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

by Sky Purington

  “What,” she said again when he gave no answer.

  “Yes, what brother?” Kol said with a sly grin on his face.

  Naðr kept his attention on Megan and slid his hand up along the tight cinch of her waist. “You are here now.”

  Megan’s lips pinched in even as her body again quivered in response to his touch. “Yep, I’m here but don’t belong. I need to get home.”

  “Yep,” Kol mouthed and kept on grinning.

  “We will figure it out.” Raknar gave a renewed look of determination. “Tell us about your time. Are there riches to be had?”

  Megan looked at him cautiously. “Not sure what you mean by that.”

  Naðr narrowed his eyes on Raknar as he nodded toward the chests they’d brought into the hall earlier. “Are you not happy enough with our recent plunder?”

  “For now,” Raknar conceded, eyes never leaving Megan. “But I’d like to hear of new lands and new conquests.”

  “You only just got home.” Meyla leaned forward, eyes on Valan across the way. “Not that you shouldn’t go exploring again soon.”

  Naðr frowned at his daughter. She wanted him gone so that she could carry on with the Scotsman. “I don’t intend to sail with them next time.”

  Meyla’s eyes met his and she frowned as well. But she was smart enough not to say what she was thinking. Instead, she said something that would cut a little deeper. “I am marrying him, father.”

  Megan, so it seemed, chose her corner of this argument as she nodded at Meyla. “Valan seems like a nice guy. You should.”

  “Guy?” Raknar asked.

  “Man,” Megan said.

  Naðr took a long swig of ale then decided to focus on Megan’s lush body rather than his daughter’s misguided notions. Running his hand up a bit further, he dusted the side of her breast, again pleased with its firm roundness.

  “Easy, buddy.” She brushed it away. But again, her body wasn’t in agreement with her words as she shifted and pressed her thighs together.

  When Naðr inhaled and grinned, her eyes went saucer round and she tried to stand. His arm wrapped around her small waist and locked her into position. Leaning close to her ear, he murmured, “You smell of desire,” he brushed his lips lightly over the soft skin just beneath, “for me.”

  A small sound rumbled deep down inside her throat and he nearly closed his mouth over the delicate column of flesh to feel the vibration against his lips, to see if she tasted as sweet as she smelled. Her breathing increased and she released a tiny gush of air. Naðr wondered if she realized her backside no longer tried to edge away from his cock but instead pushed closer.

  When his hand covered her slender thigh, she tensed. Yet instead of pushing it away, her hand clasped over his and her eyes again narrowed on him. “We need to talk.”

  “We are talking.” He grinned. “Mostly.”

  “Alone.”

  “Soon.”

  “Talk, nothing more.”

  His grin didn’t falter. “Once I’ve celebrated proper with my men I’ll talk all night with you, woman.”

  “Megan.”

  “Megan,” he agreed.

  “And I don’t need all night.” Her expression was stern. “Just a few moments alone.”

  “Oh, he’s good for more than a few moments.” Kol winked. “Just.”

  This incited a round of chuckles from many nearby.

  Naðr brought the mug to her lips. “Drink. Enjoy. Then we’ll talk.” His lips curled up with promise. “For more than a few moments.”

  Meyla rolled her eyes and sighed. “Enough with this. I want to go dance.”

  When his daughter stood, Naðr said, “Sit.”

  Exasperated but not about to defy him, Meyla plunked down, crossed her arms over her chest and released another gusty sigh.

  Meanwhile, Megan took a good long draw from her ale and turned her attention to the thickening crowd in front of them. Raknar went back to brooding about lost conquests and Kol resumed tending to the women on his lap. But Naðr knew his brothers kept a close sidelong eye on Megan. How could they not? She was ravenous and far different than any woman here. They were all explorers and the lovely creature sitting on his lap was well worth exploring.

