Alrek

by Samantha Holt

  Not that he would do such a thing. He had already trespassed on her time and insulted her. The last thing he needed was to upset her further by suggesting a tumble and he still didn’t know if she was an innocent or not. The man’s clothing and her circumstances hinted at a man in her past and her reaction to his kiss had not been one of a virgin.

  By the gods, he was getting hard again. He gathered the clothing and slipped on the shirt. “Forgive me,” he murmured as she clenched and unclenched her fists. “You must know I am most grateful for your help and I know I am impeding on your hospitality. I swear as soon as I can, I shall be gone and no longer be a burden to you.”

  Her answering breath was low and slow, like a lover’s after a climax. Alrek itched to know if that’s how Ilisa responded after she had been brought to the peak of pleasure. Or maybe she cried out, like the siren she was.

  “You are no burden, Alrek.”

  “But I have put you in danger?”

  “The villagers do not like Vikings. I do not know how they’ll react if they discover you here. I shall probably be accused of harbouring the enemy.”

  He nodded. Of course the locals wouldn’t appreciate his presence. The Norse had an ill reputation with the Picts and for good reason. In his earlier days he had taken part in enough raids to understand why, but that was behind him now. It was important to him Ilisa knew that.

  “You understand I mean you no harm?” She chewed her lip, leaving it glossy and plump. Ripe. Delicious. He shook away the images that assailed him—of where he’d like those lips. “And that I intend to protect you from any danger while I am here?”

  Ilisa relaxed her hands and offered a reluctant smile. “Aye, I believe you, Alrek the Bold. But just because I do, doesn’t mean anyone else will. Dress as a Pict and stay out of sight should anyone visit.”

  “I am lucky indeed that you found me, Ilisa,” he said softly.

  Her eyes crinkled with amusement. “Aye, that you are. Now, I have no fire thanks to you but I have some bread and honey that will do nicely for our supper.”

  She turned before he could respond, so he instead took the moment to admire her. Alrek meant what he had said. He had been lucky. Any other man—or woman for that matter—would have left him for dead. Nothing more than a watery grave for Alrek the Bold—like his fellow shipmates. A pang of grief struck his heart but he refused to contemplate it. In battle and life there was little time for grief. For now, he had to consider what the future held for him. Somehow he needed to get off this island and continue his journey to Iceland. And leave Ilisa behind…

  He studied the curve of her rear as it pressed against the gown while she busied herself smearing honey onto chunks of bread. Ilisa clearly worked hard and from what he had seen, he liked her temperament. Alrek admired that fiery spark of independence, and enjoyed the softer side that had saved his life. He’d be hard pressed to find a better woman with beauty that equalled hers. He let his lips twist while he pondered the possibility of persuading her to accompany him to Iceland.

  A marriage to a Norseman? By the gods, he must have hit his head harder than he thought. A woman like Ilisa—one with a fighter’s soul hidden beneath that woman’s touch—would never consider betraying her heritage by marrying a Viking. And he barely knew her. That hadn’t mattered much to him anyway. He was fully intending to find a useful, attractive woman and take her out with him whether he knew her well or not. He needed heirs and help building his farm. Many Pictish women would jump at the chance of seeking out new lands and he’d always had a fondness for them.

  But never had he been so entranced. He’d been staring as she busied herself. He must have traced that soft profile, from the red lashes to the point of her chin and that graceful neck hundreds of times in that instant. To see her, it seemed, was necessary to him. As necessary as his heart beating in his chest. Then words flowed from her mouth and he wasn’t sure he even needed his heart to keep beating. Perhaps Ilisa could sustain him. Her soft voice streamed through his veins as she sang, entrancing and energizing him. The cuts and bruises on his back still throbbed, his head panged, but a few moments of listening to her and he felt ready to run into battle. Something he had not had the will to do in a long while.

  However, for Ilisa… for Ilisa, he would die.

