Beloved Viking

by Ree Thornton

  He bent and thrust the torch into the sand at his side, and then stood beside her once more. Though they did not touch, they were so close she could feel the heat of his side against her own.

  Back then, she had never thought that he would be the man to wound her most. His betrayal had felt agonizing, but she was glad for the pain that had pushed her to claim her own power, to become a shield-maiden.

  The waves lapped gently at the shore as the quiet stretched.

  She stared out into the darkness. How easily they had fallen back into the habit of sharing comfortable silence. It had always been this way between them, a familiarity, a peace, a sense of knowing and sharing without words. She turned to find him watching her.

  "My thanks for catching the thief."

  He nodded once. "I would see you safe."

  Rúna looked at him curiously. "What quarrel do you have with my father?"

  His brow furrowed and he hesitated before answering. "We have no quarrel."

  She pinned him with a doubtful stare. "Not after this night, but what of before?"

  He ran his hand through his hair and sighed heavily. "If your father has not spoken of it, then it is not my place to say. Ask him."

  She bristled at his deft evasion. Why couldn't he tell her? What was he hiding? "Why were you outside this eve?"

  "I was walking." He frowned and looked back out over the calm sea. "I sleep little nowadays."

  She latched onto the momentary break in his defences. "Why?"

  He turned to face her, his features marred by such pain and sadness that her heart ached in response. Whatever kept him up at night, it was raw, ugly, and filled him with regret.

  She reached for him, her body heating as she caressed the hard planes of his chest and waited for him to find the words.

  "Their screams wake me," he said, his voice cracking under the weight of his raw admission. His heart raced beneath her hand as he continued. "I see their faces as the seer cut them and forced me to watch. I hear their final screams as she sent them to Hel."

  "Nightmares?" She slid her hand up and squeezed his shoulder.

  His shoulders sagged and he looked at his feet. "Já."

  Strong was a warrior that could admit such a weakness aloud. She had seen too many warriors to early graves as they'd buckled under the strain of keeping their inner battles secret.

  "I spend my nights wondering why I was spared."

  Her gut clenched at the memory of the gaunt, skeletal bodies of those that had fallen victim to the sickness of the mind and forgone food and water until their bodies gave out. She did not want that to happen to him. She would not wish that on her worst enemy.

  "I am glad you did not die. Ale does not help you sleep? Or herbs?" she asked gently.

  He raised his head, and she caught a flash of his pain in his eyes before they shuttered. "I cannot bear the taste." He shook off her hand and stepped away, as though the distance could break the bond of truth between them.

  "But—"

  "It matters not," he interrupted, then shrugged, feigning indifference. "I sleep less than most and am still twice as strong."

  She nodded in response. He hadn't told her everything, but she would not probe further, not yet.

  "Já. Gunter Svensson will curse that strength when he wakes in chains," she replied and turned to face the rising sun.

  The tension eased from his shoulders. "That he will."

  The cool water lapped at her bare toes as they stood shoulder to shoulder and watched the first rays of light shimmer across the surface of the sea.

  Chapter Ten

  Rúna

  Long after the meal had finished and mothers hustled children away to bed, Rúna drained her cup of wine and released a heavy sigh. She would soon have to make a decision and announce who had won her questions challenge. She looked at the young man at her side. Dànel Kvitfjell's gaze had followed Ásta around the room all night. She could not wed Dànel. She would not look the other way as her husband pined for another woman, and he was clearly besotted with Ásta.

  She glanced around, seeking out the wolf.

  He stood at the end of the table, leaning against the wall with his stormy eyes fixed on her over the brim of his cup.

  She quickly doused the flush of heat that began to coil in her stomach and looked to the man she thought would make the most suitable husband.

  Jàrri Karlsson threw his head back and laughed at a bawdy joke. He had a calm presence that put her at ease, and he'd told her that he wanted to settle down. The man was born to lead and determined make his way in the world.