  Overheated and so aroused it was on the edge of becoming painful, he decided rather than remove her from his lap, he’d remove his fur cloak. While not nearly the relief he needed, shimmying down to his sleeveless tunic was a good start.

  Yet it seemed such an action would only worsen his aroused state.

  Megan’s eyes slid to the clingy material hugging his chest then down first one arm then the other. When her tongue slid out and moistened her plush lips, Naðr was a heartbeat away from straddling her over him and slaking his raging lust.

  “Holy Christ,” she whispered as her eyes at last stopped their appreciative roaming and locked onto one of the tattoos on his shoulder. “It’s the same.”

  Naðr glanced at the ship etched into his skin. “The same as what?”

  Caught off guard, Megan clearly hadn’t meant to say such so tried to refocus his attention. “Where’d all your facial hair go? Or should I say most of it. You’ve still a good layer of stubble.”

  But Naðr wasn’t king because he was so easily distracted.

  Even by such a beautiful woman.

  “You’ve seen the marking on my skin before?” he said.

  It seemed his brothers were just as interested in her response based on their sudden silence.

  “Sure,” Megan said automatically, seemingly aware of the reaction her words received. “Out in your harbor. Lots of ships look like that.”

  Naðr fingered one of her buoyant curls to give her the impression that he was still entirely focused on lust. “There are no ships in my port that look like the one on my arm.”

  When she shifted her shoulders just a bit, he knew. It was what he’d sensed when he first met her. The stone.

  “Let me see it,” he said softly, twirling a length of curl around his finger.

  “See what?”

  His eyes stayed steady on hers. “Either hand it to me or I’ll get it myself. You choose.”

  Megan started to shake her head, but he stilled her when he gripped her dainty chin gently. “I’d much rather get it from between your breasts so consider your answer carefully.”

  She stared at him for several long moments before she came to a conclusion. “Fine.”

  Naðr watched her hand with envy as it disappeared beneath the front of her dress. Clearly aware of too many watching, she made quick work of pulling something out. Fist closed around it, she straightened her shoulders and imagined herself in a position to bargain. “I’ll let you see it as long as you give it back to me.”

  He held out his hand and gave no response.

  “Do we have a deal?”

  Naðr curled the tips of his fingers, urging her to hand it over.

  Megan eyed him for a long moment then grumbled under her breath before dropping it into his palm. He instinctively closed his hand around the small stone and shut his eyes. The dragon within rushed up and its eyes stared back. Curious, he listened to what his other half told him. Astounded, he opened his eyes then flipped the stone until he held it between his thumb and forefinger.

  The carvings on either side matched his interlocking tattoos.

  “The seers,” he whispered.

  His brothers kept fixated eyes on him.

  “Does the stone mean what I think it does,” Raknar said, voice low.

  “What does it mean?” Meyla said.

  Kol’s eyes flickered until they were harshly narrowed on first one side of the stone then the other. He cursed and drank long from his horn. Megan looked at all three men, alarmed when his younger brother ushered away his women.

  Naðr eyed the stone for a long moment before he sighed. “We all knew what we agreed to.”

  “And what was that?” Meyla asked.

  Giving no response, he handed the stone back to
Megan. “Keep it safe.”

  Megan snatched it from his palm and eyed him warily. “Care to share what’s going on?”

  Not here. Not with so many paying attention. Naðr shrugged, pulled her tighter against him and plastered a cocky grin on his face as his eyes swung from brother to brother. “We agreed to a night of drinking and romping, yes?”

  Raknar didn’t miss a beat, a renewed light in his eyes as he raised his horn of ale. “So we did.”

  Kol, however, wasn’t nearly as jovial. Still, when his brother’s eyes locked on him, he slowly but surely raised his horn as well. “So we did.”

  The curious crowd roared with approval as the ale and mead continued to flow and drums pounded louder. Many were moving past drinking to dancing and the display was one born of men gone too long from women.

  Megan kept still beside him, taking advantage of the loud crowd to murmur, “What does my stone have to do with seers?”

