Savage (Bad Boy Romance) (Cocky Bastards & Motorcycles Book 4)

by Faye, Amy

  Good, Gunnar thought. They would need that determination. Unless they were very lucky, there was no chance that the little boat they had taken in to port carried more than a dozen, and that meant not one nor two, but three trips. That meant that whoever was left on the third had to fend for themselves, if they were caught. A fighting retreat was the last thing that they wanted, but it was a very real possibility.

  As they closed in, Gunnar let his mind drift. He preferred focus, but as they approached the fight he couldn't deny that without the blood-lust, without the gnawing hunger, it was harder to keep himself as focused as he would like.

  When he got off that boat, when they settled back into the little farm that he had won for himself all those years ago, what would they do then? He could barely remember what it looked like. He had looked over the property once, five years ago, right after he received it. After his first big raid. Then he'd gone back to the Jarl, and lived with him. Always ready to fight.

  Fighting had been most of his life since he had realized his… peculiar gift. Now that he had other things on his mind, other hopes, what would that mean for him? Who was he without fighting? Would the Jarl allow him to retire, for that matter?

  The farm, if he recalled, had a small house on the property. Built small, with a main room. A stove and a table, a pair of bedrooms. Enough for a small family, but if they expanded it, then he would need to build onto it for more than a few children. They'd be able to turn the fields into something, that much was sure. Deirdre's knowledge of plants, combined with his body to make it happen. They'd work together to build a life.

  Still, the old question remained. What would happen to him, if he gave up the life he'd had for so long? Constantly waiting to hear where he would go next, seemingly on a longship as long as he was on land. Certainly out of Denmark as much as he was in it.

  He told himself that he would give it up. He didn't want to continue that life. More than that, he was tired of it, and now it seemed as if he had a good excuse to get away. He turned, saw Deirdre in the dim light beside him. She glanced at him when she noticed him looking, but she was watching the town. She was lost in thoughts of her own.

  He already knew the answer, of course. Jarl Torstein was a man who knew what he wanted, and he wanted gold. Gold and slaves. He frowned. It was an issue to fight with. Still, he hadn't been raiding for years. The man was soft, and if he put up a fight it would be no great task to see that it was dealt with. Eirik and Ulf would see him through, he knew. As sure as anything. Leif—Gunnar couldn't begin to say.

  He was tired of fighting, he thought. Tired of trying to figure out who would come next to kill him, tired of having to be constantly on guard. With Deirdre, he felt relaxed.

  But there was one more fight to come. He took in a deep breath. They would be there soon. If they were lucky, then they could make their first trip with the less-wounded and take the ship easily. Then two more boat trips to bring the rest of the men. No trouble at all.

  He gripped the sword at his side, ran his thumb around the pommel. He couldn't plan on lucky. Once more, if only once, he would need to rely on the thing he was best at.

  Thirty-Eight

  Gunnar led the way, Deirdre only followed. But that didn't mean that she was sure what she was doing. In fact, she was anything but certain of what she was doing. It was terrifying and at the same time she couldn't deny that the feeling of her heart beating out of her chest was wildly exhilarating. She was loving this more than she was ready to admit.

  They kept to the shadows, and kept to the water. It was cold, but who would go into ankle-deep water to walk into a little town like this? Well, she reasoned. They would.

  But, if they were lucky, then no one had thought much was amiss when the boy went into town. It wasn't anyone scouting his way to see what could be taken from the city. No way.

  She smiled when she saw no one patrolling near the docks. They were making a mistake, of course, but there wasn't much to protect. Nor much to patrol. Even in a town as small as this, she knew that there would be a local thief, perhaps two. When something went missing, it wouldn't take the Sheriff long to figure out who did it and make sure it got back, most of the time.

  But even with that in mind, there was only the little row-boat, only nine or ten feet front to back. No one watching, and no one waiting. That could be very good news, or it could be something to worry about, but she wasn't going to push herself on it.

