Alrek

by Samantha Holt

  “Alrek, pray just change,” she said on a sigh.

  He eyed her and she prepared herself for an argument but he dipped his head in acquiescence. “As you bid.”

  Ilisa didn’t watch him leave. Tension thread through her, coiling tight in her lower belly. The last thing she needed was to watch the ripple of his muscles as he sauntered back to her cottage with no clue as to the effect he had on her. And all the while her lips burned in remembrance. A siren, he’d called her. She had never considered herself a great beauty. Her bright hair made her stand out and feel at odds with the other villagers. Even her brother had been dark-haired.

  But she had to admit to being flattered by his words. The Viking certainly charmed her in a way no other man had.

  Observing the heavy clouds in the distance, Ilisa wrapped her arms around herself and shivered. Something hung in the air—a great change. Perhaps brought about by the Viking. Had fate intended to deposit him in her lap? In which case, what was she meant to do with him? She pressed her lips together and considered the things she’d like to do. Foolish thoughts of touching him again, of kissing him deeper and harder this time. But their cultures divided them, as did the sins of his people. Whatever this voyage had meant to Alrek, she didn’t doubt he would wish to complete it.

  The door thudded behind her and she swivelled. Alrek thrust out her mantle. Ilisa shook her head to herself. Even in Pictish clothes his effect on her didn’t diminish. How she had hoped having his chest covered would allow her to quash her heated thoughts. But the linen stretched across the width of his chest and followed every line of his muscles. Her husband had been smaller than Alrek so it shouldn’t have surprised her but to see that body covered, yet tantalisingly displayed made her heart flip. Ilisa itched to touch the golden skin at the neckline of his shirt and press small kisses to it. Her tongue practically burned at the idea of tasting his flesh.

  He thrust her mantle at her again. “You will get cold.”

  She started, shaking herself from her thoughts and snatched the cloak from him. “My thanks.” Glancing at the ominous clouds in the distance, Ilisa motioned toward the river that could be seen snaking through the hills. “I must fetch water before the weather turns. Then I shall prepare you some food.”

  “I shall help. Where are your buckets?”

  “Uh, there.” She pointed to the side of the cottage where a weaved wooden shelter housed the farm tools and buckets.

  “And you store the wood there?”

  “Aye.”

  “Alrek, you need not—”

  He gave her a pointed look, blue eyes blazing into hers. “I do not know what the men in your past were like—whether they were honourable or not—but I would not leave you to do all the work alone.”

  Ilisa’s face grew warm. Her brother and husband had been hardworking men but it had been so long since she’d spent time with a man. She’d forgotten how to share the burden of trying to survive. She worked every day for long hours until her bones were aching and cold. What other choice did she have? But it never occurred to her when she fished Alrek out of the sea that this Viking would aid her with her chores.

  Together they moved the wood under the shelter and fetched a bucket each. The river that snaked between the hills only took a few minutes to reach but Ilisa was grateful she’d only have to make a couple of trips instead of many with Alrek’s help. The animals needed their water and she still required a wash. Not to mention she hoped to prepare a warm meal this night. Though Alrek had shown no signs of illness since she rescued him, it seemed odd he had not succumbed to a fever of any sort. But then her people often thought of the Vikings as men of the sea. Perhaps he could better survive the cold temperature of the water.

  “That will be enough,” she said on their fourth trip.

  Alrek lifted his gaze to the clouds looming over them. They had yet to break, a blessing in Ilisa’s mind.

  “Thor is angry.”

  “Your god?”

  “Aye.”

  They stopped at the tub she kept at the side of the house. “We have seen many storms recently but I will not complain should we see rain. It will fill this” —she motioned to the wooden tub— “to the brim and then I shall not need to fetch water for several days.”

  Alrek shook his head. “You should not be grateful that Thor is angry. He is not a god to be trifled with.”

  “Aye, Alrek” —she glanced at him sideways— “but he would not be angry with me. I am not one of his people.”

  His lips lifted in amusement. “Well that I can believe. Who could stay angry with you, little Pict.”