  “We will talk later,” he replied.

  Her brows arched up in response to his serious tone. “I see. So now talking really means talking, does it?”

  “Does it ever,” Kol said, obviously a little too in his cups when he leaned over and relayed words that shouldn’t be uttered right now.

  “Yep. After all, we three brothers are committed to women from another time.”

  Chapter Six

  Megan did her best to ignore the thick erection pressed against her backside yet failed.

  But Naðr didn’t need to know that.

  It was still hard to believe that she’d been forced to sit on the king’s lap. And she had been forced no matter how you wanted to dress it up. Despite how hard she tried not to, her eyes again went to his face. Lord, was he a beautiful man. She’d thought him well beyond attractive with the light beard but now, shaven as much as a guy like this could be with an instant five o’clock shadow, his strong jaw line and sculptured lips were all that much more obvious.

  Before she’d arrived in the main hall, Megan spent several hours with Meyla. In truth, the woman was fairly pleasant as long as she wasn’t around her father. More mature than most her age, she explained her society at length including Megan’s current position within it. And though Meyla did her best to sugarcoat it, she understood.

  Megan was a slave.

  Meyla assured her that she, her father and uncles treated their slaves as family but it was still disconcerting. She didn’t do the whole human owning another human thing. Yet she knew this was part of Viking culture. Still. It was a hard pill to swallow. So once they’d bathed and Meyla’s other ‘slaves’ spent a great deal of time weaving braids into her defiant hair and pampering her skin with delicious smelling creams, they dressed and joined the celebration.

  It was no easy thing to once more feel earrings dangling from her ears and a necklace hanging around her neck. She’d done away with all jewelry when she moved to Maine. But it seemed Viking women liked their baubles and for now, she was one of them.

  The moment she’d arrived in the great hall things truly became surreal. She wasn’t just looking upon a harbor full of boats or watching a longship dock but was surrounded by and immersed in a culture she’d only ever dreamt about. Metal, bowl-shaped chandeliers dangled on long chains from the ceiling, fire crackling within. Not only round shields but a variety of weapons hung on the walls.

  The music, food, smells and people saturated her almost as well as the steady gaze of the king. Only several moments into the great hall and she’d sensed his eyes on her. The moment her gaze turned to the head table, his eyes had locked with hers and everything else fell away.

  The rest was history.

  Now she sat on his lap with his strong arm wrapped around her.

  And it all might have been halfway bearable in a, ‘damn this man is hot and sitting on his lap is a very bad idea’ sort of way if he hadn’t decided to remove the fur cloak from his broad shoulders. Ripped, muscles poured down his tattooed arms, chest, and abs. Regrettably, or not, he was so overheated that his already snug tunic clung tightly and left little to the imagination.

  If all that wasn’t bad enough, he’d sported an overly impressive erection from the second she joined him. But then he’d had another woman sitting here just before her, didn’t he? And she was determined to keep that thought at the forefront.

  Naðr was a womanizing man just like any other.

  Now he’d seen her stone and shared it with his brothers. Attention still focused on what Kol just said about all three brothers being committed to women from another time, she made to speak. When she did, Naðr’s finger came to her lips and he pulled her closer, hot breath by her ear when he said, “Say nothing more. I will explain later.”

  Before she could respond, he pulled away, leaned close to Kol and said something far more scathing in his brother’s ear based on his response. Meanwhile, Raknar eyed her with more curiosity than before. This brother was far different than the others. Just as handsome with his classic blond haired, blue eyed Nordic features, he struck her more contemplative though still eager for adventure and conquest.

  So Kol wanted women. Raknar wanted glory. And Naðr? Hard to say. For now, based on his never-ending arousal, she’d say he wanted her.

  Megan continued to drink the strong, warm ale and tried to ignore the steely thigh beneath her. She tucked the stone back into her cleavage and mulled over his reaction to it. What did he know? Because he obviously knew something and it was enough to make Kol do away with his harem and Raknar enjoy his drink with a whole new gleam in his eye.