  He scrubbed a hand across his bristled chin and stared at her. Alrek smirked. For this woman he barely knew, he would do what he had vowed never to do again. Fight, spill blood, take a life. What power did Ilisa have over him?

  She faced him and handed him a platter with bread on. She cleared her throat and dropped her shoulders. “Forgive me. I do not even know when I’m singing. It’s a habit… If it irks you, just say.” She seated herself on the chair opposite and picked at the bread.

  “Nay, you do not irk me. I enjoy hearing you sing.” He lifted the bread to his mouth and paused. “I would happily listen to you sing every day for the rest of my life.”

  Before he could spill another confession, he jammed the bread into his mouth. What had got into him?

  Alisa dropped her lashes and a tiny smile curved across her face. “I thank you. I love to sing but my brother and husband always scolded me. I annoyed them I think.”

  So she had been married. Jealousy curved into his gut and cinched it tight. Who was this man who had such a treasure yet scolded her for her talent? “You should not be ashamed of such a skill. Where I come from, a beautiful voice like yours would be treasured. You would be asked to sing at every feast.”

  She laughed through a mouthful of bread and swallowed it. “I do not think I could do such a thing but I am curious, what else is so different where you come from?”

  “We are not so dissimilar to you, Ilisa.”

  She lifted an eyebrow. “That I cannot believe. Picts do not raid others’ land.”

  “Yet you fight amongst yourselves.”

  Her tongue darted out to sweep across her lower lip. The simple movement caused molten heat to boil through him to his core.

  “We do, that is true.”

  “For little more than land and riches,” he pointed out. He did not enjoy being tarred as a demon.

  “Aye, but ‘tis the manner of which you Vikings go about it. Men will always be driven by greed, I do not doubt that, but you Vikings are ruthless. You would cut down a woman to take a trinket.”

  “You believe I would do such a thing?”

  “I… I do not know,” she replied quietly.

  “I think you do, Ilisa. I have fought much in my past, I’ll admit that much. I have spilled more blood than I’d like to admit to, but I am not so greedy that it blinds me to what is right, whatever you might think. Just because one Norseman would behave so does not mean another would. Would you have me judge you on the behaviour of the rest of your countrymen? You Picts have killed many a Scot have you not?”

  She blinked, opened her mouth and shut it again. “I… we are at peace now.”

  He reached over and took her hand in his. Her fingers curled automatically around his and his palm tingled. How perfect her small hand fit in his. “I do not mean to scold either but I would not have you thinking me a savage.”

  Head tilted back, she viewed him and slipped her hand from his. Coldness washed over him but the curve of her lips quashed the fear he’d offended her yet again.

  “I do not think you a savage.”

  “What do you think of me?” he asked, unable to resist.

  Her grin widened, revealing even teeth. “I am not sure yet, Alrek the Bold, but I shall let you know.”

  She took his empty platter from him and he returned her grin. He had no doubt Ilisa would always speak her mind to him. But how would she take to him if he told her what he thought of her? What would she say if he told her he’d never met a more beautiful woman, or that he longed to take her away from her drab dwelling and give her land and children?

  ***

  One eye on the Viking warrior, Ilisa cleared away the bread and platters. The night had
grown chilly and her teeth began to chatter. She unhooked her mantle from behind the door and threw it over her shoulders. However, in spite of how cold she was, the heat in the pit of her stomach refused to abate. With only two candles lit, the Viking’s eyes seemed darker, more intense. He watched her movements as if fascinated by her. If she didn’t know better, she’d think he’d never seen a Pictish woman before. Or perhaps a woman at all. But a man as patently virile as Alrek had likely known many women in his time. At what she concluded to be close to thirty summers old, he was likely an experienced man.

  She still had yet to decide what to do with him. He seemed to have assumed she would shelter him for as long as necessary. But with one bed and little food, she hardly had the resources to take care of him for who knew how long. What else could she do though? Send him out into the wild where a Pict would likely find him and cut him down?

  Nay, she could do no such thing. Her husband and brother would scold her further for such behaviour. Was she dishonouring their memory by harbouring the enemy? But her ethics would allow no other action.

