My Lord Viking (4 page)

     
That was confirmed when Linnea said, “You have been struck hard in the head.
 
You must let us tend your injuries.”

     
“I know what I saw.
 
He is here.
 
You are in great danger!”

     
“If he was, he is no longer,” she replied quietly.
 
“The sand is empty save for us.”

     
Looking past her, he saw she was being honest.
 
Kortsson was not in sight.
 
Had her arrival with the lad sent Kortsson into hiding?
 
That made no sense.
 
Kortsson always fought to be the first ashore so he might have his choice of the maidens.

     
“Please release me,” Linnea continued.

     
He fought to focus his eyes on her face.
 
No, Kortsson would not have left if he had chanced to see this pretty woman.
 
He gritted his teeth.
 
Was he mad with pain?
 
They should have seen his blood-enemy as soon as they reached the rocks at the edge of the beach.
 
He must get all of them away from here.
 
He could not confront Kortsson while in this condition.
 
Kortsson would give him and the lad death with quick slashes, then make Linnea rue that she had ever been born.
 

     
“Go,” he ordered.

     
“The knife—”

     
He looked down at the small blade he had hidden in his gartered stockings.
 
“You will not have this one!
 
While Kortsson lives, I will not be left unarmed.”
 
He did not add that he feared that, if he moved his arm any farther, he would topple on his face in the sand.
 

     
When she slid from beneath his arm, he had to clench his teeth harder.
 
Her slow sinuous motions while she eased away contrasted with her expression that revealed she did not trust him not to slice into her with the
sax
.
 
How could he think of anything but her touch, which sent a sensation through him that was as powerful as the blow of a broadsword? Her soft curves made him rue his injuries that kept him from pulling her back into his arms and persuading her to caress him even more intimately.

     
He cursed under his breath, and she froze.
 
He was tempted to tell her that she need not worry.
 
His obligations to his chieftain must come first, so, even if he was hale, he would have had to ignore her obvious charms.
 

     
The lad edged away from the wall and took her arm, pulling her away from Nils.
 
Linnea had called him “Jack.”
 
The lad was frightened.
 
Good!
 
Jack was wise to be fearful when Kortsson was nearby.
 

     
Trying to push away from the cliff, Nils collapsed to the sand.
 
By Odin’s beard!
 
He was too weak.
 
He tried to stand, but pain riveted him.
 
Something struck the sand.
 
The hat Linnea had given him to protect the wounds on his face.
 
He heard a snicker.
 

     
“Hush, Jack,” Linnea said, bending to pick up the bonnet.
 
She shuddered when she saw the blood on its rim.
 
Jack would learn soon enough that, even though the bearded man wore her bonnet like some weird badge of honor, only a fool would fail to look past it to discover the inherent power in the blond man’s gaze.

     
“You came back.”
 
The man’s deep voice crashed on her ears like waves in the midst of a tempest, sweeping through her.
 

     
“I told you I would,” she said as she knelt beside him again.
 
His face was a paler gray than it had been before.
 

     
His gaze swept past her to scan the beach.
 
He must truly believe someone dangerous was close.
 
“Only a
daari
believes someone of this island.”

     
“
Daari
?”
 
She noticed Jack’s frown of concentration.
 
She wished him better luck than she had had in figuring out what place had spawned the man’s accent.

     
He smiled.
 
“A man without wits.”

     
Deciding the best answer to that was none, she asked, “Do you need help to get back to your feet so we can take you where we can tend your wounds?”

     
He pointed to his shoeless foot.
 
“I doubt I can walk.
 
That may be broken as well.”

     
“Rough use,” Jack muttered.

     
The blond man glanced at him.
 
“Yes.
 
Kortsson thought to leave me dead.”

     
“Who is this Kortsson?” the lad asked.

     
“My blood-enemy.”

     
Linnea held out her hand, and Jack handed her the ball of rags he carried.
 
Peeling off the top one, she said, “While we are asking such questions of names, I would appreciate you answering the same one.”

     
The blond man’s purple eyes crinkled with amusement she doubted she could feel if she were as battered.
 
“Your words confuse me, Linnea.”

     
Jack cleared his throat, and Linnea saw a rare anger on his face.
 
Quietly he said, “
Lady
Linnea would like the courtesy of your name.”

     
“Lady Linnea is it?
 
A most unusual lady you are,” the blond man said.
 
His fingers once more reached for his knife, so she knew he had seen Jack’s fury.
 
