Viking Claim (The MacLomain Series: Viking Ancestors Book 2) (4 page)

Solid smirk in place, Kol’s eyes traveled from her socked feet up over her jacketless body until his eyes met hers, words murmur soft. “Well, aren’t you something.”

Before she guessed his intentions, he scooped her up into his arms and strode after the men. Though tempted to say she could walk fine on her own, even she wasn’t such a fool. She had just given up her boots and the ground was nothing but snow and ice. That aside, being in this man’s arms without so much of a murmur of discontent didn’t seem quite right.

“Would you have let those women go?”

“Never,” he said, still grinning. “They were pretty enough and I would have given them much pleasure.”

That’s what Veronica figured. Yet, she’d established what she needed to. Raknar was in charge of this expedition. But then hadn’t Megan mentioned that he was the middle brother and next in line to be king?

Her musings vanished as Kol easily traversed the slippery path down to the shore and her eyes once more locked on the ships. Though Megan might be the sister who had gone back to her roots, Veronica had been raised by a fisherman as well and spent a great deal of her childhood playing on the shores of the Atlantic. Like her sister, she’d spent ample time on boats. Yet only smaller vessels went out off the coast of Hampton, New Hampshire. Those that loomed before her now were easily ninety feet long and pure history.

Drekkar longships.

Known best for raiding and plundering, they were beautiful with their ornate carvings, intricate dragon prows, and striped sails. Near numb, it all seemed impossible to process. Even when plunked in a small boat and rowed out toward the ships, Veronica still couldn’t wrap her mind around any of it. Not the cold, salty wind on a shore so unfamiliar or the barbarians around her.

About the only thing that snapped her out of her less-than-subliminal reverie was when they pulled up alongside one of the ships. Raknar had hopped onto the edge and looked down as though he were the devil come for her soul.

Kol hoisted her onto the ladder and slapped her behind. “Up then, woman.”

Did he really just slap her ass? Hell, he sure did. Grinding her jaw, mortified but not about to cause friction right now, she climbed. Waves listed the ship back and forth and it meant pulling on years of practice to move somewhat smoothly. She’d nearly reached the top when Raknar grabbed her wrist and pulled her up.

Veronica’s skin heated and sparked as he wrapped an arm around her waist and swung her down into the ship. Unlike Kol’s obvious comfort in touching her, Raknar released her right away.

But not his eyes.

Within inches of one another, their gazes held. Though it was only a few heartbeats, the moment stretched, punctuated by the flare of his pupils, the catch of her breath. In that brief connection, she saw so much. Interest. Distrust. Confusion. Pride. Then he pulled away only to return a moment later. He urged her to sit on one of the bench seats between the men getting ready to row.

Raknar said nothing as he crouched and slid boots onto her feet. Though clearly meant for a man, he cinched the ties and pulled them snug. Then he stood and with a quick flourish removed his fur cloak and wrapped it around her shoulders. Tongue-tied, she meant to thank him but couldn’t get the words out before he strode to the front of the boat, voice curt. “Ready the ship. We leave soon."

Everything became a flourish of activity. Chests of loot were loaded and men moved fast. Veronica wrapped Raknar’s cloak tight as rows upon rows of men started to dig their oars into the sea. Muscles flexed, bodies strained, but all the while Raknar stood just offside of the prow, face to the wind. The ship started to navigate through the choppy water, gaining speed before he tilted back his head, as though sensing something.

Suddenly, he roared, “Sail up!”

As if they had been waiting their whole life to do as much, men scrambled to raise the sail while others pulled in their oars. A well-orchestrated unit, all worked together smoothly. Something she always wished she could get the hang of, the thrust and ebb and know-how needed on the sea.

“Eyes to the water and you’ll get a sense of it, Veronica.” When she hesitated, her father looked at her with disappointment. “This is simple fishing girl. If you can’t get the hang of this, what will you get the hang of?”

Veronica blinked, remembering her father’s words from so long ago. Then, as sharply as the memory surfaced, the sail raised and the ship lurched, returning her to the present. Despite herself, she couldn’t help but grin as the wind filled the square sail and
woosh
, the Drekkar took off. 

