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

by Michelle Willingham

  His brain warned him again to stop, but he was past the brink of control. He wanted her to fully understand what she was offering, to taste the danger. And if he could touch her intimately, it might frighten her enough to keep her distance.

  He peeled back her damp shift, revealing her round breasts. Her nipples were pink, the tips erect and tempting. He gave in to his own desires and bent to taste one. Her shuddering gasp made him grow rock hard.

  Never in his life had he needed anyone as much as he needed her.

  Chapter Four

  Breanne could hardly gather her thoughts as he suckled at her breast. Sensations flooded through her, and between her legs, she grew wet. No man had ever touched her like this, and she didn’t know how to stop him.

  Nor did she want him to stop.

  Her emotions were tangled up in a knot, and she knew it was a mistake to start this. And yet, right now, she wanted to push away the fear of death and embrace life. She wanted to seize a moment of pleasure, knowing that it would fade away, come the dawn.

  A part of her wanted to draw Alarr closer, to convince him to leave her father alone. If he cared for her, he might one day abandon his vengeance.

  But for now, she surrendered to his touch, not knowing where it would lead. He feasted upon her, his hands moving lower as he laved one nipple and then the other. He caressed the tip, and she nearly sobbed with delight. It was an aching torment to have his hands upon her, and her brain fought for clarity.

  The boundaries between them had lowered. She had to somehow gain Alarr’s affection, if not his trust. He would use her to get close to Feann. She believed that, after what she’d learned of her father’s misdeeds. But she couldn’t grasp that her foster father would murder innocent women and men. She needed answers, but right now, every thought in her brain disappeared at the sensation of Alarr touching her.

  He stripped her shift away until Breanne was naked beneath him. If she didn’t speak, if she didn’t stop him, he would claim her. And by the gods, she desired this man.

  His hand moved between her legs, parting them. When he touched her intimately, fear shot through her, even as her body craved him. Panic rose within her, for she was losing control of herself. Now that she was facing the loss of her virginity, she wasn’t certain it was the right choice.

  She wanted to tell him to wait, but before she could speak, he slid a finger inside her. She was so wet, so deeply aroused, it made it hard to breathe. Intense pleasure flooded through her, and a moan broke forth from her lips as he used his touch to caress her. Her mind and heart warred with one another, and her fears transformed.

  ‘Alarr,’ she breathed. But it wasn’t a plea to stop—it was a plea for more.

  He misunderstood her and spoke against her lips. ‘I warned you that this wasn’t safe. When you offer yourself to me, I will take everything you give.’ His mouth returned to her other breast, and as his tongue swirled over her nipple, he penetrated her with his finger. Slowly, he entered and withdrew, adding a second finger as he stroked.

  The pleasure was blinding. He was taking her higher, and she felt her body straining for release. Before she could plead again, a shuddering wave broke over her, and she arched hard, trembling with a violent eruption. She was shaking so badly she could not gather a clear thought.

  ‘You don’t want a man like me inside you, Breanne.’

  His claim held a darkness, and she was too weak to make a reply. Instead, she closed her eyes and looked away. She was not ready to offer herself—not even in exchange for her father’s life.

  A moment later, Alarr stood and straightened his clothing. And then he left without another word.

  * * *

  Alarr slept in another longhouse that night. He had given in to his desires, fully expecting Breanne to push him away. And yet, she had only welcomed him. She was on the brink of surrender, and the intimacy had only drawn them closer. Her body was made for his, and he had revelled in the delight of touching her, of bringing her to fulfilment.

  But it was not at all what he’d intended. He had planned to take her to the brink of lovemaking, just far enough to frighten her into keeping her distance. But instead of refusing him, she had responded openly to his touch. By the gods, he’d had no choice but to leave. If he had dared to sleep beside Breanne, he would not have been able to stop himself from claiming her. She would have enjoyed it—of that he was certain. And so would he.

  She is your hostage, his brain reminded him. Yours to do with as you wish.

  And would it not be an even greater vengeance against Feann, if Alarr claimed the virginity of his foster daughter? What if he became her lover, spending each night in her arms? The idea took root and grew. He was torn between the primal needs and his own sense of honour.

  * * *

  The morning sky was tinted rose and grey as he walked towards the healer’s hut. Alarr went to visit with Rurik but found that his brother was still sleeping. The healer sat beside him, and she murmured, ‘I gave him medicine last night and again this morn. The cut upon his arm was not the only wound.’

  He saw that his brother’s ribs were bound up and said to the old woman, ‘My thanks for tending him.’

  She smiled and stepped back from the herbs she had been crushing with a mortar and pestle. ‘I will leave you alone with him for a moment. Though it is unlikely he will awaken after he drank the sleeping potion.’

  Alarr was grateful for the privacy. In the dim light of the fire, he saw the profile of his sleeping brother. Regret filled up within him that Rurik had tried to stop him from his vengeance against Feann. Worse, he knew it was because his brother believed he would die. Rurik had no faith in his ability to fight—and was that any wonder? Even when he had tried to rescue Breanne, he had stumbled several times. Had she not intervened, he might not have won the fight.

