Stolen By The Viking (Sons 0f Sigurd Series Book 1)

by Michelle Willingham

  ‘I have no reason to obey,’ she countered. ‘And I am not afraid of you.’ It was a lie, but she spoke the words with mock confidence, hoping he would believe them. It unnerved her to realise that he had understood every word she had spoken.

  ‘What is your name?’ she demanded, wanting to hear it for herself.

  ‘Alarr Sigurdsson,’ he answered. ‘Of the kingdom of Maerr.’

  ‘I am Breanne Ó Callahan,’ she answered. ‘My foster father is King Feann MacPherson of Killcobar.’

  ‘I know who he is.’ He turned at that moment, and his gaze fixed upon her. ‘I recognised you the moment I saw you. And you are worth more than a slave.’

  ‘How could you possibly know me?’ she demanded. ‘I would have remembered you.’ Heat flared in her cheeks when she realised what she’d said. But it was too late to take back the words. Breanne tightened her grip upon the drying cloth, and in that heated moment, she grew aware of his interest. He studied her face, his gaze drifting downward to linger upon her body. There was no denying that he wanted her.

  But worse was her own response. She was caught up in his blue eyes and the dark hair that framed a strong, lean face. There was a slight scar on his chin, but it did nothing to diminish his looks. The Lochlannach warrior was tall and imposing, his physical strength evident. Only the slight limp revealed any weakness.

  ‘What do you want from me? A ransom?’

  He reached out and cupped the back of her neck. It was an act of possession, but instead of feeling furious, his sudden dominance made her flesh warm to the touch. His blue eyes stared into hers as if he desired her, and she was startled by the unbidden response. Though she tried to meet his gaze with resentment, her imagination conjured up the vision of his mouth descending upon hers in a kiss. This warrior would not be gentle...no, he would claim what he wanted from her. Heat roared through her, and she thought of his hands moving down to pull her hips against his.

  That might be what he wanted from her, after all. She was well aware of how female slaves were used as concubines. The thought shamed her, but another part of her was intrigued by this man. She could not deny the forbidden attraction, and she had the strange sensation that his touch would not be unwelcome.

  As if to make his point, Alarr stroked the nape of her neck before releasing her. ‘You will remain with me at all times, obeying everything I ask. If you do this, then I will remove your bindings.’

  ‘When?’ she demanded.

  ‘When you have earned my trust. Not before.’

  His arrogance irritated her. Was he expecting her to become a slave in truth, subservient to every demand? Never. She could not pretend to be someone she was not. The instinct arose, to tell him that he would be waiting an eternity. Then again, if there was any truth to his words, she would be hurting her own chances of getting home.

  ‘You ask a great deal of me,’ Breanne said at last. ‘I do not know you, and I do not trust you at all.’ He was no better than a mercenary, and she had no doubt that there was a great deal he had not revealed. But then, what choice did she have? She needed an escort to bring her home.

  ‘I have not forced myself upon you,’ he pointed out. ‘This, I could have done many times. I could also have given you to my brother.’

  She reddened at his words, for they were true. He had treated her with honour, though he had kept her bound. She would not have trusted him either, were their situations reversed.

  ‘I am grateful,’ she said honestly.

  ‘If you do not run away, we will take you home to your father. But if you defy me, you will face consequences.’

  She stiffened at the overt threat. ‘If you beat me, he will know of it. And you will not be rewarded.’

  ‘I never said I would harm you.’ His voice had gone deep, almost seductive. She took a step back, fully aware of her nakedness beneath the drying cloth. Never had a man looked at her in this way, and she could hardly breathe. His hand moved to her face, drawing an invisible line down her jaw. Beneath the drying cloth, her breasts rose up, almost aching to be touched.

  And suddenly, she realised that this man was dangerous in ways she’d never even imagined.