Waves slapped against the side and the sea sprayed, coating her lips with a layer of salt before she tucked her nose beneath the fur and inhaled. Her breath caught. Though it might’ve been the thrusting power of the ship as it cut through the water, she knew better. No, she’d suddenly become aware of the scent of the fur tucked against her skin.

His
scent.

Fire and chill. Mild spice. Winter. Pine. Snow. Sea.

Male.

Raknar.

Startled, her eyes shot to him. Though he still stood a good sixty feet away by the dragon prow, strong legs spread to brace him as the ship crested waves, his gaze was on her. It was as if he sensed the very moment she brought him into her lungs. Veronica exhaled slowly, breath shaky as she held his eyes. Who
are
you? But knew she didn’t want to know the answer. As if he agreed, Raknar turned away and faced the sea.

To interrupt the moment or because he simply couldn’t help himself, Kol plunked down beside her and grinned. “You like this, yes?”

It was hard to say why but Veronica was quickly becoming comfortable with Kol. Actually, maybe it was no great mystery at all. He reminded her of Amber. If the two of them shared a first and last name, it would be Lusty Flirt. Because when not with Sean, her little sister was horribly…wait, there was a word for men who acted this way, womanizer. So Amber would definitely be a
manizer
. It might be online slang, but it worked.

Veronica shrugged. “I like the ship. The rest, undecided.”

“Are you undecided then?”

Caught off guard by the speculative tone of Kol's voice, she held his gaze. But his sudden intenseness soon lifted when a sharp gust bolstered the ship forward and he patted her knee. “I’m off to man the rudder.”

Then he was gone.

The remainder of the day became one of expert sailing as they rode the outskirts of a storm. She had never seen anything like it. A black, roiling cloudbank remained on their right, a leaden gray sky on their left. All the while, Raknar sailed the heavy winds while keeping them just beyond trouble. Nonetheless, the seas were rough, the waves easily fifteen footers.

But the man had skill.

They stayed just close enough to the storm to take advantage of its wind. Lightning flickered beneath the bellies of the clouds and thunder rumbled. Though the energy in the air was powerful and thorough, her eyes kept drifting back to Raknar as he on occasion motioned to the other ship while strolling along his own. He talked with men half the time and eyed the ocean and sky the other half. All the while he directed and kept the ship out of harm’s way.

While Veronica knew she should be worried by the unpredictable sea, her eyes again and again roamed up and down his body. Though icy cold, even without his cloak he didn’t seem affected in the least. Because of his sleeveless tunic, she could see the tattoos that curled down his muscled shoulders and arms, then trailed up the back of his neck. While most of the men wore their hair longer, she understood why he kept his short. Flames sizzled up his neck as if to burn…consume.

A reminder
.

Veronica blinked, wondering why she was so sure about that. But she was.

Then she'd again and again wonder about what lay beneath that tunic, the secrets he kept hidden on his back because there
were
secrets.

His
secrets.

Not for her.

Not at first.

Until she was crucified by a jaw-dropping spectacle.

Raknar tore off his tunic.

Soon after, he was helping pull in the rigging. It was time to lower the sail. The waters had grown too rough. She had only a fleeting glance of a large tattoo on his back before he turned. Fine honed, unbelievably cut, his wide chest led down to a set of washboard abs they usually had to airbrush on male models.

But hell if his weren’t real.

Fingers white-knuckled over the bench, she worked toward the fear she should feel as the ship lurched precariously. Yet all she could see was his drenched torso and all the muscles interlocked together down his stomach before they vanished beneath his leather pants. Her eyes drifted lower, mesmerized by the bulge made more obvious by wet material. She licked her lips and tasted sea salt but didn't relate it to worsening seas and imminent danger.

No, she related it with the taste of
him
.

Kol cut her vision as he slid in front of her holding a rope tight. A wild smile lit his face as a wave crested the side, gushing seawater over. “We need to lower the sail fast. Want to help?”

Really? How? But if it were her father, better yet her sister Megan, they’d say, “Hell yes!”

Veronica took a deep breath, lost Raknar’s cloak and nodded. “Tell me what I can do.”

“Grab the rope behind me and help pull.”

So she did, feet slipping and sliding across the hull. Veronica gripped the rope tightly and though she flailed at first, she soon focused and kicked into gear. Eyes squinted against sea spray and rain, she braced her legs and engaged her abs. Men didn’t cry out in fear but downright laughed and roared as the longship tilted and swayed. Though the sail was coming down fast, the ocean was screaming around them and men were rocking and rolling as they battled with the sea.

