To Tempt A Viking

by Willingham Michelle

  The dark yearning for her caught him like a fist. If she belonged to him, he’d reach across the table and kiss her hard, drawing her back to their bed.

  ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’ she whispered, tucking a strand of hair behind one ear.

  Because he wanted more from her. Not just a smile or a stolen moment together. He wanted her at his side, though he knew he didn’t deserve her.

  He gave her no answer, but stood up when he saw a shadow cross the window. Although it could have been anyone passing by, his instincts rose up. Ragnar stood and went closer, his hand upon his sword hilt.

  ‘What is it?’ Elena asked.

  He didn’t know, but he strongly suspected it had to do with Elena’s earlier fears that someone was following them. ‘Wait here,’ he commanded. ‘And bar the door behind me.’ No one would threaten them—not if he could help it.

  He opened the door and hastened to follow a man who was walking quickly towards a throng of people. The figure had no distinguishing features—from the back, his hair was a dark blond and he wore no colours to set him apart. But the fact that he was hurrying was reason enough to pursue him.

  Ragnar pushed his way through the crowd until he caught up to the man. ‘Wait,’ he ordered, catching him by the arm.

  The man stopped, a questioning look on his face. ‘I don’t know you.’ His words were spoken in a calm tone, but his eyes shifted, as if searching for a means to escape.

  ‘No, but you stopped at my house. I want to know why.’ Ragnar didn’t let go of the man’s arm, waiting for an explanation.

  The man glanced around him for a moment and shrugged. ‘I didn’t know it was yours. I only wanted to look in at my son.’

  His son? Ragnar tensed, studying the man’s features and realised that they were similar to Matheus’s. ‘Your wife tried to murder him a few days ago,’ he pointed out.

  The man’s face set in a line. ‘So I heard. He’s not good for much, but my blood runs through his veins. I wanted to see how he was.’

  Although it was a father’s right to ensure his son’s welfare, Ragnar didn’t trust the look in the man’s face. He didn’t appear at all remorseful over his wife’s actions. ‘He’s well enough.’

  With that, Ragnar started to walk away, but the man called out, ‘If we allow you to keep Matheus, we deserve compensation in some form.’

  So this was the man’s reason. Ragnar turned back, keeping his temper shielded. ‘We saved his life. You’ll get no compensation from us.’

  A sly look crossed the man’s face. ‘I could accuse the pair of you of kidnapping him. It would be my right, as his father.’

  ‘And I could accuse your wife of attempting to drown him,’ Ragnar countered. ‘Let the boy go and be on your way. If you wanted to be rid of him, you are. And he’s better for it.’

  ‘I want gold,’ he said. ‘A body price for the son I’ve given up.’

  Rage boiled inside Ragnar. How did this man dare demand coin in return for a child? He closed his hands over the man’s throat and slammed him against the wall of a house. Slowly, he closed off the man’s air, lifting him off the ground. He waited until the man’s struggles diminished, before he dropped him.

  ‘There. You can have your miserable life as compensation. But if you come anywhere near Elena again, you’ll lose it.’

  One week later

  Blood was streaming from Ragnar’s temple and his jaw was swollen. Every muscle in his body ached, but he’d won his prize of silver. It was enough.

  ‘What’s happened to you?’ Elena demanded, when he came inside. The boy was in the corner, playing. Before Ragnar could give her an answer, she predicted, ‘You fought again, didn’t you?’

  ‘And won.’ He tossed a heavy leather bag on to the table. Over the past few weeks, he’d earned a reputation as a ruthless fighter. He’d defeated every last opponent until now there were few who would challenge him.

  ‘I don’t know why you’ve come to me,’ Elena shot back. ‘Were you wanting me to heal your cuts and bruises, after I asked you not to fight?’ She tossed a linen cloth at him. ‘If you won’t listen to me, you can heal your own wounds.’

  Ragnar leaned in close, dropping his voice low. ‘You’re not my wife, søtnos. I don’t have to answer to you.’ He took a step forwards and she retreated. ‘I fought because I wanted to.’