  Chapter Two

  It took an effort not to react to Breanne after her bath. Her skin was rosy from the heat, and damp tendrils of hair framed her face. He had watched as a droplet of water had spilled down her throat to the shadowed hollow between her breasts. He’d wanted nothing more than to push the drying cloth away, revealing her body. She is the foster daughter of your enemy, he’d reminded himself. He needed to gain her trust, and leaving her untouched was necessary.

  Alarr had turned his back to allow her a measure of privacy while the maid dressed her in Caragh’s gown. While they were occupied, he ordered another servant to bring him a length of silk. After Breanne was dressed, Alarr bound her wrist to his with the silk, ensuring that she could go nowhere.

  ‘Is that truly necessary?’ she asked. ‘I cannot leave the fortress.’

  ‘It is. You have not yet earned my trust.’ He did not want her to even imagine thoughts of escape. Her hair was wet and combed back, dampening the edges of the green gown. It fit her waist perfectly and clung to her curves. There was no denying the beauty of Breanne Ó Callahan. Her gown brought out the green in her eyes, and the soft rose of her mouth. He wanted to taste her lips, to make her understand how badly he wanted her. Having her hand bound to his only tempted him more.

  As they passed among the others to walk outside, he saw the men glancing at her with interest. He glared in response, warning them not to look, and most turned away. She was not theirs to admire.

  Alarr led Breanne to the longhouse where Caragh had offered them a place to stay. Inside, there was a sleeping pallet and a long curtain that could be drawn across the space. Breanne appeared uneasy about the private space and tried to step back from it. He took her hand and drew it closer to his. With her wrist bound in silk, she could pull back a short distance, but nothing more.

  ‘We have journeyed for over a day without stopping,’ he said to her. ‘I intend to rest with you at my side.’

  ‘I am not tired,’ she started to protest, but he pulled her closer.

  ‘You will lie beside me.’ He didn’t trust her not to run, and he was weary from lack of sleep.

  The fear on her face revealed her suspicions, but he added, ‘Have I not said it is not my intention to claim your innocence? If I give you back to your foster father untouched, it is worth more to me.’

  She still appeared uneasy, but he pulled her near and forced her to lie down on the pallet. He curled his body against hers, and her hair was wet and cold against his face.

  ‘Sleep,’ he ordered. He only intended to rest for an hour or so—long enough to get through the day.

  But with her body nestled close, he grew aware of her light scent. She tried to keep her distance, but he saw that her skin was prickled with gooseflesh. Despite her words, she was not immune to his presence. But perhaps that was only her fear, not an answering desire.

  Beside him, he could feel her tension. She was not about to fall asleep, no matter how much he might want her to.

  ‘What is it?’ he demanded. ‘I have said I will not harm you.’

  She hesitated for a time. The silence stretched out until at last she whispered, ‘You knew who I was in the slave market. How is that possible? I’ve never seen you before.’

  He wasn’t about to give her the truth. ‘It does not matter.’

  She refused to relent and continued her questions. ‘Aye, it does. I want to know your purpose.’

  He gave her no answer, for he owed her nothing. And still, she remained persistent. ‘What of my foster father? Do you know him?’

  Never would he forget the man who had cut him down, causing his limp. Nor the man who had plotted to murder his father. The taste of vengeance was bitter u
pon his tongue, but Alarr held no pity towards the man. Even after over a year, his leg often ached from the phantom pain of the blade. There were days when he felt like an old man with ancient bones, especially after a hard rain.

  But at last, he answered, ‘I have seen King Feann before.’

  ‘How?’

  This time, he reached over and touched her lips. ‘Sleep. Unless you want me to bind your mouth closed.’

  She grew quiet at that, but he realised that Breanne Ó Callahan was not a woman who would obey meekly. Nor would she submit to his commands. Were she not the daughter of his enemy, he might have admired her spirit.

  As it was, he intended to heed his brother Rurik’s advice to not grow attached to this woman. Breanne was beautiful, and there was no doubt that his body craved hers. But she was a means to an end, and he had to somehow force her to lower her barriers and give him the information he sought. He needed to know everything about the fortress—the number of guards, the weapons, every door and every threat. And the only way he could gain such information was by winning her trust.

