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

by Sky Purington

  Until she walked in.

  Now it was time to have some fun.

  Naðr didn’t blame Nathan for going silent. Megan was dressed in something made of heat and passion and dark, mouth-watering nights. Typically women only wore leggings if they were going raiding, but it seemed she was readying herself for another sort of battle altogether. He tore his gaze from her for a split second. Long enough for Raknar to wink at him. Lip curling up, Naðr inclined his head then redirected his attention back to Megan and patted his lap.

  But it seemed his little twenty-first century woman wouldn’t come to him so easily this time. Instead, she tore her arm from the girl leading her and frowned. Maybe it was the alluring outfit she wore or a new sense of familiarly, but Megan strode right up to the head table, slammed her hands down, leaned forward and glared at him.

  “In no world will I sit on your lap,” she sneered, narrowed eyes flickering between Nathan and him. “Not with him there.”

  Naðr met her angry glare for a long moment, relishing the dare in her eyes. Because there was a dare. He leaned forward and grinned. “No?”

  Her eyes widened then narrowed. “No.”

  “I think you will.”

  But it seemed she decided to punish him for thinking to force her onto his lap again because she proceeded to do the very last thing he expected. She didn’t just saunter but swung her hips as she walked around the long table. The hall quieted as everyone watched her. He imagined all of those in the great halls of Valhalla did as well.

  Naðr could have supposed a great many things but never that she’d snuggle her perfect ass down on her former husband’s lap. Nathan’s eyes widened as she propped her chin in her hand on the table and narrowed eyes on Naðr, words soft. “No. I. Won’t.”

  He’d never been so aroused in his life. Feisty wench.

  “Sea Siren all right,” Kol muttered from beside him.

  While he knew she expected him to drag her over, Naðr was much more interested in letting her bask in her own ill-chosen tactic. With a relenting sigh, he took a long swig from his horn then raised his voice to the crowd waiting with baited breath. “Who am I not to share with such an esteemed guest?”

  All roared with approval though many cried, “As long as you have ‘er in the end.”

  Megan, however, seemed less than impressed when Nathan shrugged and pulled her back against him. Still, she kept an even expression no matter how hard she glared at Naðr.

  Yet he found himself caught in his own trap as Nathan eased his eager hand onto Megan’s thigh. Downing the last of his ale, Naðr received another and returned his attention to the futuristic man. “Tell me again why you wanted Megan to help lead your Viking treasure expedition.”

  Megan’s narrowed eyes stayed on Naðr though her words were directed at Nathan. “Yeah, I’d like to know as well seeing how it was a whole lot more than what you said.”

  “It wasn’t rea—”

  Nathan’s words stopped short when Megan’s hand slammed down on his as it inched up her thigh. With a disgusted look on her face, she said, “Obviously it was something. What?”

  Brave, presumptuous soul that he was, Nathan offered a small smile and loose shrug as his hand continued to inch up. “What? There was,” he glanced around the hall before meeting her eyes again, “this.”

  Megan started to talk, incredulous, before she stopped and slowly shook her head, eyes widening. “You knew that we could travel through time. Somehow you knew.”

  Nathan huffed, condescending eyes on Megan as though she was of ill-mind. “Not my fault you were too slow to catch on.”

  Naðr had done a lot of Loki-ridden shitty things in life, but he realized he’d never stooped so low as he had at this moment. A moment when he let a good woman sit on a bad man’s lap. He knew on the docks that Nathan was hel’s scum yet here he was allowing this display to corner Megan…to make her truly see her former husband for what he was.

  Fire blazed through his vision so quickly that the next thing he knew his brothers were holding him back as his blade trembled against Nathan’s neck. Naðr had no idea how they’d gotten on the floor. No idea when he’d managed to lock a death grip on the fool’s neck. It was a rare day that berserker fury seized him so thoroughly.

  In fact, his warriors had never seen it outside of battling.

  As the dragon’s blood haze slowly abated, Naðr clenched his teeth and pressed the blade tighter. Only one thing stopped him. His brothers.

  “Don’t,” Megan murmured as she crouched alongside.

