side and held his axe aloft, pointing it at Galan who had stumbled to the ground, presumably pulled back by Alrek.

“Be gone, Pict,” Alrek commanded. “Should you return, you shall suffer the wrath of my axe. I promise I shall behead you.”

Galan put a hand to his throat and clambered to his feet. “You shall regret stepping foot on Pictish soil, Viking.” He turned to eye Ilisa. “And you shall regret taking a Viking into your bed. That much
I
promise.”

Alrek tightened his grip on Ilisa’s shoulders. “If you value your life, you shall do nothing. You have seen what Vikings can do. Any attempt to harm Ilisa shall be viewed as an act of war.”

“I have no wish to harm Ilisa. I always get what I want and soon enough she shall be mine.” The Pict smirked. “Anyway, I see no army.”

“You will soon enough,” Alrek said with confidence that had even Ilisa believing the Vikings might land soon.

“We shall see who is the true victor soon enough, Viking.” Galan tilted his head back, an eye on the axe still directed at him. “The spoils of war are not always gold it seems, are they? Ilisa, be wary of this man. Do not forget what the Vikings did to your brother and husband. Do not forget he is the enemy.”

Galan whirled around, his cloak fluttering like the wings of a raven. He strode back to his horse while they watched and waited. Alrek’s hold slipped around her waist and his large palm smoothed up and down her side. She waited until Galan had mounted his horse and galloped off before turning to Alrek.

“Thank you, Alrek. I know not what he would have done.”

He lowered his head and peered at her from under his brow. “It seems I have brought you much trouble.”

Ilisa shook her head. “Galan has been causing trouble for many years now. He will not take no for an answer. I should have known it would only be a matter of time before he thought he could force me.”

“He is right. You cannot defend yourself against that man.”

Concern haunted his blue eyes. It pulled her heart tight against her chest. Her gaze dropped to his lips, eyed the golden hair around them, flecked with a few silver strands. She recalled the coarseness against her skin and how warm and vital he felt. No one had ever showed such concern for her—not even her brother and Donnie who were used to her fiery temperament and believed her to be capable of looking after herself.

And she was, but occasionally she longed to share that burden. This stranger had done more for her in two days than any man had done for her in a lifetime.

A coarse palm came up to cup one side of her face. His fingers thread into her hair and his hand practically covered the entire side of her face. Alrek did the same with his other hand, his hold secure, warm and vital. His strength poured into her and Ilisa lifted her gaze to his once more. His searched hers, but for what she didn’t know. She longed to offer it to him—offer herself really—but Galan was right, the man was still her enemy and he would always be in danger as long as he remained here. Their culture and their people divided them.

Alrek lowered his head and Ilisa stopped breathing. Her lungs seared, her heart thudded agonizingly. But he didn’t kiss her. Only pressed his forehead to hers, his long nose aligning with her profile. Their lips were close enough that if she pursed hers, they would touch, but she found herself unable to move. Alrek understood—understood the divide between them and understood her need for him. Was his as great as hers?

“I did not know Norsemen killed your family,” he murmured.

She nodded against his head and cast her eyes down. Fingers gripping his shirt, Ilisa held him to her, fearful he might leave her. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t kissed her. As much as she longed for it, having his strong body touching her was enough for now. Like a great rock, he supported her. The pain and exhaustion of the past four summers seemed to leach out of her. And into him?

“I am sorry,” Alrek whispered, palms smoothing over her cheeks. “I would not have blamed you for leaving me for dead.”

“I know you are not like them, Alrek. I could never regret rescuing you.”