An arm met her chest, held her back and shoved her behind him. “Run, Ilisa, or you shall die here,” he hissed over his shoulder.
The Vikings shouted something, their words sounding nothing like the beautiful Norse words that sometimes spilled from Alrek’s lips. Aggression rang clear in their voices. They were here to raid, she realised. And Alrek… Alrek was intending to stop them. She counted the Vikings—eight in total. Eight against an unarmed man and woman. They would die for sure.
“My people are ready,” she told him. “They are on the cliffs. They burned my home,” she spilled out on a sob, not even intending to tell him as much.
“Curses.” He turned his attention back to the Vikings and spoke again, motioning to the cliff tops. “Hrafnarnir munu hafa þik!”
The lead Viking, a man easily as large as Alrek, replied but his words meant nothing to her.
“They mean to kill us if we do not step aside,” Alrek explained.
Ilisa gripped his arm, torn between letting the Vikings ravage her homeland or standing their ground and being killed. She no longer held any affection for her people, not after how they had turned their backs on her but she couldn’t let these men harm the innocent women and children. What the two of them could do, she knew not, but she would not step aside.
“If we die in battle, we go to Valhalla, do we not?” Her voice wavered.
“Aye, we do.” Alrek offered her a tight smile and took her hand.
The leader nodded and issued a command of some kind. “Vegið!”
Ilisa gulped, the pounding in her head threatened to deafen her and her skin grew hot. A shout from the men made her tremble and Alrek squeezed her hand tightly. The leader took a step forward and Ilisa let out a cry as he tripped. He fell to the ground, sand billowing around him and Alrek tugged Ilisa back behind the protection of his body.
The other Vikings lowered their weapons and eyed their leader, confusion on their faces. A man stepped from behind them and only when he pulled the axe from the leader’s back, did Ilisa realise the man had been slain.
“Óðins skegg!” Alrek exclaimed. “Gardarr! Eric!”
Ilisa watched as the men appeared to turn on each other. A mass of swinging axes and brawling limbs seemed to break out. Alrek lunged forward, kicked a man aside and snatched the fallen man’s weapon. A Viking swung at him and Ilisa screamed a warning. Alrek spun around and dodged the blow before bringing the head of the axe into his enemy’s stomach and slicing across his vulnerable back as he bent double.
Unarmed and frozen in fear, Ilisa watched the blood stain the sand until a Viking broke away and came after her. His braided beard, tarnished with red, swung from side to side as he ran towards her. Ilisa turned, fell into a sprint and Alrek calling her name rattled her ears. She glanced over her shoulder to see the Viking behind her and Alrek fighting to get free of the battle to come after her.
Alrek would not reach her in time. Her thighs burned. How was she meant to outrun such a man? She headed for the rocks. Mayhap he would slip and fall. She knew them better than anyone after all. She only prayed she did not do the same.
Picking her way across the slippery rocks, she made for where they met the sea. The Viking had slowed but she heard his angry curses as he navigated the sharp landscape. Rain splattered into the sea, kicking up a mist. Hope lit in her chest. Mayhap if she went far enough, she could hide. The awful weather might prove to work in her favour after all.
She slipped into the water and gasped. The tide was higher than when she normally braved the rocks and it reached her waist. A peek over her shoulder saw the Viking slipping and flailing his arms but he managed to right himself. His axe glinted under the briefest flash of sunlight.
“Keep moving, Ilisa,” she urged herself and waded forward, trying to ignore the shake in her voice.
The waves tugged her gown, swirled it around her legs. Ahead the gap in the cliffs emerged—the Devil’s Doorway. Ilisa’s insides twisted with dread but she continued forwards, the sound of splashing footsteps sending a tremor up her spine. The Viking was taller and stronger. For him, the ocean likely did little to hold him back.
Water swirled around the arching rock and the sound echoed off the stone. She didn’t even know what was on the other side. She’d never braved going through the doorway. She only hoped there would be some hiding place or that the Viking would be put off by the rock formation’s sinister appearance.