  She shook her head at his words. Did he understand how close to extinction her people were? How the Vikings had broken them? Her culture was being eroded away by the Scots. Already the ancient language of her people had given way to Gaelic and few followed the old Pagan ways. The constant attacks from the Vikings and Scots had brought them to the brink. With enemies on all sides, how were they to survive?

  “Come, I must take some water to the sheep.”

  “I can do that,” Alrek offered.

  “Nay, we shall do it together.” It would not do to become too dependent on the man.

  They headed up to the flock in silence and filled the troughs as the sky darkened. Ilisa trembled and peered at the clouds, so grey she could almost believe a god commanded them. Shadows increased and the wind whirled. She lifted the hood of her mantle and snatched up the bucket as the first drops fell.

  Alrek took the bucket from her, stacked it on top of his and enclosed her hand in his. The rain began to fall with enthusiasm, fat heavy drops threatening to soak them to the skin. Underfoot the ground grew slick and though the warmth of Alrek’s palm disconcerted her, he stopped her from slipping several times.

  Muddy and wet, they dropped the buckets and stumbled into the cottage. She grimaced when she spied the drips of water seeping through the roof and puddling on the floor. With a sigh, she put a couple of bowls under the worst of them and turned to face Alrek. His shirt now practically see through, she saw every line of his muscle. He chuckled as he swiped away the water from his face.

  “Well, Alrek the bold, you really must have angered your god.” She shook her head and pulled a linen towel from the coffer at the end of the bed before throwing it to him. She grabbed one for herself and dragged off her cloak to blot the ends of her hair and her face. Her cloak had kept her relatively dry but Alrek had not been so lucky.

  “I have indeed.”

  His keen gaze watched her movements and the air grew thick. She lowered her gaze. Warmth spread into her cheeks and chest. He sighed and tugged off his shirt and Ilisa bit back a groan. More time with a half-naked Viking… perhaps God was punishing her? Though she could not fathom why.

  Alrek held out his shirt and glanced around uncertainly. “Where should I—?”

  “Here.” She took it from him and hung it over the back of the chair. “I don’t have any more men’s clothing, I fear. I did not keep much.”

  He lifted his shoulders. “It matters not. I shall have to get wet again to fetch the wood.”

  “Oh no, let me.” She put a hand to his arm and the warmth of his skin surprised her. She snatched her hand back and held it to her chest.

  “Stay,” he commanded. “I cannot get any wetter and you should stay dry.”

  Ilisa sank onto the bed and waited as he fetched the wood. Hands twisted into the fabric of her skirt, her feet twitched with the need to do something to distract herself from the ache bubbling inside. She remained silent as he set about arranging the wood and the kindling. Water dripped down his back in little trails—trails she longed to trace. His skin sheened and once he got the fire lit, the amber glow enhanced the colour of his skin. He made her feel so pale and uninteresting. Why did he kiss her? Surely the Viking women were far more exciting than her. Mayhap it had been the bump to his head. He had shown little interest in her since after all.

  Crouched by the fire, Alrek held out
his palms to the flames and glanced sideways at her. “Do you have many visitors here?”

  “Nay. A few boys from the village to help with the sheep but that is about all. Why?”

  “If news of Vikings around the coast reaches the village, will they come to tell you?”

  “Aye, I imagine so. At least Galan certainly will.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Galan? Who is he?”

  Ilisa tilted her head. Had she imagined the tightness in his voice and the tensing of his muscles? He had no idea who Galan was and even if he understood Galan had ambitions to make her his, why should that bother Alrek?

  “He is the son of the chief. We have known each other many years.”

  He turned his attention back to the fire and stared into it as he spoke tonelessly. “He is a friend and yet he lets you live like this?”

  “Lets me? Alrek, he has no say in the matter.”

  “You have much land and no man. Why does he not take you as his bride?”

  “Aye, Galan would like that very much,” she muttered, “but I will not give my land up so easily. My brother and husband were determined this land would not be lost to the clan leader. He has enough as it is.”