“I am Nils Bjornsson.”

     
“Are you Swedish?” she asked.

     
He started to shake his head, then winced.
 
“
Norrfoolk
.”

     
“You’re from
Norfolk
?”
 
This was the first worthwhile bit of information she had gotten from him.
 
The city was no more than a week’s journey north from
Sutherland
Park
.

     
“No.
 
I am—”

     
Jack caught the man’s shoulders as he sagged back toward the ground, senseless.
 
“Lord-a-mercy on us!” he breathed.
 
“This cunning shaver has been smashed by someone who took a mighty disliking to him.
 
The arm looks broken, it does, as well as his foot.
 
By all that’s blue, he must have a reason to fear this Kortsson chap if he crawled all the way to this cliff with two broken limbs.”

     
“Can you set it?” she asked.

     
“’Course.”
 
He looked up at her, concern on his face.
 
“Best if you walk a little ways along the shore.
 
Setting bones is no spectacle for ladies.”

     
“I can help if—”

     
“Set Old Calvin’s leg for him last winter.
 
This chap cannot be half as cantankerous.”

     
Linnea was not so sure of that, but she recognized the stubborn tone in Jack’s voice.
 
He had not changed one smidgen in the years she had known him.
 
He was as pliable as satin until he dug in his toes.
 
Then nothing could or would budge him.

     
But she could be stubborn, too.
 
She bit her lip as she looked at Mr. Bjornsson’s face.
 
The only color there was the blood still dried on his cheek, but she had seen how swiftly he could use what strength he had left to get what he wanted.
 
“I should stay.
 
I found him.”
 

     
Jack nodded.
 
“Mayhap ‘tis a good idea for you to help.
 
Keep the sun out of his eyes.”

     
Linnea saw Jack looking both ways along the beach, and she understood why he truly had acquiesced.
 
He did not want to send her into the path of this Kortsson...If the man even existed.
 
With a shiver, she wished she could dismiss Mr. Bjornsson’s warning as just an injury to his head, but
someone
had left him for dead here.
 
Would that someone follow him to
Sutherland
Park
?
 
That could endanger her whole family.

     
She sat cross-legged on the sand and cupped Mr. Bjornsson’s head on her lap.
 
His golden hair sifted through her fingers, warm and coarse, yet silken.
 
The scent of salt and wood smoke teased her as she bent to shield his closed eyes with her other hand.
 
This man must have spent much time near the sea, for only that way could he have gained such a deep bronzing on his skin.
 
Looking out at the water, she wondered if he had been washed up upon this shore.
 
If his injuries were from surviving the sinking of a ship, the man he spoke of might be just his imagination.

     
She recoiled when she heard words that were spoken with the intensity of curses.
 
Mr. Bjornsson jerked his head out of her hand.
 
He growled something up at her when his cheek struck her elbow.
 
Tingles exploded down her elbow.
 

     
“Take care!” she cried.

     
He snapped something at her.
 
She could not fault him for his language.
 
She closed her eyes and shuddered when Jack said his prayers backward as loudly as Mr. Bjornsson had.
 
Those
maledictions she understood quite well, even though Mama would be shocked to discover any of her daughters knew such words.

     
“Lady Linnea, it is set,” Jack said.

     
“His other injuries?”

     
He flushed, surprising her.
 
“Won’t take no for an answer this time, my lady.
 
The man needs privacy for me to bandage him.”

     
“Jack will take care of you,” Linnea said, slipping Mr. Bjornsson’s head off her lap.
 

     
She yelped when he grasped her arm.
 
It still stung from his head striking her.
 
“What is wrong
now
?” she asked.

     
Mr. Bjornsson’s eyes widened at her testy question, then he chuckled.
 
When she stared at him, wondering if she would ever guess what he might do or say next, he murmured, “Do not go far, milady.
 
Kortsson is as wily as a snake.”

     
Linnea’s gaze was caught anew by his.
 
There was no mistaking the course of his thoughts, for there was a heat in his eyes that had nothing to do with his enemy.
 
That warmth surged over her, more potent than the sun upon the sea.
 
She was shocked.
 
How could he be thinking of anything save his injuries?
 
Slowly she drew her arm out of his grasp and turned away so he did not see the fire that was climbing her cheeks.
 
Rising, she fought not to flee from his bold summons to delve deeper into the passions that his smile promised would be as sweet as the first berries of spring.