“The worst thing you can do is panic, Veronica,” her father said, a ghost from the past. “Are you gonna do that now?”

“No, Dad.”

“Good, then hold on.”

The ship tilted and crawled a high wave. She scrambled madly to pull the rope and get the damn sail down. Kol kept the brunt of the impact off her, but he could only do so much.

The rope slipped.

Slipped.

Then slipped some more.

Veronica ignored the burn as it chafed her skin and fell in sideways against Kol’s backside. Men were crying out as they worked the sail from various directions, but even she knew Mother Nature was winning this battle.

Raknar had skirted them too close.

“It was never your fault. You did everything you could, Veronica,” Megan’s words from the past whispered.

Infuriated, Veronica pushed away from Kol, braced her legs, gritted her teeth and pulled with all her might. Scrambling, desperate, she tried to keep her feet sturdy, but she started to slide. Wave after wave broke over the side, yet still she tried to fight it. Until she was caught and flung back, head cracking.

The last thing she saw was the blasted sail nearly down.

Then all went dark.

Scandinavia

One Week Later

Raknar sat across from his brother, his king, Naðr Véurr and waited.

He didn’t have to wait long.

“Veronica seems to be recovering well. Megan is taking care of her. Tell me again why the
hel
her sister was helping
you
save
my
ship.”

“I remember a day when they were
our
ships, brother,” Raknar said softly.

Naðr looked at him long and hard before he bit out, “There
was
such a day until this happened.”

Yet that was where he was wrong. Maybe at first the fleet of ships they not only oversaw but helped build were a mutual project between Kjar and the three brothers. But it seemed less so since Raknar's former wife Yrsa left years ago. A thin layer of tension had existed between him and his older brother since and it was made clear in his words now. Though frustrated, Raknar had no desire to fuel the fire in his soul. Not just yet. No, he had a genuine mistake to own up to.

“I misjudged the storm. I put my men at risk.” He met his brother’s eyes squarely. “I was wrong.”

“We are of dragon blood.” Naðr studied him, disturbed. “We don’t make mistakes.”

True. And he never had. Not until he’d had a woman like Veronica on board. But he wouldn’t hide behind such an excuse. He wouldn’t hide behind any excuse period. So he leveled grim eyes at his brother and repeated, “I was wrong.”

Naðr held his gaze for a long moment before muttering, “Loki’s balls.” Then he ran a hand over his face before once more locking eyes on Raknar, not holding back in the least. “Do you desire her then? Is that why you were wrong?”

Raknar lowered his brows and steepled his fingers as he leaned his elbows on his knees. Again, he kept with what was safe. “I was wrong. There’s nothing more to it.”

“Yes there is.” Naðr drank from his horn. “But it seems you’re not ready to share.”

Raknar gave no response because there was so much more to it. Though interested in what potential wealth existed in the distant future, he didn't want to be part of anything remotely related to love. In fact, he was determined to skirt around it somehow.

Even so, his mind kept going back to when Veronica first arrived. He had yet to leave the forest when he felt the punch in his gut. That’s exactly what it felt like. As if a strong fist drove into his stomach. Soon after, he broke the tree line and saw her sitting alongside the other women. Then it was just a harsh squeeze around not only his throat and chest but his very soul.

Light brown, her thick luxurious hair glittered with wisps of wheat and her face was so unbelievably beautiful it could have only been formed by Freyja. Untouchable. Perfect. Unabashed beauty. High cheekbones, a delicate jaw, full, sinfully voluptuous lips, and her eyes…Thor’s hammer fell on him when he saw them. A deep, dark sultry green, the moment they met his they turned to pure sunlit moss. An indescribable color. A god-strewn shade never seen in nature but solely meant for him.

“As I suspected,” Naðr said softly.

Torn from his thoughts by the gentle octave of his brother’s voice, he narrowed his eyes. “If she’s here for me, I’ll figure out a way to gain us more wealth.”

“
Wealth?
” Naðr shook his head. “Wealth has nothing to do with it. No, this has everything to do with our pact with the seers.”

Raknar debated what he wanted to say next but decided on pointing out the obvious. “She has both stones with her.”