  Gunnar turned and silently pointed to nine men, and he joined them in the row boat. He wasn't healing like he used to, she knew, but he was less injured than he could have been. As long as he took care, the little cuts that peppered his body would be all he would need to worry about.

  Deirdre watched them go. It took several minutes for the boat to approach the ship, which was still small, that far out in the water. She looked over her shoulder, up the main street where anyone who wanted to could see them coming from a mile away. Nothing yet.

  She watched the outlines of the Vikings crawl up the side of the ship silently. Watched them jump the side-rail. The man on watch didn't see it coming for an instant, and he slumped down without a sound. Then the men dipped below decks, and a long silence passed.

  Deirdre knew that there would be men on board. Knew that they would likely be asleep, so at least their passing would be painless. She tried to keep that in mind. At best they would be barely aware of what happened. A knife in the night. Practically a mercy compared to what so many others had suffered.

  A single sharp scream, shrill and afraid, broke through her thoughts. Deirdre shivered and tried to forget. This was better than what they usually did, and better than what they had been planning.

  She had to repeat it three times before she saw someone back on the top deck, and then they slipped down the side of the boat and into the gig. Deirdre checked again to make sure no one was looking at them. Thankfully, she couldn't see anyone.

  When she looked back out into the sea, she saw the boat had rowed closer. A few short minutes' rowing. She tried to still the beating of her heart. If they were caught now, it would be an easy thing for the men that she was surrounded by to fight off any attack. Even for their injuries.

  She couldn't bear the thought. As few people should die as possible. She watched the men left on the ship, coming up to the top deck. She tried not to think about what they threw overboard. It was better that way, if she didn't think about it. In her heart, though, she had already realized what was thrown over their shoulders, and they weren't potato sacks.

  Gunnar's outline was becoming visible. He was the one rowing. He pulled the little boat up, tied it off to the dock, and said something to the others before turning to Deirdre. "I'll be back for you, wait a little more."

  The most injured among them loaded up. He wouldn't leave the most vulnerable to fend for themselves. It was the right decision, she thought. But it wasn't how she wanted to think about it. Violent and bloody-minded, she couldn't stand it. Why couldn't they stop fighting, why couldn't they stop killing? She took a deep breath of air. This was their lives.

  They were soldiers. No different from English soldiers. Or at least, no different in the ways that counted.

  She shivered, waiting for the boat. She kept her eyes on the street. No one coming. They would need five minutes, perhaps, going out. No more need to worry about making noise as they closed in on the ship, but the distance was still measurable, and it still provided opportunity for them to be noticed.

  Ten minute round trip. Too long, too many minutes. If someone saw them, then there was a good chance he'd see six big, burly men huddled on the dock, and call for help. But for the love of God, Deirdre hoped they didn't. One or ten—these soft country folks, it didn't make a difference. Their wives would be waiting a long time for them to come back bed.

  She didn't turn when she heard the merciful noise of the boat coming back up. Something else drew her attention, the one thing that she had been desperate not to happen. A shape. Someone
moving through the night. The lamps that lined the street illuminated his face, which showed someone who definitely saw them.

  "Raiders! Vikings!" The hysteria had spread a good bit, she thought. But at least this time, he was right. The remaining men turned on their heels, caught between the need to leave, and the ingrained desire to stop the man's screams.

  Deirdre, desperate to stop the violence, turned to Gunnar as he pulled up. "Make them stop! Get them on the boat!"

  He said something that made them turn back, climbing on.

  The man had pulled something out of his waistband, and he was advancing on the dock. Slowly, but it was only a matter of time. Deirdre stood rooted to the spot. If she got on the boat, then she knew that meant that she was going to Denmark.

  Yet… could she stay? She knew before she had to decide that she couldn't. She would be leaving behind Gunnar, leaving behind everything that had made her come back in the first place. She turned, looking to Gunnar for advice. He stood there, his hand outstretched to help her into the boat.