  ‘I thought you said you had enough silver for the ship. Or was it not enough for you? Will you keep fighting until they bring your broken body back to me?’ Her cheeks were crimson and she looked as if she wanted to strike him.

  ‘I intend to make my fortune, regardless of the means.’ Though it meant pushing his body to the limit, he no longer cared.

  ‘Silver doesn’t matter to me,’ she argued. ‘It never has.’

  ‘It mattered to your family,’ he pointed out. He remembered all too well the way her father had looked down on him. And although Ragnar’s skill in fighting had improved, his wealth had not. He was hardly more than a mercenary, living by his sword.

  ‘And you think that I judged you the way my father did? You think I’ll want you more if you have more silver?’ Her face turned incredulous. ‘What kind of a woman do you think I am?’

  ‘One who deserves a good provider.’ Elena’s outburst took him by surprise, for he hadn’t meant to imply that she was greedy.

  ‘All you want is to be rid of me,’ she accused. ‘You’ve been fighting for silver these past few weeks, because you’re trying to send me back to Hordafylke.’

  His anger exploded. ‘I’ve been fighting these past few weeks because if I don’t, I’ll hurt you.’

  She stilled, confusion clouding her face. ‘You would never lift a hand against me, Ragnar.’

  ‘You’re wrong.’ He moved forwards, pressing her back against the wall. With his voice low, he said, ‘You tormented me every day of the past five years when I watched you go to his bed. And after you shared mine, I’ve thought of nothing else since.’

  She averted her gaze and he murmured in her ear, ‘Every night, I sleep away from you because if I don’t, I won’t be able to keep my hands off you. You’re a hunger I’ll never be able to sate. And fighting takes the edge off.’

  Her breathing had grown unsettled and he moved away from her, knowing he’d frightened her. He shouldn’t have come, especially since the raging desire hadn’t abated at all.

  ‘Wait,’ Elena whispered. She reached again for a cloth and dampened it with water, washing the blood from his temple. He held steady, noticing the green of her eyes and the softness of the lips he wanted to claim. Right now, he didn’t want to remain patient. He wanted to seize the moment and take what he wanted.

  She dipped the cloth in cool water again and began sponging at his other cuts and bruises. The touch of her hands was gentle and she stood so near, his arousal was almost painful.

  ‘I don’t want you to die,’ she said, rinsing away the blood at his temple.

  ‘I wouldn’t have died, Elena.’ He couldn’t believe the dismay in her voice. She’d seen Styr and him sparring all the time.

  ‘But you could have been killed,’ she insisted. ‘And you will die, if you continue fighting for no reason at all.’ She tossed the cloth down on the table, and her shoulders rose with the heat of her anger. ‘I asked you not to.’

  ‘Do you think I’ll hide behind a woman’s skirts with no means of earning my way?’ It had hardly been a fighting match at all. He’d easily defeated his opponent but had left the man alive.

  ‘Do you even care about your life?’ she demanded.

  He sobered and reached out with his knuckles to caress her face. ‘Do you?’

  The stricken look on her face caught him low, in the gut. In her eyes, he saw fear and worry, revealing her feelings. ‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘I care a great deal about you.’

  In silent response, he leaned in and rested his forehead against hers. God help him, he didn’t know what to say or do now.

  When Elena tou
ched her hand to his heart, he stole a kiss, claiming her mouth. She kissed him back and he tasted fear upon her lips. Not only fear for his safety, but a slight tremble of what was happening between them. But now was not the time to act upon it. Not with the boy here.

  Ragnar glanced around at the house. The interior of Elena’s home, normally immaculate, was in complete disarray. The bedding was unmade and there were dishes still on the table. He’d paid no heed to his surroundings until now and her cheeks flushed. ‘I’m sorry about the mess. We were...busy working on the walls today.’

  Young Matheus was smearing mud into the wicker crevices. He gave no indication that he’d heard any of their conversation.

  Ragnar leaned in and asked, ‘Have you seen any sign of the boy’s father since last week?’ When she shook her head, he added, ‘I’ve asked some of our kinsmen to help me keep watch over this house. I don’t think he’ll return.’

