Viking King (The MacLomain Series: Viking Ancestors, Book 1)

by Sky Purington

  The Scotsman didn’t quite meet her eyes. “Let’s just say that whatever magic is at work, the stone must keep certain words from touching your ears.”

  “Yeah, got that. Why?”

  Valan gave a small shrug of his shoulder, uncomfortable. “‘Tis likely because they are words that are unsavory.”

  Unsavory? “You mean like swears?”

  When Valan looked at her confused, she rethought her explanation. “Like curses?”

  He nodded. “Aye, precisely.”

  Naðr’s brother had already sworn at her? Real nice. “Again, what does beiskaldi mean?”

  “He’s young and foolish,” Valan explained.

  “Not that young,” she said. “I’d put him in his mid to late twenties.”

  But it seemed their talk was done as they approached the massive building. Built in a similar fashion to its smaller predecessors, tall wooden railings led to the inner courtyard. Yet unlike the houses built of wattle, or woven sticks, covered with mud to keep out the wind and rain, this main building had been constructed of stone. Talk of cursing vanished as she took in the scale of the building from this angle. What would it look like from the side? Her guess was exceptionally long.

  “They dinnae do castles here,” Valan mentioned as they followed Kol.

  Castles? No. Something far better and more suited to the environment. But she knew she was prejudiced. After all, she wasn’t ignorant when it came to Vikings. Or should she say, unstudied.

  “Though smaller, there are good sized cottages through the backside of this for Naðr, Meyla and his brothers,” Valan said. “That we’re being led here means that Meyla is keeping you with her.”

  Well, thank God for small favors. Megan almost rolled her eyes. “Then where is Meyla?”

  “No doubt being chastised by her father once more for desiring me.”

  “Right. The whole Viking girl falls in love with the Scotsman from another time thing.” Megan couldn’t help but grin. “I’d almost feel bad for you if I wasn’t here too with no real purpose or way to get home.”

  She had no choice but to play the part of a woman who had traveled through time…right?

  “Och, me thinks if you’re here then ye’ve a purpose, lass.”

  Megan couldn’t stop grinning despite her dire circumstances. “And what is that? To be sworn at by the natives?”

  Valan offered a crooked grin in return. “Try being in love with the king’s daughter.”

  Yeah, that had to suck.

  Yet talk of Naðr made her think about how good-looking he was. “So how old was he when he had her, twelve?”

  “Meyla’s nineteen winters so nay, he was fifteen,” Valan said as though it was nothing.

  But then kids were born to fifteen year old mothers back home so it wasn’t such a far-fetched idea, just too darned young. Then again, this was the ninth century so fifteen was prime time for child bearing.

  “So Naðr Véurr is thirty-four?”

  Valan thought about it for a moment before nodding. “Aye, must be.”

  Megan put a hand on her hip and grinned at Valan. “So you’re sorta robbin’ the cradle with Meyla, eh?”

  “Robbing the cradle?”

  “Going after a younger woman?” She eyed him. “Because I’d put us close to the same age.”

  “I’m twenty-nine winters,” Valan said, confused. “Ten winters is a common age difference.”

  Megan only grinned and nodded. Of course it was. “So in this day and age I’m ancient, huh?”

  Valan’s expression grew guarded and she almost laughed. No matter the century, men knew better than to comment on a woman’s age.

  “The King took notice of you,” he said carefully. “That says something.”

  It was impossible not to chuckle at his safe answer. “I’m not sure I want it to say anything.”

  She was about to say more, just to get a rise out of Valan, when a young boy approached. His blue eyes were cautious but reverent. “I’m Heid-d-drek,” he stuttered, gaze tossed between her and Guardian. “M-my k-king wants me t-to see to your w-wolf.”

  Megan’s heart warmed to Heidrek the instant he looked at Guardian with adoration. But she was worried about letting her dog out of her sight. Unsure, she said, “Nice to meet you, Heidrek. I’m Megan. Where will you take my wolf?”

  Heidrek pointed at a building behind her before once more meeting her eyes. “J-just over th-there.”