“Yes she does,” Megan said from behind before she walked around the table and plunked down on Naðr’s lap. After giving him a long, thorough kiss, she rested an elbow on the table then her chin on a closed fist as she eyed Raknar. “How are you doing, sweetie?”

A Viking woman whose sister he’d put at such risk might’ve backhanded him, but Megan had a different way of handling things. And she knew damn well he would never have purposefully put anyone she loved in harm’s way. After all, she was amongst one of only two women he’d ever considered a friend.

Raknar put his hand on the table and curled his fingers. When her hand slid into his, he squeezed, voice low. “Again, I’m so sorry. I’ve never had the weather turn on me like that. Unnatural. Either way, I shouldn’t have been sailing so close.” He cleared his throat. “How is she?”

They’d done their best to keep her prone body dry and warm the remainder of the journey, but that didn’t make up for what had happened.

“It’s okay. You got her home safe. That’s all that matters.” Megan squeezed his hand in return, then sighed and pulled away. “She’ll be all right. A little frightened but mostly just trying to come to grip with things.” She shook her head and leaned back against Naðr’s chest. “And too darn thin. I’m trying to get her to eat.”

Thin. Yes. Yet he couldn’t help but defend her. “Good. But no matter how thin, she’s very beautiful.”

Naðr arched a brow at him but said nothing.

Megan nodded. “She sure is as Kol’s made a point of reminding her over and over during his several visits.”

Raknar kept his expression blank but inwardly wanted to throttle his little brother. “Good to know he’s keeping her spirits up.”

“I never said he was keeping her spirits up.” Megan watched him as closely as Naðr did.  The two were notably similar in the way they assessed people…baited them. “As brother to the king, you should check in on her as well, you know.”

“And I will,” he assured. But he wouldn’t be led so easily into what they really wanted to know. What they were curious about. Did he desire her as strongly as Naðr had Megan? Was he possibly the brother she’d been sent back for? Or was it Kol? Eyes on Naðr and having no desire to share his thoughts or opinions, he turned the conversation to the only other thing on his mind besides Veronica. “No matter how wrong I was, I remain firm that there was something unnatural about that storm.”

“Weather is unpredictable.”

“Yes,” he conceded. “But not even my dragon could follow the mood of this one.”

Naðr rested his hand on the table and slowly spun a mug as he eyed Raknar. “Yet Kol did not sense anything unnatural.”

“But it’s not Kol’s ex-wife who is now our number one enemy,” Megan murmured.

Exactly what Raknar was thinking. So was Naðr whether or not he stated as much.

His brother kept inching the mug in circles and frowned. “Did it feel like Yrsa then?”

Raknar scowled. “Hard to tell.”

Slightly exasperated, Naðr’s eyes shot to his. “Then was it
evil
?”

Raknar’s eyes narrowed a fraction. His brother should be supporting him not questioning. “It was unnatural enough for me to take notice. Enough for me to bring my concerns to you.”

Naðr again eyed him for a long moment before he came to some internal conclusion. “You’re right, brother. Forgive me.” The same little flicker of unease that sometimes existed between them flared. “But you understand how it’s my duty to make sure I have all truths so that I might better prepare for the coming war.”

Raknar didn’t hesitate to shoot back, “Unlike you,
brother
, I give all my truths up front.”

Megan sighed but remained against Naðr’s chest, a declaration that she wanted their little squabble to end but would always stand first and foremost by her husband. “Eye on the ball, guys. Right now that means paying attention to what Raknar felt about that storm and making my sister feel welcome, all right?”

The brothers continued to stare one another down, but their silence was ensured as people started to flood into the main holding. Though already home for a few days, they’d be celebrating another successful raid and for the first time since they’d arrived, Veronica would be joining them.

“Time for me to go get my sis.” Megan twisted her head and gave Naðr another long kiss before she stood and eyed them both. “Together we rise, divided we fall, guys. The past is the past. Get over your trivial bullshit and show my sister a Viking good time.” Then her eyes narrowed on Naðr. “That means she’s given a seat next to me and not on one of your brother’s laps, eh?”

This lessened the pressure between him and Raknar immediately as Naðr looked at him. “I hate to deny you, brother.” Then his lips inched up as he grasped Megan’s hip and eyed her up and down with blatant need. “And what will you do for me if I grant your request?”

