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

by Sky Purington

When the king continued to frown in confusion, she said, “He named it for someone who not only loved the sea but evidently stole his heart. A woman he was having an affair with. He apparently called her his little Viking.”

  “I do not know the word affair.”

  “He was…” she paused, considering the best way to phrase this to a man that slept around. “He was having sex with someone other than my mother when he’d promised to be faithful.”

  The lighter cobalt in Naðr’s eyes flashed a bit brighter. “I see.”

  “I’m sure you do.”

  Naðr ignored her innuendo. “What happened to the boat then?”

  A man after her own heart in a way. Why bother with human emotion when a boat was at stake? Megan couldn’t help but smirk as she remembered the sweet revenge that Fate took out on her father. “Though he survived, it sunk and my mother left him.”

  “Good.” Naðr nodded. “A weak boat made by a weak man and a woman only stronger because of it.”

  Surprised by his response, she could only nod slowly. But he didn’t have the full story and she’d already over shared. So if he was determined to keep her on his lap, she’d turn the conversation his way. “What about you?” Her eyes scanned the room before once more landing on him. “How’d you become king of all this?”

  But it seemed Naðr wasn’t the sharer she was or so said his redirected attention to her body. When he went to touch the side of her breast, she grabbed his wrist and shook her head. “Pretty sure I just asked you a question.”

  His sweeping brows lowered, but his lips twitched as though tempted to smile.

  Naðr looked at her long and hard before he nodded. “Then I best share.” But he wasn’t above wrapping his hand over her vulnerable backside and squeezing before he continued. “I was born to a poor boat builder. He wanted to be in charge of all the ships he helped construct. So one day instead of building he volunteered to start sailing with the other warriors. My father paid attention to the winds, to the people they raided, to everything. Soon enough, his was the voice that led those raids.”

  “So basically your Dad succeeded where mine failed,” she murmured. “But I know enough about your culture that eventually leading a Viking charge would by no means make him a king.”

  “No, it wouldn’t,” Naðr said softly, his intelligent eyes on hers.

  Though they were interrupted by his brothers, Megan knew he wasn’t going to say much more if anything. No more than she was willing to share the entirety of her story with someone she’d just met. Yet Megan wondered. Was what she’d read in the manuscript correct? Did Naðr Véurr possess the blood of a dragon? If so, would he have the power to see inside her mind and know her secrets? She almost chuckled. Figure the odds. But then she’d seemingly traveled back in time to the Viking period so…anything was possible, right?

  The music and crowd were growing rowdy. More and more men seemed to be demanding Naðr’s attention. Even so, when Kol stood, held his hand down to her and asked her to dance, she said, “You’re joking, right?”

  Before she could respond, Naðr grabbed her hips and made her stand as he eyed a warrior who was ranting about one thing or another. His towering body was inches behind hers as he stood and murmured in her ear, “Go dance with my brother. But no sex.”

  “What the hel—” she started, but it was too late. Kol grabbed her hand and pulled her after him.

  Sonofabitch.

  The music was a heady mix of both drums and some sort of harp and flute as Kol dragged her into the crowd. Though his arm wrapped around her lower back and he pulled her close, Megan quickly realized it wasn’t that close. Still, she put her hands on his chest and leaned back some. He might be hot as hell, but Megan was having no part of the ‘woman being tossed from man to man’ thing.

  “I don’t want sex from you.” Kol twisted his lips wryly, not above smirking at her actions. “Besides, you belong to my brother.”

  Belong?

  Kol wasn’t finished. “I like a little more there.” He nodded at her breasts and then leaned his head so he could look at her backside. “And more there too.”

  “Jesus,” she muttered and tried to push him away but he held tight and swung her into the crowd. “What’s the matter with you?”

  Kol clearly had no idea what she was talking about but assumed he had offended her based on his next statement. “You’re damned beautiful, woman, but too slight.” He made a fist and shrugged. “I like a little more to grab onto if you understand my meaning.”

  Stunned, speechless, Megan’s mouth fell open.

  Kol nodded, pleased it seemed with his explanation. “So you understand.”

