Alrek

by Samantha Holt

  Galan’s grip loosened abruptly and she cried out as she faltered. Another hand gripped her arm and tugged her away from the edge. She slammed into a chest and let out another sound of surprise. Alrek tucked her into his side and held his axe aloft, pointing it at Galan who had stumbled to the ground, presumably pulled back by Alrek.

  “Be gone, Pict,” Alrek commanded. “Should you return, you shall suffer the wrath of my axe. I promise I shall behead you.”

  Galan put a hand to his throat and clambered to his feet. “You shall regret stepping foot on Pictish soil, Viking.” He turned to eye Ilisa. “And you shall regret taking a Viking into your bed. That much I promise.”

  Alrek tightened his grip on Ilisa’s shoulders. “If you value your life, you shall do nothing. You have seen what Vikings can do. Any attempt to harm Ilisa shall be viewed as an act of war.”

  “I have no wish to harm Ilisa. I always get what I want and soon enough she shall be mine.” The Pict smirked. “Anyway, I see no army.”

  “You will soon enough,” Alrek said with confidence that had even Ilisa believing the Vikings might land soon.

  “We shall see who is the true victor soon enough, Viking.” Galan tilted his head back, an eye on the axe still directed at him. “The spoils of war are not always gold it seems, are they? Ilisa, be wary of this man. Do not forget what the Vikings did to your brother and husband. Do not forget he is the enemy.”

  Galan whirled around, his cloak fluttering like the wings of a raven. He strode back to his horse while they watched and waited. Alrek’s hold slipped around her waist and his large palm smoothed up and down her side. She waited until Galan had mounted his horse and galloped off before turning to Alrek.

  “Thank you, Alrek. I know not what he would have done.”

  He lowered his head and peered at her from under his brow. “It seems I have brought you much trouble.”

  Ilisa shook her head. “Galan has been causing trouble for many years now. He will not take no for an answer. I should have known it would only be a matter of time before he thought he could force me.”

  “He is right. You cannot defend yourself against that man.”

  Concern haunted his blue eyes. It pulled her heart tight against her chest. Her gaze dropped to his lips, eyed the golden hair around them, flecked with a few silver strands. She recalled the coarseness against her skin and how warm and vital he felt. No one had ever showed such concern for her—not even her brother and Donnie who were used to her fiery temperament and believed her to be capable of looking after herself.

  And she was, but occasionally she longed to share that burden. This stranger had done more for her in two days than any man had done for her in a lifetime.

  A coarse palm came up to cup one side of her face. His fingers thread into her hair and his hand practically covered the entire side of her face. Alrek did the same with his other hand, his hold secure, warm and vital. His strength poured into her and Ilisa lifted her gaze to his once more. His searched hers, but for what she didn’t know. She longed to offer it to him—offer herself really—but Galan was right, the man was still her enemy and he would always be in danger as long as he remained here. Their culture and their people divided them.

  Alrek lowered his head and Ilisa stopped breathing. Her lungs seared, her heart thudded agonizingly. But he didn’t kiss her. Only pressed his forehead to hers, his long nose aligning with her profile. Their lips were close enough that if she pursed hers, they would touch, but she found herself unable to move. Alrek understood—understood the divide between them and understood her need for him. Was his as great as hers?

  “I did not know Norsemen killed your family,” he murmured.

  She nodded against his head and cast her eyes down. Fingers gripping his shirt, Ilisa held him to her, fearful he might leave her. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t kissed her. As much as she longed for it, having his strong body touching her was enough for now. Like a great rock, he supported her. The pain and exhaustion of the past four summers seemed to leach out of her. And into him?

  “I am sorry,” Alrek whispered, palms smoothing over her cheeks. “I would not have blamed you for leaving me for dead.”

  “I know you are not like them, Alrek. I could never regret rescuing you.”

  He didn’t respond. They stood on the blustery cliff top for many long moments until his movements stilled and she felt his chest rise as he drew in a deep breath. Alrek dropped one hand and the other, before easing back. Ilisa gulped and her insides felt as though they were filled with stone and yet tangled in excitement. The weight from knowing nothing could happen, the excitement from just looking at him. This wild, savage Viking whose blue gaze tenderly sketched her form.