  The wolf's disapproving eyes stalked her every move. His fingers tightened around the same cup of ale he'd held in his hand all night. He had not drunk from it, not even when her warriors offered a toast in his honor for capturing the thief.

  The scowl that hadn't left his face all night might scare others, but it made her want to crawl across the table toward him like a moth to a flame. Try as she might, she could not deny that her resolve was weakening under his steadfast determination to win her back.

  She turned back to continue questioning Leif Gustafsson. "Your final question: how will you convince me to choose you?"

  Leif swayed drunkenly as he pushed himself to his feet. He braced himself with one hand on the table and then slurred through the opening lines of a bawdy love poem.

  Rúna stiffened. How dare he?

  Hushed whispers spread along the tables like a wave filling the hall.

  She slammed her dagger into the table and rose to her feet. Such words were the gravest insult to an unwed woman's reputation. She could not allow this slight to go unchallenged.

  A hush fell over the room as all sensed the thickening tension in the air and instantly snapped to attention at the prospect of danger.

  She poked her finger into his chest, wishing it were her blade. "Your words suggest intimacy that we do not share, Leif Gustafsson," she hissed.

  His mouth curved into a mocking smile as he looked down at her and shrugged his shoulders. "No decent man will have you now. I am your only choice."

  The urge to spill blood overwhelmed her. He knew naught of her if he thought that he could manipulate her by attacking her reputation. She would soon rectify his mistaken belief.

  "You must fear losing to lie and cheat. Is the"—she looked up and down his massive body slowly, pausing on his groin before continuing—"little man afraid of being beaten by a woman?" Her hand fell to the hilt of her dagger, ready for him to retaliate, for she had insulted his honor and his manhood.

  His face flushed red with unbridled rage.

  She stood motionless and glared at him, itching for him to strike so she could challenge him to a holmgång.

  "I fear none." He pounded a meaty fist on the table. "I would do anything to be Jarl," he roared, his treacherous eyes challenging her.

  Hot breath caressed the back of her neck. She inhaled the scent of pine-needle soap and man.

  "Jarl Isaksson has named Rúna his successor. She will be Jarl." The deep cadence of the wolf's voice sent a shiver up her spine.

  She looked over her shoulder—he stood close, his body physically backing her as much as his words. The air between them heated, her skin burning like a wildfire where they almost touched.

  "I am still Jarl, Leif Gustafsson," Jarl Isaksson roared. "You will leave my shores and never return. Remove him!"

  She watched as three warriors rushed forward to do her father's bidding, struggling under the weight of the cursing and bucking man.

  A cold brush of air hit her neck. She immediately missed the wolf's warmth as he moved back. Her stomach sank as she watched him walk away—it felt all too familiar.

  Why was he leaving now?

  Everything about him was confusing. He hadn't drawn swords to solve the problem. He'd backed her, rather than try to protect her, and having him near left her breathless.

  "Would you like more?" Ásta asked, motioning at the empty goblet on the tab
le.

  "No, thank you." Her mind was far from the festivities around her. Unlike the words that fell from his lips far too easily, the wolf's actions had convinced her that he wanted to make amends. She wanted to lay the past to rest too, but how did he expect to do that when he'd left yet again with neither an explanation nor apology? If given the chance, would he really stay in Luleavst with her, or would he discard her once more? There was much still unsaid between them, things that must be resolved, but even then, she was not sure if she could share his bed and let go of the hurt he'd caused her.

  "I'll be back soon."

  Trusting her powerful impulse to follow him, she exited the hall and ran after him. She needed answers.

  "Wolf!"

  He halted and held the flaming torch aloft, his wary stance softening when he recognized her. "What is it, Rúna?"

  She stopped in front of him, noting his lack of expression. She'd have believed he was unaffected by her presence if not for his tensed jaw.

  "Why did you leave?"

