Again, the idea of taking her to Iceland with him struck. Unable to resist a smile at the image of Ilisa by his side with a brood of children, he failed to quash the notion, as foolish as it was. He barely knew her. Not a huge problem in his mind, after all he’d been planning to persuade a little Pict woman to join him anyway. As long as she was attractive and of good age, he would be happy. He had known a few Pictish women in his time and he’d always admired them. But with Ilisa, it was different. He couldn’t take her away from the farm she worked so hard to keep running or offer her a life with a man she didn’t know.
Though he suspected he could be very happy with her by his side.
“What is it, Alrek?” A crease marred her brow.
“What?”
“You are staring at me with a strange smile on your face.”
His grin widened. “Forgive me, I cannot help myself. You are very beautiful.” He pushed back the blankets and it was only when Ilisa released a scream did he realise he was naked and the proof of just how beautiful he found her had revealed itself. He hastily covered himself again and laughed at the way she had clamped a hand over her eyes.
“You were fevered,” she spilled out, hand still covering her face. “I had to take off your garments.”
“I am covered now.” Alrek chuckled at the blush staining her cheeks as she lowered her hand. “You have seen it all already anyway.”
“Aye, but…” She dragged in an audible breath. “I did not look properly,” she said primly.
“It is really very unfair that you have seen me naked on several occasions yet I have not seen you once.”
Her eyes rounded and he braced himself for a slap or stinging retort but her open mouth clamped shut. Apparently he couldn’t control his mouth around Ilisa. Still at least he hadn’t admitted he had actually seen her in some of her glory. He still hadn’t had a proper look at those glorious breasts.
By the gods, this wasn’t helping his problem. What was wrong with him?
Ilisa stood, leaned over him and brought her lips tantalizingly close to his. He blinked. What was she doing? Her breath breezed over his face and the scent of lavender surrounded him. She must have washed while he was sleeping. Had he missed her naked and wet? Had her pale skin been dripping and succulent while he lay senseless from the wretched fever?
Her blue gaze clashed with his. He saw tiny speckles of brown in them and the way they darkened. Her red lashes fanned out, tipped with gold. On her nose, he noticed she had faint freckles on her nose, so pale he could only see them this close. Alrek itched to kiss each one.
“You, Alrek the Bold,” she whispered, “think you are charming.” A finger dropped to his beard and she scraped a nail along his jawline, the rasp of hair making his cock tingle. He gaped like a fish, his mouth dry. Then she jerked back. “But you are not and if you continue teasing me, I shall throw you back in the sea. And we shall see if your gods think you are worth saving again.”
He bit back a groan when she eyed him with twisted lips. The urge to pull her down and show her exactly how charming he could be burned furiously. By the gods, her puckered lips practically invited him to do so. She thought herself spirited, but he thought her plain tempting. Her fire made him hunger for her more. Who could not like a woman like this?
She snatched his shirt from the back of the chair and flung it at him. He caught it and uttered a curse when she chucked his trews at him too.
Ilisa laughed. “Bathe and get yourself dressed, Viking. I am going to see to the sheep. They won’t need water after last night thankfully.”
“Give me a moment and I shall join you.” She looked like she was about to protest. “I need to stretch my muscles. I am not used to so much time abed.”
She folded her arms and gave a curt nod. “Fine, but make haste. Playing your nursemaid has put me behind on my chores.”
Alrek slipped on his trews and stepped outside while she combed her hair and tidied away the mess from the morning meal. The storm had cleared the skies. White clouds dotted the blue above and wet grass scented the air. Waves crashed below and he drew in a deep breath to fill his lungs. Had the gods’ wrath calmed? He had to decide how best to appease them. He couldn’t help wondering if they’d sent him to Ilisa for a reason. A fever could have easily killed him but they let him live.