  “Come now, let us return. You have weaving to do, do you not? And I fear some more rain shall be along soon. I’d intended to patch up the holes in your roof.”

  “You had?” She pressed a palm to her chest as the ache grew.

  “Aye.”

  “Alrek, I—Thank you.” To her dismay, her eyes seared with tears and she swiped at them.

  Alrek offered her a hand and she took it. Their hands fit so perfectly together and she admired the contrast of their skin. Ilisa peeked sideways at him, knowing she likely looked at him as if he were one of the gods he always spoke of. Alrek caught her look, offered her a tilted smile that was haunted with uncertainty.

  She squeezed his hand in a bid to reassure him. Did Galan concern him? Or something else? Did he think her angry with him? How could she hold him responsible for other’s actions? Alrek had proved himself time and again in such a short period of time. How would she feel if someone judged her on other Picts’ behaviour—someone like Galan, who had little care for others?

  Nay, she knew this Viking was no savage. In fact, he was probably the best man she had ever known.

  Chapter Seven

  The rain stayed away for several days, allowing Alrek to finish fixing Ilisa’s roof. He leaned back to admire his work and paused to listen to her singing as she weaved. He would never tire of hearing that sound. They had fallen into a perfect routine. They tended the sheep and fetched the water together, then she prepared their food while he washed. He would chop wood and she would clean up and wash. During the day, he worked to fix her home and rebuild the stone wall. She sang, weaved and cooked. In the evenings, they talked of their cultures—she of the old Pagan ways of the Picts and he of their gods and his homeland. His heart had slowly become etched into the soil of this land. Or maybe into Ilisa’s life.

  But he held one thing back—his past. And while his desire for her refused to ebb, he refused to give into it. How could he when he had been little better than the Norse who had slain her husband and brother? How many innocent lives had he taken during raids? He couldn’t be sure. Blood lust had controlled his every move at that age. He’d been brought up to be a warrior, taught that to be anything else was weak. He wasn’t so sure now.

  “Will you come down for some food?” Ilisa called, jarring him from his thoughts.

  He swiped a hand across his brow and peered down at her. Hands propped on hips, she beamed at him. The last of the evening sun warmed her hair and silhouetted her figure. Alrek recognised the stirrings of desire in his blood. While he hoped a ship would turn up and relieve him from the torture that was being in such close confines with this siren, his stomach grew heavy with dread too. Would he be leaving her in danger?

  “I will be just a moment.” He checked the straw one last time, drew in a breath and gathered himself before climbing down.

  “Is it all done?”

  “Aye, you should have no more problems for quite some time.”

  “I thank you, Alrek. That roof has been neglected for too long.” She put a hand to his forearm. Her fingers singed his skin through the linen. Who would have thought such tiny hands could have that effect? “Now come and eat. You deserve a good meal after that.”

  “Let me clean up. I am dirty after crawling around on t
he straw.”

  Ilisa nodded and left him. The scent of cooked vegetables drifted from the door as she opened it and his stomach grumbled. Not only was Ilisa a beautiful woman, she was a fine cook. No wonder Galan wanted her for his own. His appetite diminished when he thought of the dark-haired Pict. Once Alrek left, would Galan force himself on Ilisa again? Or harm her? If he hadn’t interfered those few days ago, he imagined Galan might have pushed Ilisa to her death.

  He should take her to Iceland. The thought prodded him again, playing in his mind incessantly. But would she leave her homeland? And be comfortable living amongst the people who had raided her country and nearly driven the Picts to extinction?

  Alrek sighed and stalked over to the water tub. Sloshing cold water over his face and hands, he paused to eye his reflection. The gods had left him in peace recently. Did that mean he was on the right path? And what was that? To stay with Ilisa perhaps? The temptation to do so warred within. He had thought Iceland was his destiny but perhaps it was Ilisa.