  “You are cold.”

  She suppressed a smile. Alrek had an oddly blunt manner of speaking and she relished it. “A little.” She stacked the platters and swiped her hands over her skirts.

  “Join me in the bed.”

  Her breath stuck in her throat. Did he mean—?

  “To sleep—nothing more. There is no sense in us both being cold.”

  Resigned, she dropped her shoulders and edged over to the bed. He was right. And while he was under her care, she wouldn’t allow him to catch a chill. After being in the water for what could have been a day or more, he would still be susceptible to illness and she did not want to be caring for an ailing Viking.

  He tossed back the blanket in invitation. Her head swam and she had to remind herself to breathe. She had not shared a bed with a man since Donnie’s death. And never had she shared one with a man so… impressive. Donnie was a pleasant enough man—if a little quick tempered. They had known each other since childhood and their match was, at the time, a natural one. But never had he stirred her blood by simply looking at her. Never had he started a torrent of desire without so much as a word. Her skin pricked, her senses ripened.

  Unsteadily, she eased herself next to him and lay on her back. She kept her hands pinned to her sides and stared at the roof. Alrek rested on his side and she felt his gaze on her. The knowledge of him so close made her heart beat like the wings of a butterfly. When he pulled the blanket over them both, covering their clothed bodies, she feared her heart would fly out of her chest.

  Ilisa persuaded her stiff limbs to move and rolled to blow out the candles on the table. Her rear brushed the top of Alrek’s thighs and she heard a sharp inhale as darkness swallowed them. Was he truly as affected by her as she was by him? Feminine pride swelled in her chest but she tamped it down. It did not matter either way. She would never give herself to a Viking.

  “Look at me, Ilisa.” His voice rumbled over her, like a hot spring bringing promise of soothing away the aches in her body and her heart.

  “I cannot. ‘Tis dark.”

  His laugh made the bed quake lightly. “You are a stubborn woman, Ilisa. But you know what I mean.”

  With a sigh, she rolled to face him. His breath caressed her face, bringing with it the scent of honey and ale.

  “I shall do all I can to thank you for saving my life,” he promised. She imagined his sensuous lips pulled into a solemn smile. “And you need not fear me.”

  “I do not fear you,” she said into the night but the lie burned on her tongue. She didn’t fear him. But she feared the lust rising between them, as unmoveable as the mountains. Could she conquer such need?

  “Then let me warm you.”

  One arm wrapped cautiously around her waist. Ilisa went rigid but he moved no more. His large palm rested upon the base of her spine and gradually her skin warmed. How long they remained like that, she didn’t know. For many moments, she listened to his steady breaths until they deepened. She envied the ease in which he fell asleep but he had been through much, so it shouldn’t have surprised her.

  Eventually she allowed herself to soften, and then ease into his chest. She put a hand to the linen and became aware of the fierce beat of his heart. The heart of a warrior, a Viking, the enemy. But as it echoed her own painfully throbbing heart she understood that desire did not care about differences. While her head might fight her attraction to Alrek, her heart would not. And if she was not careful, her soul would follow and her ancestors would curse her for falling for a Viking.

  As his breath stirred her hair and an ache gathered between her thighs, she lifted her gaze to the roof and prayed to her old goddess for strength. Strength to resist such a man but above all strength to say goodbye to him when the time came.

  Chapter Four

  Ilisa blinked at the light streaming through the cracks in the uneven door. She yawned and blinked again. Was it past dawn? She jolted upright and scowled. It was! She never slept past dawn. There was always much to be done. She still needed firewood and the animals needed... Her gaze snapped to the empty bed beside her.

  He was gone.

  She skimmed a finger over the indent in the pillow. It didn’t even feel warm. He must have been gone for some time. But why? Alrek had never said anything about leaving. In fact, they’d never discussed his plans but where would he go? She’d assumed he’d stay until he could catch a boat back to his lands. Someone would likely come looking for him eventually, surely?