  That knowledge grated upon him still. It didn’t matter that he had trained and struggled to improve his fighting abilities over the last year. His body was permanently maimed, and he would never again be the same.

  When Breanne had thanked him for saving her, he had sensed her sympathy—but that wasn’t what he’d wanted at all. He had welcomed her kiss, and nothing had pleased him more than to watch her come apart. In that moment, he had become a conqueror, wanting her to desire him as much as he craved her.

  Not only was she a beautiful woman, but she had courage. When she had been attacked by Oisin, he’d been overcome by fury. He didn’t want any man touching her. He had grown accustomed to waking beside her, and if their circumstances had been different, he might have considered keeping her with him as more than a hostage.

  He could not stop thinking of her. What if he did seduce her into sharing his bed? She could remain with him for the next few days while he satiated his craving for her. The hunger for her body, the need to quench his desire, was a burning need. She had responded to his touch, her body rising to his call. Every sigh, every moan had only ensnared him more tightly.

  But it was dangerous to form any attachment. He knew the risks of confronting Feann. It would likely mean his own death, but Alarr hardly cared. The only ones who mattered were his brothers—and they understood his need for vengeance. He couldn’t allow anything to threaten his plans—especially Breanne.

  Even more, he knew that once he had taken Feann’s life, those green eyes would transform with hatred. And if he claimed her body or worse, filled her with a child, it would hurt her even more. Though he despised Feann, Breanne deserved better.

  As he took his brother’s hand, he realised that Rurik likely owed his life to Breanne. It unsettled him that she had woven herself into their lives. He had planned to use her for information, but guilt weighed upon him. Breanne would not tell him anything now—not after Rurik had revealed his hatred of Feann. Alarr was torn between the ruthless need for information...and his own regard for her. She was a woman of honour, and it both
ered him that he had to betray her. He needed to push her away, to ensure that she despised him. Only then, he could he distance himself.

  Alarr was glad his brother was sleeping, for it gave him time alone with his thoughts.

  He closed his eyes, bringing back the darker memories of his wedding day. Never would he forget the faces of those who had fallen, of the blood that stained the earth. And of Gilla’s sightless eyes staring back at him. The wrenching regret pulled within him, reminding him of his purpose. He could not be distracted by a beautiful slave.

  When he strode outside, he tried to mask the limp, but it was impossible. His leg was aching from the exertion, and he made his way towards one of the unfinished longhouses. There, he picked up a saw, wanting to occupy his hands. He measured the correct length and sawed the wood, welcoming the familiar ache of physical effort. A few other men joined him, but as he worked, his mind turned over the problem of Feann. He still knew very little about the fortress, nor did he have a solid plan of how to infiltrate their defences long enough to kill the king.

  Styr joined him and said quietly, ‘I am glad of your help, my friend. But I would like to have words with you and your brother about your journey to visit Feann.’

  ‘Later,’ he agreed. ‘Rurik is recovering from his wounds. The healer gave him a sleeping potion.’

  Styr paused, resting against the longhouse. ‘As you will. But we must come to an agreement about your journey and my men as your escorts.’

  He understood the man’s unspoken words—that he would not endanger his kinsmen under any circumstances.

  ‘I only want them as escorts to Killcobar,’ he said. ‘They may remain outside the gates when I speak with the king.’

  Styr inclined his head. But then he narrowed his gaze. ‘Rurik told me of Feann’s role in your father’s death.’

  ‘His men slaughtered my father and my bride.’ He made no effort to hide the cold fury.

  Styr regarded him. ‘While I understand your reasons, I cannot let my men be involved in this. If your intent is vengeance, you must go alone.’

  ‘I am asking for your men to protect my brother and Breanne on the journey. I will act alone.’

  ‘But if Feann survives, it will bring war between my tribe and his people.’ Styr shook his head. ‘This I cannot do.’

  ‘He won’t survive.’ In this, he had complete faith. Though he knew not how, he was confident that Feann would die.

  ‘And what of Breanne? You would kill her foster father?’

  ‘She knows what Feann did to my family. And to me.’ He climbed down from the ladder. ‘When Rurik awakens, we will speak again.’ He nodded to Styr before he turned back towards the longhouse where he’d been staying with Breanne. She was not there, and he saw her walking towards the healer’s hut where he had left Rurik. A hard ache caught him in the gut that she was concerned about his brother’s welfare.

  He hurried towards her and stopped her before she could go inside. ‘I must speak with you.’

  He expression remained guarded, but she asked, ‘How is your brother?’

  ‘The healer gave him a sleeping potion,’ he answered. ‘And he had a few other minor injuries that she treated.’

  ‘But he will recover?’

  He nodded. ‘In a few days, I think.’ He reached out to rest his palm against her spine, guiding her away. ‘We need to talk about the fate of your foster father.’

  * * *

  Nerves gathered within her, but Breanne knew she had to choose her words carefully. Alarr had strong reasons for wanting vengeance against Feann, and she didn’t delude herself into thinking she could change his mind. He led her towards the horses and asked, ‘Do you want to ride?’