  Then he realized. She’d been saying ‘don’t’ over and over again for several moments. Eager for blood but more eager to heed her every desire, his eyes met hers, his word hoarse and the first of its kind. “Please.”

  Naðr didn’t care if it made him look weak. He’d give her this. A strength within his people. Because somehow he knew she deserved it.

  And damned if she didn’t take it.

  Megan drew back and looked down her nose at Nathan. A long moment passed before she shook her head. “No, don’t hurt him. Let him stay. I want answers.”

  High on Megan’s well-seized power, Naðr cocked his head and grinned as he dug the blade in a bit deeper, a fraction from the man’s death vein and leaned in close. “Count yourself lucky you’ve one of Freyja’s warriors sparing you.” He brought his lips close to the trembling man’s ear, words heavy with promise. “Because I would not.”

  When she made to step away, Naðr came easily to his feet and grabbed her wrist. “Sit.” Kol moved down one seat. “Beside me.”

  Appreciation that he wasn’t asking her to sit on his lap flickered in her eyes and she nodded. Raknar shoved Nathan back into the chair Naðr had torn him from. This put the king between Megan and her former husband. The man’s uncomfortable eyes flashed between Naðr and Raknar who plunked down a little too closely on his other side.

  Naðr pushed away the drink he’d given Nathan earlier, crossed his arms over his chest and sat back. Blade still in hand, he forced his body to relax as his eyes narrowed on the foreign man. “Tell us how you knew about this place.” He clenched the hilt of his blade with promise. “This time without insulting Megan.”

  Nathan’s eyes skimmed over the blade and Megan before he focused on Naðr. Considering he’d come so close to death, his words were fairly level. “Before I enlisted Megan’s help, I’d already brought up Viking treasure from the waters in front of her house.”

  Megan frowned. “I knew it. What’d you bring up?”

  “A cylinder similar to the one that was taken from me when I arrived here.” Nathan had the nerve to scowl. “It contained a map within a map. Better yet, a map within a graphic design of the Nine Worlds. Etched within Midgard, Middle Earth, our planet, was a smaller map, one that clearly had a starting point coordinating from where we dove to this location.”

  “Strange,” Megan murmured. “So obviously, despite how impossible the concept, you thought it somehow led from our century to this one. Why?”

  When Nathan hesitated to answer, Raknar draped his arm on the back of the man’s seat and pulled his dagger free.

  Nathan got the point and continued. “Another sheet of paper was with the map. Written in Old Norse, I had it translated. It told of three stones with runic symbols. How they supposedly allowed certain people to travel through time. Something to do with Viking seers and of all things, Scottish magic.”

  Naðr narrowed his eyes and growled, “Keep talking.”

  “The goddess Freyja’s name was mentioned, as well as the Celtic god, Fionn Mac Cumhail.” Nathan shook his head. “Odd mix of information to say the least.”

  Was it ever. But it fed into everything he and his brothers had agreed to. Save Scottish magic being involved. That was never part of any agreement.

  Adlin MacLomain was up to something.

  Or had been.

  “Why don’t you get around to the part that led you to seek me out,” Megan said. “Because as I suspecte
d to begin with, it had nothing to do with showing me any sort of kindness.”

  “That’s not entirely true.” A smug smile curled Nathan’s lips. “Are you not sitting in the midst of a society you’ve dreamt of nearly all your life?”

  Kol stood, stretched then braced his hands on the back of Nathan’s chair when Raknar removed his arm. Leaning forward, he murmured close to the swine’s ear. “You want to be very careful with your tone, stranger.”

  Now Nathan was surrounded by Naðr and his brothers.

  Not a place any man disliked so much by Megan wanted to be.

  “Again, what made you seek out my woman,” Naðr said.

  Nathan’s eyes went from Megan to Naðr and though he clearly wanted to comment on the king’s claim, his brooding eyes focused on the table. “According to the scroll, the key to traveling through time was located in a box, one that held three stones. Through this stone my era and this era could harness the power of Bifrost, the Rainbow Bridge and allow for time travel.”