  An ache splintered in her chest. He hadn’t even said farewell. And she had slept through it all. Ilisa rubbed her tingling nose and sniffed. Ungrateful Viking. But what else did she expect? Climbing out of bed, she ran her fingers through her hair and paused. Normally she woke up with such purpose but all her plans for the day were buried under a fog of annoyance and frustration. How dare he leave without saying farewell or even a thank you?

  “Wretched Viking,” she muttered as she pulled on her gown with jerky movements.

  She laced up the bodice until it pinched tight across her breasts, ignoring her chemise. It had dried but still needed washing and she needed to fetch water from the river to bathe and clean the grubby garment. Ilisa ran a comb through her hair and winced when it pulled. She should have tied it back last night but she’d been a little distracted.

  “Wretched, wretched Viking.”

  A thudding sound from outside made her pause halfway through tying her hair. She dropped the linen strip and let her hair go loose. Was it Galan? Or one of the village boys? Or… or an attacker? Curses, it would be just her luck.

  She tiptoed to the door and put her eye to the gap. Her breath jammed in her throat. Alrek. A smile burst across her face and she almost ripped open the door to run out to him but when he straightened, his solemn expression stilled her. He stroked a hand across the plank of wood he held. A strip from his ship. Was he mourning his friends or being stuck here with her? He’d shown little emotion when it came to the ship wreck yesterday but what more did she expect from a warrior?

  Smoothing both hands down her gown, she patted her hair and opened the door. The instant he spotted her, the sorrow vanished and a grin replaced it. Her insides swooped and whirled. A fresh breeze blew across the hills, stronger than yesterday. Further up the headland, grey clouds loomed over head. A storm was brewing, but it was nothing compared to the storm inside her. Lightning fired off in her mind, thunder rolled in her belly.

  Alrek wore no shirt—just his own trews from the previous day. They were soaked, as was his chest. A pile of wood sat at his feet. The wind stirred his long fair hair and what little sun managed to escape the clouds glinted on his chest. Exotic and dangerous were the words that tumbled through her mind when she eyed him. With the small braids in his hair and the swirling knot patterns on his chest and arms, he made her mouth dry.

  Their gazes locked, the world stilled. Even the crash of waves seemed dulled. Only the thud
of her heart against her ribs could be heard.

  “I… brought you some wood.”

  His words split the air. Ilisa mentally shook herself and dragged hergaze to the pile of wood. Warmth filled her chest. “Thank you,” she said softly.

  “I did not want you to be cold again and I know I stopped you from collecting wood yesterday.” He dropped his gaze and scuffed a foot over the patchy grass.

  “I appreciate it, thank you, Alrek.” She gulped and puffed out a breath, determined to gain back some composure. Her eyes felt hot at his small gesture. “Some of this was from your ship?”

  “Aye, it appears so.” His voice betrayed no sorrow but he lost some of the power to his stance, his shoulders rounded slightly.

  “I am sorry.” Ilisa hesitated, tempted to step forward and take him into an embrace, but she wasn’t sure he’d appreciate it. “You must change now. You still look like a Viking and you are wet.”

  Alrek scowled and peered at his trews, as if surprised by her observation. “I think I shall still look like a Viking in Pictish clothes.”

  He did. He also looked beautiful and enchanting but she couldn’t admit to that. How exciting he seemed compared to the Pictish men. “Aye, well there is little we can do about that but should anyone see you from a distance they will not consider approaching.” She hoped. Harbouring a Viking threatened to put her and her farm in jeopardy.

  Alrek tilted his head back and viewed her down his nose. “You fear what might happen,” he stated.

  “You are a Viking, Alrek. The enemy.”

  “You will be in no danger with me at your side, Ilisa.”

  In spite of herself, she allowed her gaze to sketch a path over the breadth of his shoulders and down his arms. She didn’t doubt it. But if any of her countrymen discovered him, they would have more than a few angry Picts to deal with and what about when he was gone?