The lure of cold water to calm his raging lust had him stripping off and scrubbing himself down with the icy water from the barrel at the side of the cottage. Poor Ilisa did not deserve to be subjected to his needs. He regretted his blithe words though her reaction still made him grin. He shook his head. He suspected the only thing that would control this raging need for her would be another dunk in the ocean. Maybe she would have to make good on her threat and throw him back.
Without bothering to dry himself properly, he slipped on the trews and ducked back intoIlisa’s home. She had braided her hair and it curled over one shoulder. A few loose strands caressed her cheeks, begged to be touched. Alrek almost laughed. He probably should have jumped into the barrel and stayed there. Apparently nothing could cool his attraction to her.
That tell-tale stain graced her cheeks. He loved that. The way she brazenly attempted to tease him one moment and the next acted as coy as a virgin on her wedding night. The woman knew how to keep him on his toes. Her gaze travelled up and down him, lashes lowering and rising like a sail. Heat trailed over him as if she’d touched him and he had to move or else disgracing himself was inevitable. Snatching the shirt from the bed, he yanked the coarse linen shirt over his head, ignoring the temptation the pallet provided. Flashes of images—some memories, some imaginings—fired off in his mind. Ilisa kissing him, stroking his fevered brow. Ilisa beneath him, legs spread wide, breathless and wanting. Her supple skin and luxurious curves. Her welcome heat—
“Are we to go?” she asked.
“Aye.” He snapped his head around and near raced to the door. If he wasn’t careful, he’d throw the woman down on the bed and make those imaginings real.
He strode ahead for a while, not checking if she was following. How much longer did he have to suffer this? A Norse ship would come by at some point but it could be sennights, maybe longer. This had to be his test—putting such temptation in his way to see if he had reformed. Once he had believed great courage and daring would lead him to Valhalla but the gods had abandoned him the day they sank his ship and drowned his friends. New land and a new life was his only chance now. And Ilisa had no part in that.
She caught up to him, hands clutching her skirts and breathless. “What is the matter?”
“Naught.” What to say? That his lust for her grew with every passing moment? That her panting breaths made him wonder what she sounded like when she climaxed. He continued walking up the hill toward the stone wall.
“Are you unwell?” she persisted.
“Nay, I am fine. Cease your worrying, little Pict, and let us see to these…” He trailed off as they reached the stone and turned to view Ilisa’s reaction. His stomach clenched.
“Oh.” A hand rose to her mouth and she wavered.
Alrek shot to her side and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “Come, you do not need to see this.”
Several sheep carcasses lay scattered across the land. One was close enough that he could see it had been torn apart. Blood and wool mingled in the grass, a macabre sight even for one used to battle.
“Who would…?” Her voice wobbled and Alrek glanced down to see the tremble of her chin.
“No one, Ilisa. This was wolves.”
“Wolves? But they do not normally come out so far.”
“If they are hungry, they will do anything.”
“It could be Vikings.” Her voice sounded small.
He let his brow furrow and reminded himself she spoke out of shock. “Few Vikings would take pleasure in killing animals such as sheep. Even the most bloodthirsty would rather go against a foe that can defend itself. Look, Ilisa, ‘tis the work of a wolf.”
Her
shoulders softened beneath his arm and she leaned into him. “Aye, you are right. Forgive me.”
“Come, they have enough water. There is little you can do. I shall discard the carcasses shortly.”
“I must check on the rest. Many graze further up,” she insisted, her quavery voice betraying her.
“Nay, I will do that. You have had a tiresome night looking after an ailing Viking and a shock this morning. Let us return to your cottage and I shall make up for being such a burden to you by seeing to your flock today.”
Ilisa peered sideways at him, eyes glimmering slightly. “You are a good man for a Viking, Alrek.”
He smirked. Would she think the same if she knew all the heated thoughts that had been plaguing him? He doubted it.