  Yet Alarr had to maintain his distance, as well. He could not let temptation interfere with his plans. He was prepared to risk his life for revenge, and he did not expect to survive the battle, given his physical weakness. But at least he could claim Feann’s life even as he surrendered his own.

  Beside him, he could feel her attempting to loosen the length of silk, to free herself. In silent answer, he drew the silk tighter around his arm and gripped her body close. She would never escape him—not while she held the answers he sought.

  ‘I don’t like you,’ she informed him.

  ‘I don’t like you either,’ he lied. ‘But you are worth a great deal of silver. And in the end, both of us will get what we want.’

  ‘My foster father will have you killed,’ she said. ‘If you believe he will pay a ransom for me, you are mistaken.’

  ‘Because he does not want you back?’

  ‘Because he has a strong army, and they will cut you down and take me back.’

  Alarr tightened his grip around her and began fishing for information. ‘Feann is a petty king. He has no more than a dozen men.’

  ‘You are wrong,’ she countered. ‘He has at least fifty men. Perhaps more.’

  It was likely an exaggeration, but he didn’t doubt that the Irish king had fifty men who were loyal to him, even if they weren’t soldiers. Yet, Breanne had revealed possible numbers, which was useful. He knew if he simply rode into Killcobar, they would slaughter him where he stood. He needed his own warriors to cause a distraction, men who would fight while he avenged Sigurd’s death. His brother Rurik would join him, but it would be more difficult to get others to endanger their lives. He could ask Styr for men, but the jarl would not grant fighters unless Alarr gave something in return. He would have to think upon it.

  After some time, Breanne stopped fighting him. She softened as she slipped into sleep, and her body relaxed against his. It was strange to hold a sleeping woman in his arms, but the sensation was not unwelcome. The scent of her hair and skin sent a bolt of arousal through him. He could imagine leaning down to kiss her throat, cupping her breasts and stroking them until she gasped from her own desire. The image made him grow hard, and he gritted his teeth.

  Breanne snuggled against him in her sleep, and the motion deepened his discomfort. He wanted her badly, and now, he was starting to understand that returning her untouched might be more difficult than he’d imagined. It was not only her beauty that attracted him—it was her fiery spirit of rebellion.

  Now was not the time to seduce this woman, for he had to remain fixed upon his goal. Breanne was a distraction, and there was no honour in pursuing her when it could come to naught. It took every ounce of control he had, but he refused to touch her. Instead, he closed his eyes, knowing that sleep would be an impossible feat.

  * * *

  It was early evening when Breanne awakened, after Alarr touched her shoulder. She rose from the pallet, her wrist still tied to his.

  ‘We will eat now,’ he said and led her from the sleeping space. She was starving, so she made no protest when he led her to another longhouse where men and women were gathering. Already she could smell the roasted meat and fish, and the yeasty scent of bread nearly brought tears to her eyes. Although Alarr had given her travelling food, it had been nearly a fortnight since she’d had a proper meal.

  Alarr opened the door and guided her inside. Long trestle tables were set up with benches, and the people gathered together as one tribe to eat. Children sat upon their mother’s laps, while others teased one another as they fought over better seats. She was overwhelmed by the number of people, but Styr and his wife Caragh welcomed them and guided them to their places near the dais.

  It made her self-conscious being bound to Alarr. Though she understood that she was his prisoner, it made her uneasy for everyone to see it. He led her to sit down and then regarded her. ‘If I remove your bindings, will you vow to stay and eat?’

  Her heart pounded at the thought of precious freedom. A part of her longed to seize the moment, to flee and hope that she could escape. But the logical part of her brain warned that this was a chance to earn his trust. She could not simply run; she had to make her plans carefully.

  ‘I swear it.’ She looked him in the eyes as she made the promise.