  The building was close and like all the others clean and busy. But releasing her dog to a stranger, a boy she didn’t know? She wasn’t so sure about that. Instead of referring to Valan, who likely knew him, she crouched in front of the boy. Young, maybe ten at most, he stood tall, his blond hair sticking up at odd angles. Though tempted to tell him Guardian was a dog, he’d never understand. So she said, “What do you know of caring for a wolf, my friend?”

  Heidrek calmed at her easy approach and his pale blue eyes grew remarkably stern. “I k-know it’s a g-good wolf. You can s-see it in its e-eyes.”

  Megan quirked her lip and nodded, voice soft. “You’re right. You can.” She took his hand and smiled. “Do you often care for stray wolves?”

  First a nod then a shake of his head before he declared, “They like f-food and w-water and to talk. Then w-we curl up together a-and sleep.”

  She nodded. Before Megan could say a word, her dog smiled and licked Heidrek’s hand. Smiling in return, he patted her. The next thing she knew her pooch was sidling up alongside the boy, swishing her tail. Grinning, Megan stood. It seemed a friendship had just been born.

  Still.

  This was her dog.

  As if Heidrek understood the gravity of her uncertainty he lowered his head. “I w-will take g-good care of it.”

  “Her,” Megan said gently. “She’s a girl.”

  Heidrek nodded over and over. “Y-yes. A g-girl.”

  “Not an it.”

  He shook his head. “N-not an it.”

  She trusted this boy. And so did Guardian it seemed.

  Megan put a comforting hand on his shoulder and met his eyes. “I’m going to trust you to take care of Guardian, Heidrek.” She smiled. “Take good care of her, all right?”

  Heidrek nodded so avidly his long bangs flopped in his eyes. “I w-will.”

  Turning her attention to Guardian, she said, “I won’t be gone long, wolfy girl. Keep an eye on our new friend, okay?”

  Guardian offered her a quick lick then bounded around Heidrek. Before she knew it, the two were chatting and walking in the opposite direction. Watching them, she shook her head.

  “‘Tis a good friendship forged already,” Valan murmured.

  Megan stood. “So it seems.”

  “Come then,” came a sharp feminine voice from behind. “Though my betrothed is not overly welcomed it seems you are.”

  Determined to keep a neutral face, she turned to Meyla.

  Though she suspected the girl wasn’t normally despondent, now she was.

  With a flick of her wrist and a come-hither motion, Meyla said, “Let’s go then. Time for me to dress you up so that my father can have his way with you.”

  Chapter Five

  Naðr drank from his horn of ale and cheered another good raid.

  Though he kept a smile on his face and a woman on his lap, he still fumed over his daughter’s choice in men. There were plenty of strapping warriors here but instead she was determined to marry a traitor from the future. That he was Scottish didn’t bother him so much, that he was dishonorable did.

  He’d like to wring Adlin MacLomain’s neck for somehow enabling Meyla to meet Valan Hamilton to begin with. But the past he and Adlin shared was a complicated one and now he was stuck with what he had. And it just so happened that it was a Scottish traitor determined to marry his daughter.

  There was no doubting it…he’d gotten the raw end of the deal.

  “We should have gone further, raided more,” his brother Raknar said from his left as he drank f
rom his horn and pushed away any woman advancing on him.

  “Agreed,” his brother Kol said from his right, trying to pile as many women as possible onto his lap.

  Naðr absently stroked the thigh of the woman on his lap and tried to figure out how to turn Meyla’s attention from the Scotsman. There was always a way.

  “You give Rennir too much room with this move,” Raknar muttered.

  “To Niflheim with Rennir till we figure out what to do with him,” Kol said, grinning before his lips dragged from one woman’s mouth to another.

  “We should have pushed on,” Raknar continued.

  Naðr ignored his brothers and kept an eye on the hall. His people were doing well and celebrating heartily. But that’s not why he watched everything so closely. No, he was waiting for her. He ignored the woman purring impatiently in his ear as he again scanned the room. Where was she?

  No sooner did he think it for the hundredth time then she appeared.

  And his cock at last stirred to life.

  Interested, the woman on his lap grabbed at it. He snatched her wrist and shook his head. But he didn’t push her away. Instead, he watched the woman called Megan trail his daughter into the crowd. Naðr ran his tongue slowly over the roof of his mouth and eyed her. Never before had he seen a woman quite like her. Rolling his tongue slowly, he tempered his breathing.