  All of her things, though. All of her things, her home. Her place in the world. What did it mean?

  She looked back over her shoulders. The man had started to speed up, seeing that they were loading onto the boat. They had only a moment, and if she was going to save them—she took his hand and got on board. The rope came off the dock, and they were away.

  Two big men, clearly used to rowing, were at the oars. They took full strokes, and by the time the man reached the end of the dock they were already well on their way. Deirdre breathed a sigh of relief.

  But she knew she would still have more trouble coming.

  He could tell, even as the others rowed, that something was wrong. Deirdre was acting oddly. Off. She wasn't happy about something, but she hadn't told him what and he was no mind-reader. Perhaps she wasn't aware that other people lacked that particular ability, he thought. Smiled at the idea. No, she wasn't half so foolish as that.

  But the idea tickled him in spite of that. They'd hung down a rope ladder to climb, and the injured had already needed helping, so when it came Deirdre's turn he couldn't help lifting her a little way out of the boat with his hands. Couldn't help the desire to touch her hips.

  She climbed up, and he brought the little boat around back, where the men had dropped down a tow rope. He tied the boat off. They might need it, after all. No reason to just leave it behind. Then he dove into the water.

  The weapons at his waist were heavy, pulled him down, but he had been swimming since he was knee-high. It wasn't going to hamper him much. The worse effect would come from the weight of his clothes. They would need to come off once he was on deck.

  An easy reach up from the water, and he took the bottom rung of the rope ladder, pulled himself up, and then it was an easy climb back up. Eirik pointed him in the direction of where they'd taken Deirdre. The only separate bedroom they'd found in the place, he noted. Whatever that meant for how the men thought of her, or of him, he wasn't sure.

  He pushed the door open to find her sitting in a well-made wooden chair. The chair alone would have been worth taking, if they could carry it. Well, now they could.

  "What's wrong?"

  She looked up at him and seemed to debate whether or not to tell him. That was a mistake on her part. She needed to tell him what she wanted, or he couldn't give it to her.

  "I just misunderstood," she said softly.

  "Did you not want to come back home with me?"

  She sucked in a breath and balled up her fists. "I didn't want you to make me, Gunnar. Is this going to be your life, from now on? Going out? Killing people? For what?"

  The words echoed his own thoughts. His own face twisted up in confusion. No, he hadn't planned on continuing to fight, but she was more right than she knew about what would happen back home. It would be one thing after another. At best, they had hope for a little farm by themselves, but he knew better than that.

  It would be another raid, another reason to go off and fight. There was always another raid, another war, another knife in the dark. Gunnar frowned. "Go to bed, Deirdre. We'll talk about this later."

  He closed the door behind him, leaving her to fume. She was thinking that he had dismissed the question entirely. That he was treating her as if she had no right. How wrong she was.

  The men had already pulled up anchor, and now they lowered the sail. Ulf was behind the rudder, waiting for the speed to pick up. If anyone could navigate them back quickly, Gunnar thought, it would be him. They were lucky in that, at least.

  As the men tied off the main sail, and speed picked up, Gunnar settled onto the floor, his back pressed against Deirdre's door. If things didn't go well, then what could they hope for? A life of fighting the English, seeing her on the off-season just long enough for Torstein to find another Jarl to fight back in Denmark?

  No, that wasn't the life he wanted. Not any more. It wasn't what he envisioned when he closed my eyes. He didn't want that for himself, and he didn't want it for her.

  The decision danced at the edge of his mind. He knew already what the right answer was, he knew. But it was too late. They were already on the way. Had been for an hour or more. Deirdre had stopped moving around the cabin, probably fallen into a restless sleep at some point.

  No, they weren't too far out. They could get back, he realized. It wouldn't be too hard at all. He'd given them just the tools they needed. He stood up and turned, tried the door. He hadn't expected it to be locked.