  He dashed the drops of water from his eyes and ducked into the cottage. Ilisa smiled, motioned for him to sit and shoved a bowl of steaming vegetables in front of him. Alrek wasted no time and shovelled them in, almost scalding his mouth and making Ilisa’s lips twist.

  She seated herself opposite him and paused. “They will not run off your plate if you do not eat them you know?”

  Alrek let slip a chuckle and blew on his next spoonful. “Are you sure? I’ve heard Pictish vegetables were the feistiest of them all.”

  “Nay, Alrek, that is the women.”

  Lowering his spoon, he studied her. “Aye, you are right. Pictish women are indeed feisty. I’m not sure I’ve ever met a woman like you.”

  Ilisa’s teasing smile dropped and the smoky air grew stifling. He felt as though he were trying to breathe underwater. Their gazes locked, the world around darkened. Only Ilisa existed with her vibrant red hair and delicate face, with her beautiful voice and sweet sense of humour.

  He coughed. “Of course, I have always been fond of Pictish women.”

  Lashes dropping, Ilisa’s lips tightened. She gave a depreciating laugh. “Of course.” Her lashes lifted. “Whereas I have never been fond of Vikings.”

  Her sharp response surprised him and made the tiniest pinprick in his heart. He had hurt her with his callous words. He’d meant to create some distance, but never hurt her. In truth, he would rather die than let Ilisa endure any hurt ever again. The idea of this women suffering in anyway struck him like a blade to the heart. Perhaps the idea of staying was not such a bad one. How else could he be sure she never came to harm?

  On the morrow he would suggest staying.

  And if she said aye, what then? Would he give into his desire for her? Ask her to be his wife? His heart warmed at the thought. Maybe he would do both.

  “You are fond of this Viking though?” he prompted.

  Her lips twisted and the sparkle returned to her eyes. “Oh, aye, fond enough.”

  ***

  A wolf’s howl renting the air caused Alrek to bolt upright. He stared into the darkness and listened. They were close, likely going for the sheep again. He sighed. Ilisa couldn’t afford to lose many more. From his pallet on the floor, he listened to see if Ilisa had awoken too, but he was unable to even hear her soft breaths.

  “Ilisa?” he whispered, unwilling to wake her if she really was asleep.

  Nothing. Not even the tiniest whisper of air. He peered at her bed, trying to break the darkness. The fire had yet to go out fully but her bed was shrouded in shadows. Gradually her pallet became apparent as his vision adjusted. Alrek eyed the bedding, followed the bumps in the blanket until it came to where her head should have been.

  “Óðins skegg!” On his feet, he stumbled over the pallet and snatched the torch from the wall next to the door. Mouth dry, heart thudding, Alrek shoved the torch into the glowing embers of the fire. “Light!” he demanded.

  The torch flared and he uttered a thank you. Foregoing his boots and dressed in only a shirt, he took a last glance at her bed and his insides crumpled. Definitely not there. Another howl sent a tremor down his spine. He dashed outside, lifted the torch and squinted into the distance. A tiny flicker of light moved across the darkened hills.

  Ilisa.

  Foolish woman. Was she intending to scare off the wolves? Alrek fell into a sprint, dropping the torch when it became too much of a hindrance. A half-moon flickered through the clouds, enough to light the uneven ground. Fear drummed in his heart, horror curdled his stomach. What would he do if something happened to Ilisa? A scream echoed across the hills and struck his heart—a crippling pain that nearly sent him to his knees.

  “Ilisa,” he called, the sound coarse. His lungs and thighs burned. The light had stopped moving up the hills but it swept from side to side.

  As he got closer, he realised the wolves had surrounded her. Within moments, he came to her side and shoved her behind him. She cried out and he snatched the torch from her, swiping at the snarling beasts. They were hungry indeed to come out so far and show no fear of the fire.

  The pack surrounded them, four animals snapped at their legs. Alrek used the torch to keep them at bay but how long it would work, he knew not. He had to get Ilisa to safety. He shouted at the beasts, swung again and dodged to the side as one made a jump for him. He caught the animal’s side with the flame and the wolf whimpered and backed away.