  Yeah, that he was an utter dickhead.

  But at least he wasn’t trying to feel her up like Naðr had so that was something.

  She supposed she was safe enough dancing with Kol and tried to ignore the strange reality she’d been thrust into. They’d just made the edge of the crowd when he slowed their pace and leaned his lips close to her ear. “Sorry about that. Naðr asked it of me. He’s staking his claim on you.” Kol pulled back slightly and grinned. “No matter the loot we came back with the men are anxious to travel further. The more they drink, the more they complain.”

  She focused on the first part of what he’d said. Staking his claim? Megan shook her head, determined to remain focused. “I’m not any man’s claim.”

  Kol didn’t miss a beat. “So you’d rather be shared by Naðr’s men this eve?”

  “He wouldn’t allow that.” But the truth was she didn’t know a thing about what he would and would not allow.

  “He would have little choice in the matter if you turn him away,” Kol warned. “His men would expect such a prize after a voyage.”

  Megan almost joked about it until she realized he was absolutely serious. “So I can only hope he respects my wishes behind closed doors.”

  Kol looked at her oddly. “Do you not desire my brother?”

  “Whether or not I desire your brother has nothing to do with it. I only just met him.”

  Which wasn’t entirely true. Not if one counted the year or so he’d plagued her mind.

  “How long you have known him means nothing.” Kol shook his head. “Not to the men and likely not to Naðr.”

  Terrific. But she wasn’t about to show fear. “I thought I was Meyla’s slave. Does she not have any say in what happens to me?”

  “Perhaps,” he said, offering a glimmer of hope then crushing it. “If it wasn’t her father who wanted you.”

  Back to square one. Maybe there was another way. She eyed Kol then Raknar across the room. Though he said otherwise, she suspected Kol would have no issues sleeping with her. Raknar however? He didn’t seem as interested. “What if I wanted Raknar instead?”

  Kol chuckled. “Do not let Raknar’s indifference fool you, woman. He’d lay with you as quickly as any other here.” His eyes narrowed. “Besides, why would you want him when you look at Naðr as you do?”

  Because he looked at her the same way and that wasn’t conducive to the whole ‘no sex’ thing. “I look at Naðr like I do because he’s damn intimidating.”

  “Then go with Raknar,” Kol said easily. “But you will not make things easy on my brothers if you do.”

  This conversation was insane. “And why is that?”

  “Do men not get jealous from where you hail?”

  The king might strike her as a lot of things, but someone capable of jealousy wasn’t one of them. “I don’t see Naðr getting jealous.”

  “Maybe not but Raknar would when Naðr eventually took you away.” Kol went back to grinning. “Then I might end up jealous too because they both had what I did not.”

  Megan frowned. “I thought you didn’t want sex from me.”

  Kol shrugged. “What else am I supposed to say when Naðr wants you?”

  Ugh, these men were crazy but at least they were honest. Megan was about to respond when she felt another body come up far too close behind
her. She didn’t have to guess who it was based on the way her body hit overdrive. Kol didn’t let her go but looked over the top of her head. “Brother.”

  Nothing was said as a pair of warm hands landed on her shoulders and lips came close to her ear. “Do you like being between two men?”

  It didn’t matter if Kol was still at her front. Her sole focus was on Naðr at her back.

  “I’m typically more of a one guy sorta gal,” Megan said, voice raspier than she would have liked.

  “Typically? Hel,” Naðr said, humor obvious as his arousal pressed against her back. But she suspected he shot Kol a look because his brother pulled away. The next thing she knew the king spun her and walked her backwards a few steps until her back was against one of the large support beams. He braced a hand above her head and wrapped one of her curls around his finger as his eyes locked on hers, voice a deep rumble. “So you think to choose Raknar, do you?”

  Her breath caught in her throat and her heart gave a few extra heavy thuds. They were close to one of the small fires and the flames almost seemed to reflect within his intense eyes. Had he been standing behind her when she was talking to Kol? She’d sworn he was across the room with his men. “Honestly I’d rather not be forced to choose to begin with.”