  She was gorgeous, wild…untamed.

  He wanted to taste her from the inside out then start all over again. Her hair was longer than he expected. Somehow, somebody had managed to hold back her blond curls by roping them into a few braids on either side of her face. But though they tried to settle her hair, nothing could help the fiery rebellion in her eyes. Golden spears, they challenged all who dared look her way.

  Naðr bit the corner of his lower lip as he leaned forward, imagining it was her lower lip beneath his controlling teeth. When had the gods gotten around to making a woman like her and why hadn’t they told him about it?

  So hard he could barely think, he stared at Megan. Though dressed like a proper Viking woman now, he knew far more existed beneath the less-than-revealing clothing. He again inhaled deeply and tried to reign in his need. But it wasn’t easy. Naðr wanted to smell her more than he had at the docks. Hell, he wanted to inhale her very core. But then, what man wouldn’t want to?

  “She’s a feisty one,” Kol said, his eyes as thoroughly trained on Megan as most of the men’s gazes in the hall.

  Naðr ignored Kol. His brother knew damn well to keep his hands off her. He was a little surprised to see Raknar watching her as well so said, “It’s been too long since you’ve had a woman, brother.”

  Raknar ignored the implication, his pale blue eyes contemplative. “Like Valan, she’s traveled through time. From where do think she hails?”

  Of course they all knew she’d time traveled. Their dragon blood gave them an incomparable second sight. Naðr allowed the woman on his lap to stroke him wherever she liked save his erection. That was being saved for someone else. “Far in the future I’d say.”

  But Naðr already knew she came from the twenty-first century. He’d felt it in the stone nestled between her remarkably firm breasts. After a slightly longer swig from his horn, he grunted as his pants grew tighter. The woman on his lap smiled knowingly and again went for the goods but froze when he shook his head. Frustrated but pleased to be on his lap regardless, she redirected her attention to his chest.

  Tables lined the long outer edges of the room and the center was kept open for dancing. The music was a rhythmic, sultry mix of bodhran drums, falster pipes and lyres. His men had been at sea too long so Naðr was cultivating an environment of pleasure. There was plenty of fresh meat and fish as well as rye and barley breads, cheeses, and a variety of berries and nuts. Naturally, there was an abundant amount of ale and mead too.

  Naðr debated his next move.

  Though tempted to throw Megan over the nearest table and relieve his arousal, he wouldn’t. He might be a lot of things, but he didn’t take women against their will. When her golden eyes locked with his across the room and a becoming flush stained her cheekbones, Naðr smiled to himself. Maybe he wouldn’t have to take her against her will after all.

  Kol chuckled. “You’ll have no trouble conquering that one, brother.”

  Typically, his brother’s lewd comments didn’t bother him but something about the statement irked him. It didn’t matter in the least if he’d just thought that very thing.

  When Meyla glanced his way, Naðr made a gesture that she and Megan join him. As always, the Scotsman hovered around her. The king did his best to ignore how close the two had become. But his daughter knew better than to approach with Valan. Instead, she kept Megan by her side.

  Naðr patted the hip of the woman on his lap. “Off with you now.”

  Though she pouted, she knew better than to argue and left.

  Expression neutral, he nodded at Meyla and Megan as they approached. Unable to help himself, he made a slow roam down the foreign woman’s body. The crème colored dress suited her but as he determined earlier it didn’t show off nearly enough of what he wanted to see. His brothers were watching Megan just as avidly. Though her eyes skirted briefly between them, Naðr was pleased she seemed drawn to him.

  Megan had a cup of ale in her hand and he knew damned well she’d downed most of it before he’d motioned them over. Good. He liked a woman who wasn’t afraid to drink. But could she hold her liquor?

  “Meyla, take your seat next to Raknar.” Naðr’s eyes locked with Megan and he patted his knee. “You. Come here.”

  Megan’s eyes widened a fraction then her brows lowered sharply. “The name’s Megan not you.” Then she stood up a little straighter. “And hell no I won’t sit on your lap.”