  The scent of wood smoke wafted from his clothes, reminding her of that night long ago when he'd taken her innocence by the light of a campfire. She could still feel the grass between her fingers as she had clawed the earth and lost herself in the primal connection of earth, heat, and him. Nothing had prepared her for it to feel so pure, so right. In the years since, she had taken the occasional warrior to her bed and found satisfaction, yet nothing had ever compared to those nights with him.

  He stared off into the darkness."I could no longer watch you with those fools."

  Now that she was denied his gaze, she craved it. "They aren't here, yet you cannot look at me."

  He met her needy stare.

  Óðinn! His hooded eyes tore open the scar on her soul.

  He is changed. He is changed. She repeated the words until her hands stopped shaking. She needed to know the truth of who he was now. It was time to look beyond the surface to the man beneath.

  "You came uninvited to this gathering. If you wish for my favor, then you must answer my questions and finish the game."

  "This is not a game." His intense gaze refused to release her. "I want you."

  Her sex clenched at the wicked promise in his eyes.

  "Ask your questions, Rúna."

  She shivered at the sound of her name falling from his lips like smooth honey. "Why did you leave me behind that day?"

  "I thought it best for you." He tugged on his earlobe and she knew he was lying.

  "Do you expect me to believe that?"

  "I was a stupid boy with little prospects. You were to become Jarl. You needed a man your equal."

  "I thought you cared for me."

  "I did. I do."

  She shook her head at him in disgust. Only a fool would believe his lies. "Horseshit. You discarded me like soiled bathwater." She turned to leave, only to be halted by an iron grip on her wrist.

  "Rúna…" He pulled her to him and wrapped an arm around her waist. "I needed you to hate me so that you could move on with your life."

  "Why?"

  "So you would be happy. I knew that you would never give up on me, on us, unless you hated me. But if you hated me, then you would be free to love and be loved. I wanted that for you."

  She leaned back, searching his face for the truth. It hurt to hear it, but his explanation made sense. She'd always known that something was not quite right about that day on the beach. She'd never understood how the man who had just a few hours before whispered of love and the future while he made love to her so tenderly, could change into the bitter hateful person that had embarrassed her so deliberately. She couldn't excuse his behavior, but now that she understood the motivation behind his hurtful words, they stung a little less.

  "I am sorry that I hurt you," he said.

  She did not want his feeble attempt at contrition. She pushed on his chest until he released her. "You apologize and now think yourself worthy? You will not find me so forgiving."

  He flinched at her words, and then sighed heavily. "I do not deserve forgiveness, but I wanted you to know that losing you is my biggest regret. Even in my darkest days, thoughts of returning to you gave me the strength to keep on fighting so that I could return to right the wrong."

  She raised an eyebrow. "Now you think yourself worthy?"

  His face clouded with unease, but he held her gaze as he spoke. "Now, I am a man that will fight for what I want. It is for you to decide if I am worthy or not."

  She looked at him doubtfully. Had everything she believed to be true been a lie? "So you did not leave because you did not want me?"

  He shook his head sadly. "Nei. I have always wanted you." He closed the distance between them and reached out to cup her cheek in his hand. His thumb skimmed across her bottom lip and his eyes darkened dangerously. "I always will."

  Her heart raced at his confession. He wanted her, said he would fight for her. The warm glow that filled her was tempered by harsh pragmatism—the pull between them was strong, but she still had an unanswered question. Could she let their past go? She had to know. Would being in his arms always remind her of his betrayal? Or could she separate it from the man before her now? She could not go on without answers. If she couldn't do it, if she couldn't bear to have him touch her, then she must choose another. She must seduce him.

  "How much do you want me, Wolf? Will you break the rules to have me?"

  His nostrils flared. "Já," he growled.

  Her gaze fell to his mouth. She ached to feel it on her once more. "Where would you take me?"

  His lips crept into a wolfish grin and he near growled in response. "My ship."

  A shiver raced up her spine. "Take me there."