  “Hence the Nine Worlds being depicted around the original map.” Megan’s chin jut forward as her eyes stayed locked on Nathan. “Again, why me?”

  “Your name was mentioned in the scroll,” Nathan replied, his eyes on her not Naðr. “And the king’s.”

  Naðr wondered just how much Megan would tell Nathan about what she’d found on her shore. As he suspected, little. “Odd as all this sounds it still doesn’t explain why you would need me. I don’t know anything about a box or stones.”

  Nathan suddenly seemed overly aware of the men surrounding him and Naðr tensed. He’d been around far too many people who kept secrets they were afraid to share. And while tempted to simply let his inner dragon rip the information from the coward’s mind, he’d not take this moment from Megan. So he shot his brothers a look and shook his head a fraction. They were not to attack.

  Megan was no fool though. She sensed Nathan was about to say something that would anger her. “Tell me.”

  For all the healthy fear a man should have in his current position, Nathan was quick to smooth his features and look her dead in the eye. “You’re lying about the box and stones. You’ve got them. I had your house tapped.”

  Megan simply ground her jaw and stared at him for a long moment. Unable to help himself, Naðr rested her hand on his thigh and covered it with his own. The next move was hers. If she gave him permission to kill her former husband, it would be done before she finished speaking.

  “All so well planned,” she finally murmured and took a healthy swallow from her mug as she admirably repressed all emotion and contemplated Nathan. “You needed at least one stone to help you travel through time. You’ve always been a deceptive bastard who didn’t play by the rules. Why not just hire thugs to steal it from me. Why bank on me bringing it when we dove.”

  “The scroll spoke of a connection across time between you and Naðr Véurr.” Nathan couldn’t quite seem to keep a sneer out of his voice. “And based on how you spoke of him to Sean and seemed unable to part with the stone, it seemed like a sure bet that you’d bring it with you diving.”

  Raknar wrapped his hand around the back of Nathan’s neck and squeezed, eyes narrowed. “I’m pretty sure Kol mentioned something about your tone.”

  Meanwhile, Naðr slowly flipped the dagger over and over as he watched Nathan. Yet beneath the simmering need to run the blade across the man’s throat, he felt an unexpected sense of triumph. So that look of desire he’d seen on Megan’s face when they first met had been cultivating for some time.

  “What else did the scroll say,” Megan said, voice stern, eyes unrelenting. “And why did the ship and wreckage look as though it’d only been beneath the sea for mere days.”

  “Neither the ship or wreckage were there when I retrieved the scroll and map.” Nathan’s eyes stayed on her. “They appeared for you. As to the scroll, it said little else.”

  “Every little bit matters,” Kol rumbled, his fists tight on the chair.

  Though he hesitated, Nathan at last continued, voice low. “Dragons were mentioned. Beasts that struggled against bargains struck.”

  “Beasts.” Raknar chuckled, eyes dangerous. “Says a man with a corrupt soul and no respect for women. I think you know nothing of what makes a beast.”

  Naðr kept a grin hidden when Megan stood then slid onto his lap. Propping her hand within inches of his interested groin, she trailed a finger up Naðr’s chest though she eyed Nathan. “I don’t think dragons exist, do you?”

  Nathan shook his head and started to speak, but she cut him off. “But then I didn’t think time travel existed either so what do I know.”

  Some might think she was goading her former husband not only with actions but words. But Naðr knew better. Megan was exercising freedom and likely revenge on Nathan. And while some men might find it offensive to be used in such a way, Naðr wasn’t one of them. He understood the aftershocks of heartache. He also knew she wasn’t in love with this man anymore. Which was too bad for Nathan. He’d only met Megan a few days ago but already knew she was irreplaceable. Strong, beautiful, courageous, any man would be privileged to call her theirs.

  When Nathan leaned forward to grab the mug Naðr had moved away, Raknar put a hand on the table and shook his head. “You are no longer a guest but a prisoner.”

  Kol stepped away as several warriors came forward. One yanked Nathan’s chair back and the other pulled him to his feet before they led him away.

  Naðr nodded at the chair Megan had abandoned then at her. “Return to it if you like.”