Megan leaned over and whispered in his ear, then seized his lobe with her teeth and issued a dainty snarl before she released and pulled away. Naðr flung back his head and laughed before he slapped her ass then looked at Raknar with an unapologetic shrug. “Looks like you and Kol don’t get a twenty-first century woman on your lap tonight.”

Raknar stood and stretched, more than content to let the tension between him and his brother go for the time being. At some point they would need to work through their differences but for now he was looking forward to Veronica’s first Viking celebration.

Before she left, Megan came around and kissed him on the cheek, whispering in his ear, “You better be a gentleman tonight because we both know Kol won’t be.”

He brushed his lips over her temple and lightly squeezed her upper arms. “Don’t worry. I’ll take good care of her.”

Megan’s eyes searched his for a long moment before she nodded and muttered, “You better.”

Raknar watched her walk away before joining Naðr on the other side of the table and receiving a fresh horn of ale. Content to steer away from tension, he said, “She’s doing well here.”

Naðr drank from his horn as his gaze lingered on Megan until she vanished from sight. “Better than I could’ve ever hoped.”

Pleased, genuinely happy for his brother, he raised his horn. “To you and Megan. Never was there a better woman.”

Clearly just as content to put their strife at ease for now, Naðr met his horn with his own. “And may there be more like her.”

Raknar nodded and their eyes met as they clanked their horns then drank.

Fires had been lit in the chain-hung bowls and in the wood enclosed pits. Drums had started a steady thrum as they beat a staccato alongside the falster pipes. Food was laid and people mingled as Kol finally joined them.

“It’s a great day,” his younger brother declared as he plunked down on Naðr’s other side and received a horn of ale. He took a long swig then ran the back of his hand across his mouth before shooting them a grin. “
Hel
, she’s everything a woman should be.”

Raknar didn’t need to ask who he was talking about. Neither did Naðr. The king shook his head and pinned Kol with a stern look. “I promised Megan you would be good tonight.”

Kol cocked a brow, incredulous as he kept grinning. “Did you really? Hope you didn’t promise away sex, brother.”

Raknar snorted and shook his head. “What else would he have promised away?”

Kol looked skyward, chugged his ale then winked at Naðr. “The kingdom, his family, who knows, maybe even his Loki-ridden soul.”

Raknar held up his horn to Kol. “And would she not be worth it?”

Kol clanked horns. “In every life.”

Then they drank.

Meantime, Naðr preened, more than happy to agree that he’d claimed the best damn woman to be had from here to Valhalla. He was still looking rather smug as his daughter Meyla and her husband, Valan joined them. The king embraced her then clasped hands with the Scotsman before sitting.

Though they all continued to chat, eat and drink, Raknar’s anticipation grew. As did Kol’s based on the way his brother only kept one woman on his lap instead of two. It would be good to see Veronica not passed out but alive and as vibrant as she could be after such an ordeal.

“F-f-father.”

Raknar tore his gaze from the entrance, surprised he somehow missed his son entering. Irritated that he’d let himself get so distracted, he patted his knee. “Come, Heidrek. Sit.”

Smiling, his son came around and perched on his knee.

He ruffled his white blond hair and issued an equally wide smile. “How are you, my boy?”

“G-good.” Heidrek kept on smiling and eyed his ale. “C-can I sip?”

“Not yet,” Raknar said easily. “But soon. Once you learn to fight well with every weapon, then you can drink as a man does.”

Heidrek deflated but not for long before he again smiled and nodded. When a murmur arose in the crowd, his son’s eyes drifted. “
Oh
. L-look at h-her.”

He was. Just like every other hot-blooded man in the room save maybe Naðr. But the king wasn’t above noticing Veronica made a major stir when she entered with Megan. That could soon become a problem so Naðr stood and waited for them, declaring to all that his wife’s sister was an honored guest.

Veronica wasn’t overly curvy but built more like a goddess with her willowy frame and shimmering, soft hair. It was as if moonlight and sunlight covered her all at once as she floated along. Where Megan had allowed her hair to be braided like a Viking woman when she arrived, her sister had not. Her long locks flowed down her delicate back, swishing around her as gently as the off-white dress she wore. Only the tunic cinched around her slim waist showed true that she possessed just enough curve to keep a man entertained for a lifetime.