Chapter Six
Raised voices roused Ilisa from her sleep. She squinted and focused on the timbers of the roof as she struggled to clear her mind of a sleepy fog. Rubbing her eyes, she sat. When had she fallen asleep? And why was she in her bed during the day? The last thing she remembered was returning home to do some weaving. She had started on a blanket and when she peeked at the table, she saw it there, patiently waiting for her. Alrek must have put her to bed. Something warm sparked in her chest at the thought of the powerful Viking lifting her and cradling her in his arms. Alrek was indeed a good man.
The shouting pierced her dreamy thoughts and she thrust back the blankets to step outside. She paused to listen. Was Alrek in danger? She didn’t wish to put him in further peril by distracting him. And she would need her brother’s sword. Not that she could do much with it. Perhaps an eating knife would be more effective.
“Where is she, Viking?” she heard a man spit. “Have you harmed her? I shall run you through.”
Ilisa stepped out as soon as she recognised the voice. On his horse, a hand to the pommel of his sword, was Galan. The dark-haired Pict was dressed in a long tunic and mantle, and he barely glanced at her when she stepped out, his full focus on Alrek who stood near the chopping block, axe in hand. She drew in a sharp breath. The fury on his face, the wide stance and confident way he held the weapon… he looked like a Viking again. No amount of Pictish clothing could disguise the fact. And a coil of awareness and excitement fluttered in her belly. In spite of Galan’s threats, she found she enjoyed the sight.
“You will do nothing,” Alrek responded. “Be gone before I remove your head from your shoulders.”
Galan slipped from his horse and drew his sword. Ilisa stepped forward. “Galan, put your weapon down. There is no need for fighting.” She held up a palm to both men and gave Alrek a pleading look. His jaw tensed and he flicked his gaze between her and Galan before dropping the axe to this side. “Galan?” she prompted.
“Has this savage harmed you?” he demanded.
“Nay. He had done naught.”
“Why do you have a Viking in your home?” He peered at her down his nose, flicking a disproving look at Alrek. She thought she heard Alrek growl.
“He washed up on the shore, nearly dead. I nursed him back to health.” Galan kept his blade aloft so Ilisa pressed a hand to his wrist to urge him to lower it.
“You have been alone with this man, Ilisa?”
“For several days, Galan.” She lifted her chin. It might ruin her but if Galan wanted to stay in her good graces he would tell no one else of the Viking in her home. Dear God, she hoped she was right. If the villagers discovered Alrek they would send a mob out.
“Your brother would be deeply ashamed.” Galan peered at the Viking once more before lowering his sword. “You should not be alone with him,” he hissed.
“Come, Galan, let us walk for a while and I shall explain all.” She slipped an arm through his and began to draw him away
“Ilisa,” Alrek warned, voice tense. Did he fear for her safety? Did he not realise her countryman was a far safer escort than a Viking? And while Galan still lusted after her, she could convince him to stay quiet.
“We shall not be long,” she said brightly and tugged on Galan’s arm again. She needed to diffuse the situation before both men decided to turn on each other. As much as she disliked Galan, she had no wish to see him dead.
Galan relented, slipped his sword into his belt and allowed himself to be drawn away from the cottage. They followed the cliff top away from the farm. Salty air blasted her face and whipped through her hair but the day had remained clear for a change.
“What were you thinking, Ilisa, allowing a Viking into your home?”
“I was thinking it was the right thing to do,” she replied without looking at him.
“He is a savage. He could have raped and killed you.”
“He has done nothing. He is thankful for my help and will be gone before long.”
“You are too trusting.” Galan’s tone was tinged with bitterness.
“I could not leave him, Galan. It was not the Christian thing to do.”
“Christian?” he scoffed. “Most are only Christian when it suits them. What appeal does the Viking have to you?”
Ilisa paused and tried to unhook her arm from his but he held it tightly in place. “Release me. I have no time for your insults. I took him in because he had nearly drowned. As soon as a ship is nearby, he will return to his home and we shall all forget a Viking was ever in our midst.”