  And she would not be lost to a man like Galan who was vain and unpleasant. She suspected his interest in her had started with the land but had been provoked by her indifference. It likely grated on his ego that she did not fall at his feet.

  “You do not like this man?” he stated, still staring at the fire.

  “Nay, I do not.”

  “I do not like to think of you on your own.”

  Ilisa let her brow furrow. What an odd mood he was in. “Well I am not alone now,” she said cheerily in the hope of snapping him out of his melancholy.

  His head jerked up and a grin cracked across his face. “Nay, you are not.” His grin dropped as he shuddered.

  Ilisa came to her feet. “You are still cold. I will brew you some tea.” And now she had stopped obsessing over his muscles, she realised his skin was still damp. She stepped over and put a hand to his arm. Cool, clammy skin met her fingertips. Her stomach bunched. “Alrek, are you well?”

  “Aye, aye.” He waved a hand but another shudder wracked his great body.

  “I think you should take to bed while I make some tea.”

  “I am simply chilled from the rain.”

  “You nearly drowned and spent a goodly time in the ocean and were soaked to the skin today. If you value your life, you will go to bed.” She snatched his arm. She had no hope of pulling him up but he sighed in resignation and stood.

  “Very well. You are a demanding woman, are you not? Are all Picts so forceful?”

  “Nay.” She smiled sweetly. “Just me.”

  Chapter Five

  Alrek fought in vain to keep from shaking until his muscles ached while Ilisa gave him tea and tucked the blanket around him. Once his shirt was dry, she helped him put it on. It stuck to his skin but he couldn’t stay warm. Never had he felt so helpless in all his life. She stroked his head when he grew fevered and strange dreams came to him. The gods were angry with his misdeeds. They wanted him to make amends. Thor in all his might wracked Ilisa’s cottage with lightning and his head pounded with each crash but Ilisa sang, soothing him like the siren she was.

  When the dreams receded, he woke to the grey light of dawn streaking in around the door and the gaps in the roof, pooling in beams on the floor. Something soft brushed his arm.

  Ilisa.

  She must have fallen asleep nursing him. He paused to study her as she slept. She sat on the floor, her head resting on top of folded arms on the bed. Her glorious hair sprawled about her, some spilling onto his chest. Unable to resist, he fingered a fiery strand.

  She stirred but failed to awaken. The woman must have tired herself out looking after him. Guilt jabbed him. He’d interfered with her life too much already. Likely she’d had much to do yesterday and instead she’d spent the day playing nursemaid. He would have to think of a way to repay her. Fetching wood and water did not seem enough.

  The smoothness of her cheek enticed him, begged him to skim a finger over it. And then trace down, he decided, to her lips that parted in sleep. Would she awaken and nip the top of his finger? Maybe take it all the way into her mouth? Desire stirred and made him hard. Alrek shook his head and tried to ease to sitting without disturbing her but his body ached and he groaned.

  Why, by the gods, was he still alive? Were they metering out his punishment? Ilisa’s lashes fluttered and lifted. A pale blue gaze latched onto his, uncertain at first. He saw the clouds of sleep depart and she released a tiny ‘oh’ before lifting her head and fussing with her hair.

  “You are awake. And alive,” she exclaimed.

  He chuckled and grimaced. His body felt as though someone had tried to pull him apart during the night. Every muscle ached. “Aye, I am alive. Just about.”

  “Lie still. I shall make you some tea and food. You were fevered.” She put a cool hand to his head and he hissed but it wasn’t the coldness of her palm that incited such a reaction. Her slender fingers sent a shard of sensation through him, making the hairs on his arms stand on end. “You are still warm,” she murmured and drew her hand back sharply. Had she felt the same?

  Alrek observed her while she made the tea and sliced some bread. It seemed he could not stop watching her. Every movement, no matter how simple, captivated him. From the way she tucked a strand of tangled hair behind her ear to the gentle sway of her hips as she moved around the room. He longed to grasp those hips and pull her to him then press kisses behind her ear and tangle her hair further.