  She thought to defy him? His blood stirred and his cock turned to forged steel. Naðr slowly raised a brow. “Either you come here or I let Kol swing you over his shoulder and bring you here.”

  “Ah, yes.” Megan’s eyes narrowed between Naðr and Kol. “The brother who called me beiskaldi.” This garnered a few hardy laughs. All of which died beneath Naðr’s frown. Beiskaldi? He wouldn’t acknowledge it now, but Kol would likely feel Naðr’s fist later for that one.

  Naðr’s words were soft with promise, eyes still locked with hers. “Your choice.”

  Megan swallowed and kept her eyes narrowed.

  Meanwhile, Meyla sat next to Raknar.

  After the moment had stretched longer than he would’ve liked, Naðr nodded at Kol.

  When his far-too-eager brother stood, Megan put up a hand, shook her head and frowned. “Fine then.”

  Naðr nearly licked his lips with anticipation as she made her way around. When she drew close, he wasted no time in taking her hand, spreading his thighs and plunking her down on one leg. Her beautiful eyes widened when she felt his erection press against her backside. He couldn’t help but murmur, “That’s for you.”

  Most likely stunned by his easy admission, her sinfully full lips pulled down. “You’ve no shame, do you?”

  Happier and more aroused than he’d been in far too long, he smirked. “None.”

  But for all the fire and disbelief in her eyes, he didn’t miss the slight shudder that went through her unbelievably sweet body. And it was one hell of a body. With his hand on her hip, he had a much better idea of what lay beneath the dress. It was firm yet curvy enough to likely entertain him for hours, maybe even days.

  Megan polished off her ale and set down the mug. “This is barbaric.”

  Naðr chuckled, nodded at each brother and properly introduced them. “You’ve already met Kol.” His eyes went to his other brother. “This is Raknar.”

  Megan and Raknar nodded at one another but said nothing.

  When Naðr made a motion with his hand, a fresh mug of ale was brought over for Megan. After it had been delivered, he looked from it back to her. “You should drink, woman. Seems you need it.”

  “Warm beer,” she said
without much enthusiasm but drank nonetheless.

  Beer? Obviously what she called ale.

  “How else would it be?” He couldn’t contain a low growl of arousal as he watched her slender white throat work the fluid down.

  Megan’s lips stilled on the edge of the mug and she slowly lowered it. But he gave her credit. Instead of averting her eyes when a perfect stranger forced her to sit on his lap, her gaze bravely met his. And that’s exactly where he wanted it to stay. A man could spend forever lost in her otherworldly eyes.

  “Cold,” she said.

  Cold? Right, the ale, or beer. He continued to study her face, pleased that she didn’t look away beneath his scrutiny. Her fine brows were arched and her lashes thick. Where her brows were slightly darker than her hair, her lashes were considerably darker, adding an interesting intensity to her pale golden eyes. The planes of her face were well-formed with high cheekbones and a nicely shaped jaw. Her nose was small and straight. He especially liked the sun-kissed smoothness of her skin. Yet it was easy to see that aging would not lessen but enhance her beauty.

  Naðr was startled to realize he’d like to see fine lines form on her face someday. To see lines fan from the corner of her eyes because he made her laugh so much, perhaps a few on her forehead because he consistently shocked her. Maybe even some between her eyes because he managed to pull forth more scowls like the one she currently wore.

  “From what year do you hail?” Raknar said, interrupting his thoughts.

  His people knew their king and his brothers were of dragon blood and that Valan had traveled here from another time, so this was not an unusual question.

  Megan, however, seemed a little surprised. But she answered nonetheless. “2014.”

  For the first time in ages, Raknar’s eyes lit up. “Truly?”

  “Yes.” Interest sparked in Megan’s eyes as she looked between the men. “Assuming that I really have traveled back over a thousand years in time, do you have any idea how to get me home?”

  Naðr’s body tensed and he tightened his grip on her hip. Her eyes shot to his. “What?”

  He scowled. The last thing he wanted to consider right now was getting her home. His body hadn’t responded like this to a woman in far too long. Not that he had trouble releasing his seed. But that’s all lying with a woman was now. A necessary chore.