“Ilisa, you of all people should not be harbouring a Viking. What of your brother? And Donnie? Not to mention you are alone with that man. You are too good a woman to understand but your virtue is at risk.”
“My virtue? I am a widow. I have little of that left.” She heard him grind his teeth.
“It is wrong. You should not be alone with a man, let alone the enemy. Remember the bloodshed the Vikings have brought upon us. Who is to say he will not turn on you? Send him on his way and we shall forget this happened.”
“You cannot command me, Galan,” she said lightly, not wishing to provoke him in spite of the rising heat inside her. She would not be told what to do, particularly not by Galan.
His jaw twitched as he stared at her. His grey eyes were cold. Though Galan was handsome—too handsome to her mind for it made him vain—there had always been something innately ugly to the man, as if his soul was rotten. She shuddered when he gripped her hand tightly.
“If it is discovered you have a Viking in your home, at best the village will turn their back on you. At worst they will burn your cottage to the ground and kill your Viking. I will not be able to guarantee your safety.”
“Then perhaps it is best that it is not discovered.” She arched both brows and eyed him.
He ran a hand through his hair and huffed. “If you had just accepted my offer of marriage, none of this would have happened.”
“Well, it did happen.”
“I vow when you are my wife I will not tolerate such talk.”
She resisted the desire to roll her eyes. The man refused to be dissuaded no matter how many times she told him she held no interest in marrying him. “I will not be your wife.”
“Surely you can see it is only right? You are a beautiful woman and I am the most eligible man in the village. You hold this vast land and my father owns much. Together we could be very powerful.”
“But I do not care for power.”
“Come now, do you not feel anything for me?” He tugged her into him so she sprawled against his chest. His arms crept around her waist while she struggled to push herself back. “Many women long to be in your place.”
“Release me,” she pleaded through gritted teeth. “You are behaving most dishonourably.”
He skimmed his lips across her ear and she trembled. “Tell me I do not affect you. Tell me you do not long for me. I understand and admire your loyalty to Donnie, but you cannot live alone forever. You cannot deny me forever.”
Ilisa shoved hard and managed to break his hold. She stumbled back and his expression darkened. “I do not wish to marry you. Forgive me, but I will not change my mind on that.”
“You shall regr
et denying me, Ilisa.” He stepped forward to grab her but she dodged him and edged back.
“I shall regret nothing.” Another step forward, another step back. Her heart began to pound. Galan had never been angry with her before but from the deep set of his brow and the clench of his jaw, clearly fury simmered beneath those fine looks. “Return home,” she insisted.
“I came to check you were well after the storm,” he pressed through a clenched jaw, “and now you will not even give me a moment of your time. Is it the Viking? Have you taken him as your lover?”
“Nay!”
He inched closer still. Ilisa darted a glance behind her and realised she had backed herself onto the ledge of the cliff. One wrong step and she’d tumble to her death. Wind caught her skirts, the roar of waves, so vicious and unforgiving made her heart stick in her throat.
“Galan,” she pleaded when he stepped close enough to push her or pull her into him. At that moment, she wasn’t sure what he would do. Deep, dark pools of passion swelled in his gaze. But it wasn’t a pure passion, a mere need for another. It was a wrathful, ugly desire that made promises of revenge if she did not do as he said.
“I shall run this Viking through and take you. I have tried being kind and patient but it has been too long. I need heirs and no other woman will do.”
“Y-you shall do nothing of the sort.” Her voice wavered, lost in the gusting wind and rolling waves.
He snatched her arm. His fingers pinched her skin and she wobbled on her heels. Awareness of the great drop behind her made her unsteady on her feet. When she peered down the cliff face, her head swam. She normally never stood so close, mindful of that fact she got dizzy when looking down from a great height. It would take a mere flick of a finger to push her over, she suspected. Ilisa stared into Galan’s stormy eyes, pleaded silently with him.
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