  But although he spoke the words to reassure her, he still didn’t trust that the man would leave Elena alone. Matheus’s father was far more interested in personal gain than his son’s welfare.

  ‘I hope not,’ she whispered. ‘And besides that, you’re here.’

  Her words sent another fierce ache within him, to take her down upon the pallet and claim her. He was itching to touch her, to palm her breasts and taste them until she arched in ecstasy.

  By the gods, he needed to leave her before he gave in to the dark needs.

  To change the subject, he asked, ‘How is Matheus?’

  Throughout the past hour, the child had continued to spread even amounts of mud into the cracks. He appeared content in the tedious task, his eyes staring at the crevices as if he saw something else there.

  Elena moved behind the boy. ‘He is managing as well as I could expect. Today he started filling the cracks in the walls, after I showed him how. He’s been working on it all day.’

  When Ragnar bent down to see the child’s work, it was clear that the boy was locked upon the task.

  ‘I’ve never seen anyone with such a strong focus,’ Elena said. ‘He does such good work. I think we may be able to find a trade for him, if he has a kind master to show him what’s needed.’

  She leaned down and asked, ‘Matheus, are you hungry?’

  The boy gave no answer, gliding his hands over the mud. Ragnar went to stand before him and the child never ceased from his undertaking.

  ‘Come and eat with us,’ Ragnar offered gently. But when he extended a hand, Matheus flinched.

  Elena shrugged apologetically. ‘He sometimes doesn’t respond when I ask him to stop.’

  It wasn’t at all a good sign, if the boy was disobeying her. But perhaps there was more to it than she’d said. ‘Does he understand your words?’ Ragnar asked.

  Elena shrugged. ‘Sometimes. I don’t know what has meaning to him and what doesn’t. He’s calm when he has a repetitive task to complete.’ She didn’t seem too concerned by it.

  ‘And what if there’s danger?’ he asked. ‘If you call out to him and he disobeys you, he could be hurt.’

  Elena sobered at that. ‘I would hope that he’d obey me in that instance.’

  Hope wasn’t strong enough. He worried that Elena’s hesitation to discipline the boy might cause problems. ‘You can’t let him decide when he wants to obey you,’ Ragnar warned her. ‘If you are to be his foster mother, he has to learn.’

  The boy stood against the wall, peering outside through the crevices. The evening light was fading, but he stared at the sunlight, his hands frozen against the wood.

  When he touched the boy’s shoulders, Matheus jerked at the contact and let out a scream. The child’s fingers curled into the wet mud and he began to fight when Ragnar tried to pull him away.

  He squirmed and kicked his feet, as if trying to return to the wall. It took hardly any effort to restrain the boy, but when he brought the child to Elena, she appeared uneasy.

  ‘Let go of his hands,’ she pleaded. ‘You’re upsetting him.’

  Ragnar continued to hold the child’s hands firmly, but kept his voice calm. ‘If you keep allowing him to do as he pleases, whenever he likes, you’ll have a terrible child on your hands.’

  Gently, he let go of the boy, but the moment he did, Matheus ran back to the wall, his eyes fixated on the outside sunlight. He smeared at the mud and then his screams quieted, almost as if he’d seen something.

  ‘Wait here,’ Ragnar told Elena, reaching for his sword. He stepped outside and walked around her dwelling, but there was no sign of anyone there. Ragnar shielded his eyes against the setting sun, searching for a glimpse of an intruder. But when he could find nothing, he saw no choice but to return.

  The boy was right where they’d left him, his hands pressed against the wood. Elena was trying to coax him away, but Matheus refused to leave.

  It was possible that the boy simply wanted to go outside into the sunlight. Ragnar lifted the child into his arms and brought him over to Elena, paying no attention to the boy’s whining. ‘Bring a basin of water. He should wash the mud from his hands before he eats.’

  She poured water into a wooden bowl and brought over some sand to scour his hands. Ragnar could tell from her expression that the boy’s dismay was bothering her deeply.

  He ignored Matheus’s protests and dipped the boy’s hands in the water, rubbing them with sand. All the while, the child kept screaming and fighting.