  If he pounded, then he would draw too much attention. They needed to stay quiet. Everyone was tired, and they would let it happen if he were quiet. But if he were to make noise, then he would need to explain himself. He'd need to justify leaving them to go back. He couldn't do that, not right now. Right now he just knew what he wanted, and that was all he could justify.

  In the morning they could make their own justifications. They could find whatever explanation they wanted, as long as he was gone. He tried the door again. Knocked on the door as hard as he dared, and hoped that Deirdre would hear.

  "What do you want?" The response was immediate. So she hadn't slept after all.

  "Open the door, Deirdre."

  "I'm staying in my room until we arrive."

  "We're not going to arrive."

  That got her to move, he thought. It made him smile. He heard the lock coming undone, but still she didn't open the door. He turned the handle and slipped inside.

  The room was lit with an oil-lamp that halfway-illuminated it. Anyone who wanted to could see them through the port-holes, but with luck they wouldn't have much trouble with that. Still, someone walking by drew his attention. Just a movement outside, nobody watching.

  "We're going to stay. That's what you wanted, right?"

  She pursed her lips together. As if that weren't the answer she wanted.

  "You're right. If I go back, I can't promise that it'll be any different than you think. If we stay… maybe things will be different. We'll take the rowboat. It's only a little way off the coast now. A couple hours rowing. We could be back on land by breakfast."

  She didn't look pleased, but she nodded. "Then let's get going."

  "Go grab the row rope, bring the boat in close. If Ulf asks what you're doing, tell him I told you to."

  Deirdre nodded. He had to lower the rope ladder, to help her down to it. The noise of the wooden rungs slapping the side of the boat seemed magnified by the nighttime stillness. But as he stood back up, preparing to meet Deirdre, he heard her voice call out.

  "It's gone!"

  She shouldn't have yelled, but if there was any reason to then that was a good one. He ran to the aft railing. It wasn't attached. He scanned the horizon. It couldn't have slipped the knot. He repeated it to himself. Couldn't have. He had tied it properly. Then he saw it. No more than four hundred yards. Someone was at the oars, but it was too dark to make out their face.

  They needed that boat. The waves were high, and the swim might not be all that safe. He lo
oked from the boat to Deirdre's face, and then back at the boat.

  He was over the rail and into the water before she could stop him.

  Thirty-Nine

  The splash below sent a deep shock through her. Sitting in a boat wasn't so bad. She could just be careful. She could try not to rock it too much. A boat this big, it just rocked gently. She could just stay a step or two back from the edge. But the idea of swimming? Out there?

  She swallowed hard. Ulf was already there, his arm starting to hold her back as he called something out behind her. He looked behind, and she could see no one was coming fast enough. He looked at her, then moved over to the rudder controls. She wasn't going to have another chance to go. She sucked in a deep breath and fought down the urge to scream as she jumped.

  The fall seemed to take forever, and she was thankful for that. Because the minute that they hit water, she was going to have to swim, and that wasn't going to happen. She was lucky if she managed not to sink like a stone straight to the bottom of the sea. They'd never find any part of her.

  A thought rang out in her mind. The tow rope. She tried to turn in the air, to get a view of it. Only a few feet to her left. If she was lucky, then it wouldn't be too big a problem to get to it. Her feet hit the water hard enough to make her knees buckle under her, and then the water was wrapped around her, all the way up to her head.

  She tried to scream, but all that came out were some burbles. She tried to fight her way to the surface, but it seemed as if no matter how hard she pulled herself up nothing was working. Her clothes, soaked through in an instant, felt as if they were dragging her down to the bottom. She kicked her boots off, and it seemed to help.

  With a powerful jerk she broke free of the water, sucking in a deep breath of water with more than a little salty sea water filling her mouth. A few easy feet. She could make it.

  She scrambled. Her body was so heavy. She couldn't possibly stay up. Her body wasn't listening to her. She knew what she was supposed to do. Paddle through the water. Pull herself in the direction she wanted to go. But her body just wasn't listening, in spite of her efforts.