  “I would not hurt you.” His finger continued to play with her curl and his knowing eyes fell to her slightly parted lips. “My guess is you would like it.”

  Oh, she didn’t doubt that for a second. “I still need to talk to you.”

  “Later,” he assured, words a soft murmur. “But until then.”

  Megan realized his intentions a second too late when he left the curl, wrapped his hand behind her neck and tilted his lips over hers. Possessive, hungry, his kiss was so well-executed she didn’t stand a chance. Sure, she could have pushed him away but instead her traitorous hands twisted into his tunic and held on for dear life. The things he did with his tongue nearly had her melting into the floor. Far too eager, she followed his lead and laved her tongue against his before flicking then twisting.

  Growling, he lifted her enough so that he could grind his erection between her shaking thighs. Megan was fairly certain she moaned as she gripped his muscular biceps. The rowdy crowd faded away as she was caught in the swift tide of his all-consuming presence. He tasted of a delicious mix between ale and man. Yet it was his scent that nearly drove her past the point of coherency. A spicy but sweet masculine heat seemed to radiate from his hot skin and permeate the scant air between them.

  She knew that smell.

  It was the same scent she’d caught on the wind back home when she heard his name.

  Ignited by not only the powerful sense of connection but by the intensity of his mouth against hers, she gripped him tighter and rocked her hips forward. A small tremble rippled through his strong body as he pulled his lips from hers. Steeped in desire, his eyes fell to her lips before they slowly rose. When they locked with hers, she didn’t misunderstand the possessive promise in his gaze.

  You’re mine.

  Yet a small grin curled his lips without meeting his eyes as he slowly pulled away. Megan could barely stand never mind process that Raknar now stood alongside. Naðr inclined his head toward the other man, his soft words curious while somehow dangerous. “Now dance with my brother, Megan, and see if you still want him.”

  The way he said her name kept her eyes on him. It was almost as if he’d said it a thousand times before. Though she made to respond, nothing came out as he backed away then faded into the crowd. Raknar, meantime, stepped in front of her, his pale blue eyes alive with something she couldn’t quite pinpoint.

  When he took her hand, she drifted into his arms. There was something unusual about these brothers. Beneath their steely, lusty Viking mentalities simmered something not exactly sinister but dark and mystical.

  Dragon blood.

  The words seemed to whisper through her mind like Naðr’s name had on the coastal winds of Maine. Raknar said nothing at first, simply held her a bit closer than Kol had as he studied her. But like it had been in Kol’s arms, nothing stirred. Certainly not the blasphemous fire and desire Naðr harnessed when near.

  Or across the room.

  Or across time for that matter.

  “He will not let you go.”

  Raknar’s words pulled her out of a daze made of Viking king and unquenched need. When her eyes met his, she was startled to see a flicker of contentment there. It was obvious he cared a great deal for his brother.

  “I don’t belong here,” she whispered. “Any more than he belongs with someone from my time.”

  “Time does not matter when a connection is forged,” Raknar enlightened. “He looks at you as he once did Aesa.”

  Megan worked hard to keep her face free of expression. “Who is Aesa?”

  “She was his wife. Meyla’s mother.”

  Was? Megan ignored a sharp sense of relief. “Where is Aesa now?”

  “Drinking and battling alongside Freyja in Fólkvangr,” he said with pride. “A great shield maiden, none were her equal.”

  So she had passed away. In Norse mythology, the Valkyrie led only the best warriors to Odin’s, Valhalla. A great hall in Asgard, half of the fallen warriors then went on to Freyja’s, Fólkvangr. Megan knew better than to say sorry for their loss. After all, it was a great honor to go to Valhalla and was why Vikings supposedly had absolutely no fear in battle.

  Yet she couldn’t help but notice the sadness in Raknar’s eyes and recognized it for what it was. After all, she’d seen the same thing in her own eyes when looking in the mirror after her marriage fell apart. She couldn’t help but whisper, “You loved her.”

  Renewed pain flashed in his eyes but vanished within moments. “We all loved her.”

  But she’d seen enough to know Aesa had clearly made a strong impact on Raknar.