  Elena’s face appeared even more worried. ‘You’re frightening him. Please...just let him go.’

  ‘He has to learn that he cannot get whatever he wants, simply by screaming.’

  Elena’s soft heart was going to get her into trouble if she wasn’t careful. From the way she was glaring at him, she believed he was being too hard on the child.

  ‘He’s endured so much. I don’t think—’

  ‘Dry him off,’ Ragnar commanded. ‘And then we’ll give him something to eat.’

  When she tried to dry the boy’s hands, Matheus shoved her away. Elena stumbled backwards and Ragnar caught her before she could fall. Seconds later, the child ran to the wall and began screaming again. Over and over, he cried out, howling at the top of his lungs.

  The stricken look on Elena’s face revealed that she’d never expected the boy to lash out at her. She’d rescued him, giving him a home and food to eat. Likely she’d believed Matheus would love her for giving him all the things he needed.

  But this had gone too far.

  ‘Wait here,’ Ragnar commanded, picking up the child. The boy needed to calm down, to understand his boundaries.

  ‘Do not beat him,’ Elena argued. ‘I know he’s been disobedient, but—’

  ‘Did I say that was my intent?’ Ragnar cut her off and opened the door. It irritated him that she would believe he would beat a child who hardly understood anything of what was happening. The thought appalled him, that she would accuse him of such a thing.

  You fight for silver, a voice inside reminded him. There is blood on your hands. Why wouldn’t she believe you capable of harming an innocent?

  He kept the screaming boy upon his hip. ‘Come with us, if you don’t trust me.’

  She faltered. ‘I do trust you. But you’ve never been around younger children.’

  From the tone of her voice, he guessed her true fear—that he would be the same as his father, unable to control his temper. Olaf had beaten him regularly, with his fists and sometimes a wooden staff. Elena knew it, just as everyone else did.

  It sobered him, for the last thing he would do was raise a hand to a child.

  Ragnar continued walking away from the houses and towards the shoreline. He walked down the wooden docks until they reached the furthest end, away from the ships. With a glance behind him, he saw that Elena had followed at last.

  He took the boy to an isolated part of the beach and sat upon one of the large boulders. He held the boy tightly in his arms and the boy’s screaming eventually dwindled to sobbing. The cries calmed when the boy began star
ing at the rhythmic waves surging against the sand.

  Elena trudged through the damp sand and came to sit beside them. She said nothing at all while Ragnar held the boy. It was strange to have a child in his arms and for a moment, he wondered if this was what it meant to be a father. To know that this small person depended on you for everything—food, shelter and protection.

  ‘I’m sorry for what I said.’ She reached out to touch Matheus’s hair, but her eyes were on Ragnar. ‘I wasn’t thinking when I spoke.’

  ‘I’m not my father,’ he reminded her.

  ‘I know that.’

  But in her voice, he sensed a trace of unrest, as if she were uncertain what he was capable of.

  She had brought a loaf of brown bread with her and broke off a piece, handing it to him. Ragnar took it and gave it over to the child, who devoured it. They held their silence, sharing the loaf between the three of them while the waves continued to roll across the shore. Matheus seemed to slip into a trance and eventually Elena spoke.

  ‘You were right. I shouldn’t have let him have his own way. I just...felt sorry for him after what his mother tried to do.’

  He understood that. Her compassion was one of the reasons he’d been so taken by her, so long ago. ‘Being a mother to him means giving him what he needs. Not what he wants.’

  She moved to stand behind him, resting one hand upon his shoulder. ‘I’m not very good at this.’

  ‘You will be.’ He drew her around to his side, keeping an arm around both of them. For a moment, he held her close and she tensed but didn’t pull away. Eventually, her shoulders lowered and she leaned her head against him.

  ‘Thank you for being here. And for helping me.’ She tilted her head back to look at him and he inclined his head to acknowledge her remark. When he didn’t take his eyes from hers, she lowered her gaze.

  ‘We should go back. He’ll be tired and I really need to clean the house.’ She started to reach for the boy, but Ragnar stopped her.