  For a split second, she actually relaxed into her situation until Naðr’s hand snaked into her hair and his gaze once more focused on her face. Something about his undivided attention made her both wary and aroused. Wary because he was far too intense and sexual. In fact, she’d about had enough of the steady glares she’d been receiving from women since he’d pulled her onto his lap. And of course aroused because…well, that was obvious. The man wasn’t necessarily made of charm but most definitely of tempered control and streamlined sensuality. Pretty lethal combo. At least for her.

  Megan got the impression that he laid with women often, gave them far more than they knew they wanted, then moved on. He wasn’t the sort to invest his heart and she wondered why. But then the very position he held might explain much. Being a king over men such as these would take a certain sort of nature. One made of grit and steel. Not of romance and love.

  Now he seemed to be making a project out of digging his hands into her hair because her thick curls wouldn’t allow for anything else. There’d be no sifting fingers through billowing locks with her. And she suspected the longer she remained in this cool, humid climate the worse it would get.

  “You’ve the look of the goddess Freyja about you,” he murmured, seemingly mesmerized by her hair and eyes. “Wild. Like sex and war all at once.” As seemed to be his way, Naðr’s startling blue eyes tried to crawl inside her soul. “But I wonder, were you deserted as she was by Od?”

  Megan clenched her teeth and tried to ignore how close he came to her own personal truth with Nathan. Yet the stories told that Freyja leaned toward promiscuousness when mourning Od’s absence. “Rest assured, if I was anything like Freyja I wouldn’t turn to other men to bury my heartache.”

  Naðr’s eyes stayed with hers, his gaze a little lost as he whispered, “No, I don’t think you would.”

  It was the first time since she’d met him that Megan saw a smidge of vulnerability in his eyes and she didn’t much like how it switched her breathing. Pulling her eyes from his, she took a long swig of ale and did her best to ignore the constant ache below her waist.

  His hand left her hair and trailed down her back slowly, as though memorizing the contours of her spine. “You seem to know much of my gods, even my people. You’re not afraid of being here. Why is that?”

  “Just trying to blend in.”

  “I think it’s more than that.”

  “Do you?”

  �
��Yes.”

  Though it was likely because of the beer, Megan was growing comfortable so said more than she probably should. “I grew up in a place called Hampton, New Hampshire. My Dad ran a small fishing company so I was raised around a fairly hearty seafaring bunch.” She shook her head and sipped from her drink. “My father had lots of ideas about how best to provide for his family. Most of the time it meant gambling away money, but there was this one project that he thought might be the start of something.”

  Naðr said nothing as she drank again, lost in thought…in memories.

  “We had this beat up house a few blocks off the beach with a sizeable yard.” She again shook her head. “The truth was we had more yard than house. Far more. Inherited. Anyways, he decided to build a boat. I was ten at the time.” She snorted. “He started to build this thing out of any scrap wood he could find and I’ll give him this, Dad made it work.”

  She peered at the king. “Know what he called it?”

  Naðr shook his head, eyes as always avidly on her face.

  “The Viking.”

  His eyes warmed. “Ah, so started your fascination with Vikings?”

  Megan quirked her lip. “Yeah, actually, it was that simple.” Then she again got lost in thought. “At first.” She sighed. “Yet the more he became obsessed with building this boat, the more infatuated I became with being knowledgeable about what he’d named his obsession after. There was nothing as gratifying as eventually helping him build the boat while sharing what I’d learned about Vikings.”

  When her words trailed off, Naðr murmured, “And was your father proud of your knowledge?”

  Not expecting his question, she involuntarily arched her brows as she stared without any real focus. “He might’ve been had he named the boat for actual Vikings.”

  Naðr frowned. “I don’t understand.”

  “Neither did I.” She took another swig of beer. “At first.”