  Would she welcome it? She wasn’t an innocent after all. But if he did so, he’d be doing it for himself. To slake his aching need for her. And Ilisa deserved much more than that. All he could give her was a fragment of his time. His countrymen often sailed the shores of Cait and soon enough a ship would be spotted. He knew where they favoured landing and he would seek passage back to the isles. From there he would have to join another crew headed to Iceland.

  And there his new life would begin. Free from violence and sin. He would live his life as a farmer and hope to make amends to the gods that way. Clearly his fighting ways had displeased them. Had he not been a bold warrior? He failed to fathom it. He should have died in battle and revelled in the glory of such a death but instead the gods had let him live. And now they were testing him time and again.

  Maybe Ilisa was a test too. They had put her in his path to tempt him away from his fate. His journey to Iceland had been brought about by a dream they had bestowed upon him—one of new lands and a growing family. He was to bring forth more sons. That was how he would please the gods and he could not let his attraction to Ilisa interfere with that, nor could he satiate his lust with her.

  She handed him a beaker of tea. His fingers brushed hers, the tiniest touch, and her lashes lowered while colour blossomed on her cheeks. So great a need had to be shared, surely? He could not imagine she was not as affected as he.

  He sipped the steaming liquid and eyed her over the brim. By the gods, he longed to drag his gaze away. Nothing could come of such desire and yet she had him spellbound. All the reasonings in the world could not force him to stop watching her.

  “Has just one night passed?” He had been so delirious, he was unsure.

  “Aye. You were plagued with dreams for most of the day but settled shortly after dusk. Likely your time in the sea and in the rain brought on a bout of sickness but you are a strong man and you have fought if off. Likely any other man would have succumbed.”

  “I might have done had it not been for your care.”

  Ilisa dropped onto the chair beside the bed and took the beaker from his hands to replace it with a platter of bread. “’Tis hard I fear.”

  He coughed and jolted upright. “What?”

  “The bread. I will need to visit the village and barter for more soon.”

  “Oh, aye.” Alrek settled back against the s
traw pillow and nibbled the bread. His belly grumbled after a day of no food and he finished the bread quickly, much to Ilisa’s amusement. Her lips quirked and forced him to raise a brow. “What?”

  “I cannot believe you are hungry and well already.”

  “My body feels as though I have been trampled by horses.”

  “Well, that is to be expected.”

  “I would not know,” he grumbled. Ilisa taking care of him vexed. A man should take care of a woman not the other way around.

  Both eyebrows arched and she took the empty plate from him. “I do not believe you’ve never been sick.”

  “I do not get sick,” he declared. In truth, he couldn’t think of the last time he had suffered such bad luck. “I have survived injuries with less bother.”

  “Aye, I noticed. I suppose as a Viking you expect to be killed in battle. I have seen your people fight. You seem to care little whether you live or die.” Bitterness tinged her voice and he had to keep from wincing.

  “That isn’t true. We care very much whether we live or die but if we are to die, we are determined to go down in such a blaze of courage and fire that the gods will remember our names.”

  She snorted. “You put much stock in your gods.”

  “And you do not?”

  “Once our people worshipped gods and goddesses, much like you. But they abandoned us when the Scots and the Vikings began taking our land and attacking our people. There are few who follow the old ways these days. We worship the new god and there is no place for sinners in heaven.”

  “You believe me to be a sinner?”

  “Do you think I would let you in my home if I did?”

  He grinned at her challenging expression. “I think you are a kind hearted woman, Ilisa. You pretend to be strong but inside…”

  “I pretend nothing.” She drew up her chin. “I almost left you to drown.”

  Alrek laughed and his heart warmed when she followed suit. Her face lit, her eyes twinkled. How he longed to make her laugh more often. Ilisa had suffered much hardship. The steady loss of her people’s culture had to be difficult to bear. How would he feel if his culture was slowly eroded away? Devastated probably. And she was alone, trying to fend for herself in a world that favoured the strong. If he left her, how much longer would she survive? Would this Galan persuade her to be his? Would other Vikings come and raid her farm? There were many who would happily kill and rape her for sport even though it was clear she had few riches.