  She glanced up at the sky which was turning amber, the sun rising higher. ‘For a short time,’ she agreed. There was no doubting that he intended to speak with her about his plans. And somehow, she had to talk him out of them.

  He chose horses for them and helped her mount. Breanne followed him outside the gates and noticed that he was leading her south, towards the coast.

  * * *

  After half an hour of riding, she saw the gleam of the water and the reflection of the sun. The sky was a blend of fire and gold, beautiful in its wildness as it embraced the coming afternoon.

  He paused when they were near the edge and guided her towards an outcropping of limestone. He helped her dismount, and she went to sit on the pile of limestone while he hobbled their horses, allowing them to graze.

  The air was still cool outside, but she hardly felt the chill. Her heart was aching at the thought of what Feann had done and Alarr’s need for vengeance. She knew not how to stop him. There was no trace of mercy upon his face, no sense of understanding.

  But she knew that he desired her. It was the only weapon she had, and she wondered if she dared to use it. Could she convince him to let go of his anger and need for revenge? Was there any way to change his mind?

  A voice inside warned that there was no means of stopping a warrior like Alarr. He would never forgive her foster father for killing his family.

  She had so many questions rising up inside. Why would Feann do such a thing, if it were true? There had to be a strong reason. And if Alarr confronted him, he risked his own life. As she studied his profile, she wondered how she would feel if he were to die.

  Alarr had rescued her, saving her life when she had needed him most. And beneath his fierce exterior, she sensed that he was a man of honour. He could have forced himself upon her at any moment; yet, he had not. He had awakened her own hunger with his touch, and she had only found pleasure in his arms. But would he listen to her pleas? Or would her feelings mean nothing at all to him? She needed to know more.

  ‘Will you tell me what happened?’ she asked quietly. ‘On the day of your wedding.’

  He came to sit beside her. Without answer, he countered, ‘Will you tell me of Feann’s defences or how to get close to him?’

  ‘No.’ Breanne drew her knees up, staring at the water. ‘I cannot betray him. He is the only father I’ve ever known.’

  ‘He is not the man you think he is,’ Alarr said. ‘He travelled across the sea with his men and attacked for no reason.’

  ‘He would not have sailed such a distance, if it were not important. That is not his way. Perhaps he was seeking his own vengeance.’

  ‘Sigurd did nothing to him. Their kingdoms are a great distance apart.’

  She didn’t know the reasons either, but she felt the need to voice another truth. ‘Feann was not the man to murder your father. You know this.’

  ‘I blame him, even so. It was his men who surrounded the longhouse and killed everyone inside, including my father and my bride.’

  Her heart ached for him, and she fought back the tears that threatened. She couldn’t understand how any of this could have happened.

  His voice was heavy, laced with bitterness. ‘Then they scattered and went to their ships. Any man who pursued them was cut down and left to die. I lost many kinsmen that day.’

  She tightened her grasp around her knees, trying to sort out her foster father’s actions. ‘That doesn’t sound like something Feann would do.’

  ‘He did. And he will pay for the deaths he and his men caused. Whether he wielded the blade or not.’

  Her heart was pounding, and she knew not what to say or how to stop him. Right now, he was only thinking of vengeance and not what would happen afterwards. She wanted to protect her foster father, but she knew that Alarr would never set aside his plans.

  To stall him, she decided to ask more questions. ‘How did they attack you?’

  ‘They stood among the wedding guests. Our men were unarmed during the wedding. It was not a fair fight.’

  ‘Why were they unarmed?’ Breanne asked, frowning. ‘They are Lochlannach warriors, are they not?’

  Al
arr stiffened at her question. ‘My mother demanded it.’

  ‘Now why would she do that?’ It made no sense for warriors to be unable to protect themselves.

  ‘She claimed it would anger the gods.’ But as soon as he spoke the words, she could see the realisation dawning upon him. He knew, without her saying a word, what she was implying.

  But Breanne questioned it, none the less. ‘Did your mother have a reason to want your father dead?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ There was so much anger rising within him, it seemed that his temper would burst forth at any moment. She didn’t press further, but instead, touched his shoulder gently. His muscles were rigid beneath her hands. Without asking, she massaged the tension from him.

  She didn’t know why she was touching him. He was her enemy, a man who wanted her foster father dead. But the question now was whether she could turn him away from his desire for vengeance.

  She slid her hands to his neck, gently stroking the knots. Instead of granting him relief from his pain, he caught her hands and held them.

  ‘This wasn’t why I brought you here,’ he said. ‘Much as I do want your hands upon me.’

  She could hear the edge of pent-up desire in his voice, and the heat of his palms against hers only evoked her own interest. She could not stop thinking of last night, and her cheeks burned at the memory.

  ‘Why did you bring me here?’ she asked.

  He released her hands and faced her. ‘To give you a choice. You helped save my brother’s life. If it is your wish not to be there when I face Feann, I could leave you behind.’

  She frowned, not understanding his intention. ‘Then how would they allow you inside the gates?’

  ‘Rurik and I would break in, and I would challenge the king.’

  She shook her head. ‘There is no means of getting inside without me. There are no weaknesses in the fortress. The walls are guarded day and night to make sure of it.’