  It was a chair that gave her great honor. Not only that, it gave her freedom from his lap.

  She eyed the chair then Meyla in the one next to it, angling her backside over his arousal as she contemplated, voice raised a fraction. “It’s a good seat. Is it truly mine?”

  It was important that she knew it was, but he suspected she had a reason for asking. Still, he’d not take from her a sense of belonging. “Yes. It is. As long as you would like it.”

  Megan nodded, a lovely, far too innocent smile on her face when her eyes met his. “Then I’d like Valan Hamilton to take it for tonight.”

  Raknar snorted.

  Kol chuckled.

  A sunbeam of pure joy covered Meyla’s face.

  “Of course you would,” Naðr muttered but appreciated the way she’d outmaneuvered him. His people had heard him give her the chair, one that openly declared her as his. That meant she could do with it what she wished. Cornered, he nodded his consent.

  And damn if the Scotsman wasted any time plunking down next to them.

  When Megan made to stand, Naðr wrapped his arm securely around her waist, offered her a devious grin and shook his head. “The only place for you besides that chair is right here.”

  Her eyes didn’t shy from his in the least as the corners of her lips twitched, fighting a grin. “And here I thought you were working at being a gentleman.”

  “Gentleman?” Kol asked as he sat next to Raknar.

  “It means civilized and polite,” Megan offered.

  Raknar snorted again and shook his head. “Civilized, barely. Polite? Never.”

  But the way he said it encompassed him and his brothers with pride.

  “I don’t know.” Megan stopped Naðr’s hand before it wandered to her breast. “I’ve seen you all be polite one way or another since arriving.” She paused. “Sort of.”

  Naðr pulled Megan so that her back rested against his chest and her thighs neatly straddled one leg. This not only gave him the benefit of feeling her backside against his arousal but allowed him to keep a close eye on Valan. So far the Scotsman was being respectable enough and both hands were where he could see them.

  Though the crowd was less boisterous than the past few nights, many danced and ate, enjoying what time they had with loved ones before more ships went out. There was constant traffic in and out of his ports and more lives lost than usual lately.

  He knew King Rennir was behind t
he added violence. Though his patience was wearing thin, Naðr had yet to act on it. So his men grew restless. They wanted revenge. Not only that, they wanted to raid new territory. The Kingdom of Northumbria for the most part was fine, but its uppermost point, Lothian, was off limits. That area was too connected to Adlin MacLomain and he wouldn’t have it.

  “He didn’t tell us everything he knew,” Raknar said softly.

  Torn from thought, Naðr received a horn of ale and drank deeply. No, Nathan had not told them everything but he would. In time. “He’s somehow connected with Rennir.”

  Not only his brother’s but his daughter’s troubled gaze landed on him.

  “Who’s Rennir?” Megan asked.

  “A rival king.” Kol frowned as he looked at Naðr. “What makes you think such?”

  “My gut.” But it was more than that. It was in the questions not asked and answers not given. “We’ll question him more effectively on the morrow.”

  “What of the Scottish magic that was written of in the scroll.” Valan’s eyes met Naðr’s. “Did it have to do with Adlin MacLomain?”

  That the man sat next to him was enough. He had no desire to converse with him. Instead, he decided to focus on more pleasant things so ran his hand along Megan’s slim shoulder and collarbone. And though she might have shivered at the touch, she still tilted her head and cocked a brow. “You gonna answer Valan’s question?”

  “No.”

  “Because you don’t know the answer or you’re just determined to make life hard for Meyla?”

  If anyone else said such, he’d be aggravated. Instead, he was amused. “I’m determined to make life better for Meyla.”

  “So is Adlin at work here then?” Valan said, jaw set, clearly trying to keep frustration from his voice.

  Naðr knew the Scotsman was a warlock. Little good it did him when faced with a dragon though. But that wasn’t what truly ate at him when it came to Valan. Though the man was ultimately here to keep Torra MacLomain safe, he’d done things before so dishonorable that it was hard to see genuine decency in him.

  If that wasn’t enough, Meyla had to go and fall in love with the traitor.