  He stared as if he didn’t quite believe her, yet there were so many people inside, it would be nearly impossible to go. Finally, he gave a nod and untied the silk binding, unwrapping it. ‘You will remain at my side at all times. Do not go anywhere without my permission.’

  She inclined her head to agree and rubbed at her wrist. Alarr gave her a trencher, and upon the bread was roasted mutton with carrots and a thick sauce. She was so hungry it took an effort to eat with good manners when she wanted to stuff it into her mouth as quickly as possible. The meat was warm and savoury, and she had never tasted anything so good. Alarr ate beside her, but she noticed that he never took his eyes off his companions. He was alert to his surroundings, fully aware of everything.

  Though she’d believed he was friends with Styr and Caragh, it appeared that he could not ever be at ease. Like a man on guard, his gaze focused upon the doorway when each man entered. His body remained tense, his hand near his weapon.

  The other man he’d travelled with, his brother Rurik, was dining with some of the younger warriors. Although he listened to the tales of the other men, he said nothing. Once or twice, she caught him looking at his brother, but he appeared ill at ease, even among other Lochlannach.

  As she sated her hunger, Breanne followed Alarr’s example and studied each of the men and women. They were very similar to her own people, telling stories, laughing, and sharing in food. Caragh, doted upon her husband, and she reached over to touch him in small ways. There was nothing but love in every gesture, and Breanne found herself feeling envious.

  No man had ever looked upon her in the same way Styr looked at Caragh. Or even with desire, as Alarr had looked at her when she’d emerged from bathing. Her skin tightened at the memory. But she could not stop the worry that no one would come for her. It had been weeks, and the isolation caused an ache deep inside her.

  She had grown up among the MacPherson tribe and had believed that she was like a daughter to Feann. He had allowed her to sit beside him on the dais after his wife had died. She had cared for his sons as if they were her brothers, and now all were being fostered with other family members to strengthen tribal bonds. But now she wondered if her presence had been a burden after the death of her parents. It might be that Feann had only intended to marry her off to further his own alliances.

  They don’t want you, a voice inside murmured.

  She tried to push back the doubts, but it was hard to believe that anyone cared about her now. A coldness gripped her inside, the loneliness and fear taking root.


  ‘What is it?’ Alarr asked from beside her.

  ‘It’s nothing.’ She didn’t want to tell him anything, though he did appear concerned.

  ‘You look pale.’ He eyed her, and she met his expression without offering any answers. There was no reason for her to reveal the truth to this man. They were strangers, and she owed him nothing at all.

  ‘I am fine,’ she repeated.

  ‘No, you’re not.’ He tore off a piece of bread, still waiting.

  He could wait a very long time, as far as she was concerned. Breanne glared at him. ‘If I’m not, it’s only because I am your captive. And even if you do intend to bring me home, I despise being a prisoner.’

  ‘I removed your bindings, did I not?’

  She flushed, not really knowing how to reply. It was easier to shrug than to say anything.

  ‘You have nothing to fear from me, so long as you obey,’ he said.

  She bristled at his command and sighed. ‘Obedience is all men ever want.’

  ‘For your protection,’ he said softly. But then a moment later, his gaze narrowed as if he’d just thought of something else. ‘Or is there another reason you are afraid? Was there someone you left behind who is searching for you? A husband, perhaps?’

  She sobered, feeling embarrassed by his questioning. Though she hadn’t planned on saying anything, she blurted out, ‘Feann was planning to choose a husband for me. Until I was taken.’ At the time, she had been eager to wed, wanting a family and a home of her own. A true home—not a foster home where she felt like an outsider. But now, that dream had burned into ashes.

  ‘Was he planning to wed you to another king?’ Alarr demanded. He appeared almost displeased by the news, and beneath his tone there was a hint of jealousy. She didn’t want to imagine why. Though she had tried to remain shielded from his interest, there was no denying the heat that had sparked between them.