  The wooden dock creaked underfoot as they passed the carved dragon that stood guard at the bow and the painted battle shields that lined the sides of his ship.

  She gathered her skirts and stepped onboard, then watched as he placed the torch in a sconce on a metal arm attached to the towering mast, and then turned to face her.

  His gaze was at the same time tender and earnest as he advanced on her with long powerful strides.

  Goodness, she was doing this. The thrill of anticipation made her pulse beat erratically. "You'll not put the torch out? Someone might see us."

  He paused mid-step. "The darkness reminds me of the caves."

  "They kept you in the dark?" He'd not told her that before.

  He nodded. "Inside a cave." He continued forward, his every step matching her one of backward retreat. "Worry not. I will hear if anyone approaches, though they will be feasting long into the night."

  She knew it was true—none would bother them while the feasting continued. The back of her thighs hit the raised platform at the bow. Her heart fluttered wildly, but she resisted the urge to submit to the undeniably attractive power emanating from him. Instead, she straightened her shoulders and raised her chin. This time they would lie together as equals.

  Three quick strides later he slid his thigh between hers, pressing the hard planes of his chest against her.

  Óðinn, how she had missed his touch, his taste, his salty masculine scent.

  He tucked wayward strands of her hair behind her ear and spoke in a low rumbling whisper that made her body quiver. "You would break your father's rules?"

  "The rules matter not. When I win I shall choose my own husband." She ran her hands downward, over the shirt that covered his muscular chest.

  "Who will you choose?"

  Her breath hitched as his cheek caressed the side of her face, his beard creating a delicious friction that set her alight.

  His teeth nipped at her earlobe, and then his tongue darted out to soothe the sharp pain. Her nipples hardened, sending pulsing messages to her sex.

  She trailed her tongue across her dry lips. "I choose you … for now." She could barely get the words out for the lust consuming her, the flames fanned by the feel of his mouth moving across her jaw. She didn't know if she even cared about the pain of
the past anymore. She believed that that man was gone. This man wanted to claim her, and she wanted to let him. All lingering doubt deserted her, replaced with an urgent longing to reunite with him in the sensual dance of mind and body that had haunted her sleepless nights.

  She nipped at his lips, seeking entry.

  A low rumble rose from his chest as his mouth opened to let her in, his response matching her hunger. He pulled her close and trailed his hands down the curve of her spine, the evidence of his desire firm against her stomach.

  By the gods, he was large.

  When his hands cupped her behind and lifted her against him, Rúna wrapped her legs around his waist and slid her arms up around his neck. He tasted of wild berries … and man.

  "Delicious," she whispered.

  Jorvan lowered her into the soft furs laid across the raised deck. He trailed a hand down her neck and stopped to lay it flat against the dip between her breasts.

  "Are you sure, firefly?"

  "I want this." She did not hesitate. Whatever the consequences, she had to know if she could lay with him. She wanted to take him into her body and lose herself in his arms.

  She looked up, committing to memory the long curved neck of the carved dragon bathed in moonbeams as his hands tugged at her laces and he removed her dress and boots. She would never forget this night.

  His heated gaze swept down over her naked curves, sending a wave of warmth to her core.

  "Beautiful…" he murmured.

  Her body arched as he took her nipple into his hot mouth and suckled hard. Shafts of need speared through her.

  "More," she moaned and closed her eyes. Her hands clawed at his shirt, pulling it up over his head. She needed to feel the hard planes of his chest sliding across hers.

  He rose to stand above her.

  She looked up at his lithe form as he removed his breeches. Her eyes traced the lean lines of his muscular legs, her sex clenching at the sight of his thick cock sprouting from a thatch of blond hair to stand proud against the ridges of his stomach. She scanned upward, over the rise and fall of his broad chest, covered in fresh scars, to eyes that challenged her. His body, those eyes—her heart pounded in her chest like the beat of the hunting drum. Her body ached with an incontrollable earthy need to join with him.