  “Stay close to me,” he hissed. If she ran, they’d likely go after her.

  Her eyes were wide under the moonlight. She gripped his arm. He returned the snarl of the wolves with one of his own. These beasts might be killers by nature but he was a Viking—a warrior bred to fight. And these animals wanted to harm the woman he loved. They would not succeed.

  The leader of the pack lunged and Alrek landed a punch on the animal’s nose. The others appeared to take this as a sign to attack. One scratched his arm, the other nearly caught his leg in its jaws.

  “Get back,” Ilisa cried and kicked the wolf going for his ankle in the head. It turned on her and swiped its claws across her leg, eliciting a yelp from her.

  Alrek cursed, forced himself between her and the animal and kicked the wolf hard in the stomach as it dove again. With a yowl, it toppled back and the remaining wolves backed off. He swung the torch several more times, bellowing desperate curses and threats until his voice ran dry. The pack eased further back and finally turned away. Alrek closed his eyes for the briefest moment and drew in a breath.

  He turned to Ilisa, dropped the torch and pulled her into his embrace. He clamped her head to his chest, against the pounding pressure of his heart.

  “You foolish woman, what were you thinking?” he scolded quietly, his voice still hoarse.

  “I wanted to save the sheep,” she snivelled. Her whole body trembled and she wrapped her arms about his waist.

  All Alrek could think of was how close to losing her he had been, of her delicate body against his. The need to protect this woman burned in his chest. It was a need he didn’t think would ever extinguish. “They are not worth your life.”

  “They’re all I have,” she sobbed.

  “Nay, not anymore.” He loosened his hold and drew her chin up to view her. Tears shimmered in the moonlight, her beautiful features streaked with them. Thumbing them away, he glanced around for the torch, now doused on the ground somewhere. “Let us return to the cottage now. I do not wish to be out here while those beasts are around.”

  She nodded and gulped audibly. He took the chance to stroke her cheek once more and released her. Alrek gave up on trying to spot the torch and took Ilisa’s hand. As they began down the hill, she let out a shallow hiss.

  “What is wrong?”

  “My leg.”

  Alrek cursed under his breath. Of course, the wolf had swiped at her and he hadn’t even asked if she was well. In one movement, he scooped her into his arms.

  “’Tis only a scratch,” she protested.

 
He didn’t care. One drop of her blood spilled was too much. Not to mention he didn’t mind having her in such a position. She weighed little and her supple form moulded perfectly to him. When she slipped her arms around his neck, he almost forgot they’d just been battling wolves.

  By some miracle, Alrek made it down the hill at a quick pace without stumbling. Perhaps the knowledge that he held the most precious treasure of all in his arms drove him to step swift and sure. He pushed open the door with his back and didn’t release her until he had laid her on the bed. Using the dull fire to light a candle, he placed it on the table near the bed and urged Ilisa to lie back.

  “Let me look,” he commanded.

  “A mere scratch, Alrek,” she insisted but lifted her skirts.

  Sure enough, several red streaks marred her milky skin. Alrek shook his head and dabbed it with the sleeve of his shirt. “It isn’t deep,” he observed, “but you should not have been hurt at all. I should have reacted sooner.”

  “Alrek,” she said softly, a hand to his, “you saved my life. I was foolish, you were right, but you saved me from paying for my folly.”

  He grimaced, unable to let go of the feeling of having failed her. “Now we are even,” he said mirthlessly.

  “We are.”

  He let his fingers remain on her calf as he eyed the laceration. It wasn’t deep and didn’t look to be bleeding any further. He would however need to clean it. “Do not move.” Straightening, he set about lighting the fire and fetched some cloths and water. Ilisa barely stifled a whimper while he cleaned the wound but her meek behaviour told him how ashamed she was of her rash decision.

  The pounding of his heart began to slow, the fear ebbed away. Soft skin beneath his fingertips and the way she watched him seared his senses. Smoke whirled around them, mimicking the thickening of the air in his lungs. He glanced at her again and paused. Jaw clenched, he made a decision. He was staying.