  His assessing eyes continued to roam her face. This brother had a mind that wasn’t good at resting. Much like Veronica’s. When her sister popped into her mind, Megan frowned. What was happening back home? She could only imagine how much her sisters must be worrying about her.

  As if he followed her every thought, Raknar said, “Tell me of your home. Do all the women act as you do?”

  How exactly did she act? Megan shook her head and chuckled. “No, like the people here, everyone has their own personality, Raknar.”

  “But some have more fire within their souls than others,” he murmured. “Do they not?”

  “I suppose.” Yet she felt as though he baited her, that he was seeking specific knowledge. “Precisely what are you curious about?”

  “Your bloodline.” His eyes pinned hers. “The women who are closest to you.”

  Megan wasn’t quite sure she liked where this was going. “Why?”

  “F-father, a m-moment?”

  Alarmed, she pulled away from Raknar and looked down at the boy, Heidrek. “Is Guardian all right?”

  Heidrek nodded, eyes wide. “Y-yes, she is v-very good.”

  Relieved, she watched as Raknar lifted the boy and rested him on his hip, adoration in his eyes. “What it is son?”

  Heidrek was Raknar’s son? Obviously. And, as any child should be, well loved by the looks of it. Megan couldn’t help but be a little awed by the soft expression on the Viking’s face. Heidrek wasn’t a small boy, but he looked fairly tiny in his father’s arms.

  Heidrek’s face grew solemn. “The raven c-comes.”

  A chill raced through Megan. Obviously it wasn’t her raven.

  Raknar nodded, kissed his boy on the cheek and set him down. “Let us go get the king then.”

  Bereft, she watched Raknar and Heidrek vanish into the crowd. Thankfully, it wasn’t long before Valan joined her. He shook his head and handed her a fresh mug of ale. “Looks like it has already been a verra long eve for us both.”

  Now that was a vast understatement. Relieved to be in the company of someone she was a smidge more comfortable with, she eyed his tartan. “I�
�m surprised you still dress like a Scotsman.”

  Valan scowled. “How else would I dress?”

  Megan took a swig of ale and shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe more like a Viking.” She cocked her head at him. “Aren’t you trying to win over a Viking father so that you can marry his Viking daughter?”

  “I’m not trying to win over anyone.” He steered her through the riotous crowd. “I love Meyla. That should be enough.”

  Megan snorted. “And there’s one mistake among many that you’re making.”

  Valan eyed her, his gaze a fraction less moody. “Any Scottish Da would wish for a lad to love his lassie. ‘Twould be his deciding factor when giving his blessing.”

  “Yeah, but you’re not in Scotland any more than I’m in America.” She gave him a pointed look. “So we both need to stop thinking like we’re at home, eh?”

  “‘Tis no easy thing setting aside one culture for another,” he grumbled.

  “No, it isn’t,” she agreed as she watched the rowdy Vikings around them. “But I have no doubt it’d be in our best interest to do so.”

  Valan offered a noncommittal shrug and drank from his horn.

  “I’m curious,” she said, sidestepping a couple swinging in a clumsy circle. “How did you meet Meyla?”

  “She traveled to my time in Scotland,” he began but was cut off by a towering man with a shaved head and two thin braids trailing down from his goatee. The massive Viking literally stepped between them, his lustful but distrusting eyes trailing down her body. She couldn’t say he was unattractive. No, with deep-set eyes and a chiseled face, he was striking in an overly intense sort of way.

  When Valan stepped around him and started to say something, Megan shook her head, never taking her eyes off the giant in front of her. Hands on hips, she glared up. “You have a problem?”

  The Viking chuckled as he stroked one of his braids, lewd eyes on her breasts. “No problem that I can see, woman.”

  When he went to touch what he was looking at, Megan slapped his hand away and didn’t back down an inch. “Don’t even try it.”

  “Oh, he tried it all right,” Valan said but she again shook her head at the Scotsman without removing her eyes from the Viking. If there was one thing she’d gleaned about this society it was that fear wasn’t respected and actions spoke louder than words.