When she got closer, the pull of the sea grew stronger. It churned and frothed against the rocks and waves began to splatter her face. She gripped the stone and stepped under the huge arch. Her feet almost slipped out from under her as the waves pulled her out and then pushed, slamming her into the rock. Ilisa cried out and salt water rushed into her mouth. Spluttering, she gripped the rock tighter and waded forward.
A roaring sound echoed against the rocks and Ilisa braced herself for an axe in her back then realised the sound wasn’t the Viking but a great wave. It struck her with such force that her head bounced off the rocks. Pain jarred her skull and her vision went white. The wave receded, dragged her with it. She scrabbled for a hold but her head spun and her footing went. She slipped under the water and found herself hauled toward the other side of the doorway.
Sea water invaded her mouth and nostrils, and she fought to surface. It was no longer clear where the sky was and where the rocks and seabed were. Her head spun, her lungs hurt. She broke the surface briefly and gasped in a breath only to be smashed against the rocks and dragged under once more.
She was almost grateful when the relentless pound of the waves eased and released her from the rocks. She felt herself being drawn further into the ocean. Her limbs had become useless, her mind a muddle. She was drowning but she had no strength to fight it any longer. Ilisa’s body begged her to draw in a breath. She fought the impulse for a long time but it was too great. Water rushed in and scalded her lungs. Agony consumed her body.
***
A creaking sound. A rocking motion. Ilisa swatted away the hand touching her brow. She became aware of the pounding ache in her skull, then the rest of her body. She cricked open an eye, letting the thinnest slit of light in and groaned. Above her a great sail billowed. Was she travelling to Valhalla? She rolled her head around and forced open her other eye.
“You are dead too?” Her voice came out no more than a croak.
“Nay, Ilisa, I am not dead,” Alrek responded. She heard amusement in his tone.
“I am dead?”
“Nay, you are not dead. Though ‘twas a close thing. You had swallowed much water when I scooped you out of the sea.” His palm came to her forehead again and this time the warmth soothed rather than aggravated.
She forced herself to focus on his handsome features. “We are alive.”
“Aye.” He grinned and offered his aid as she struggled to sit.
Ilisa winced. “My head hurts.”
“You hit it hard and much of your body. You shall have many bruises, I think.”
Through the pain, she saw his concerned expression. She put a hand to his cheek. “But you saved me.”
“Aye, now we are even.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and urged her to lean against him.
Ilisa snuggled into his chest and glanced around at the ship. Two men—the men who had triggered the brawl—were sailing the vessel. “You know these men?”
“Aye, they were part of my crew. The other Norsemen picked them out of the sea on their way around the coastline. Gardarr and Eric asked them to stop where our ship had sunk on the way back home to see if there was any news of other survivors but their leader, Magnus, wanted to raid too.”
“But you defeated them?”
“They will not raid again.” Alrek smoothed a hand up and down her arm.
“Where are we going?”
“To Iceland, hjarta mitt.” He cupped her chin and twisted to stare into her eyes. “I hope you will not miss your homeland.”
“I have no place in my homelan
d anymore, Alrek. My place is by your side.”
A self-satisfied grin stretched across his lips. “And mine at yours. We shall create a new life together on new land.”
“I should like that very much, hjarta mitt.” She replied with a smile.
Alrek chuckled at her ill pronunciation and lowered his mouth to hers. As his lips brushed hers, hope bloomed in her chest. The time of the Picts might be at an end, but for the first time in years, the future excited her. With her Viking at her side and a new land to explore, they would carve a new life together, one that brought together the best of their cultures. She opened her mouth to him, kissed him fervently—the heat threatening to drown her in the most pleasant way—and thanked the Viking gods for bringing them together.
Sun broke the clouds and warmed her skin as they both glanced up at the clearing skies. “It seems we have the gods’ blessing,” she said with a smile.
Alrek held her tighter and dropped a kiss to her nose. “It seems we do.”
THE END
Other titles by Samantha Holt
To Steal a Highlander’s Heart (Book 1 of the Highland Fae Chronicles)
To Dream of a Highlander (Book 2 of the Highland Fae Chronicles)
The Borderland Legacy Series
www.samanthaholt.org.uk
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Table of Contents
Excerpt
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Other titles by Samantha Holt
Alrek Page 9