The Outlaw and the Runaway
Page 29
She paled under apricot skin, and the same hand that had touched his knee in bed touched his sword hand to stay the kill.
“Sheathe your weapon. You have what belongs to you, and your men are unharmed.” A moment passed and her voice gentled for his ears alone. “Even a warrior such as you must know there are times when the force of your hand is not the answer.”
The woman’s refined accent found a hidden place inside him, a whisper, a stirring akin to leaves rustling in a forest. Force and bloodshed was his life, a language he understood. Kill or be killed. Life was simple as that. But there was no denying the odd seed the woman planted. Perhaps she did have an otherworldly gift, because her presence rattled him.
Rurik released Sothram, his gaze locked on the slave. Her face set to his, the woman didn’t flinch. The Saxon tottered back, gulping air. His wife grabbed the little girl, raced back to the feasting hall, and banged the door behind her. Uncanny silence poured over Rurik, bringing with it the slave woman’s unusual peppery scent. Why did she show weakness? Most would cry bloodlust revenge, not beg mercy for another, especially one as mean-spirited as Sothram.
Fenrir glinted in his hand, the hungry metal denied. The blade arced in a wide, unhurried half circle until the tip touched the earth.
“Please,” she murmured. “Let us leave this place.”
Fog cleared from his head. “Yes. We ride.” He pointed at one of the male thralls and spoke louder. “You there. Saddle another horse for the maid. Her mount and her release to me will be gifts from Sothram for his slight against me and my men.” He pointed to the other young thrall. “Clean up those rags. When you’re done, get my belongings and put them by my horse.”
The first young man sprinted to the barn while the other dropped to his knees to gather the fallen rags. Sunshine trickled through morning’s vapor. Ducks waddled into the yard, a pair of them flapping their wings, quacking over a morsel in the dirt.
The ebon-haired woman still faced him. “My thanks, Viking. For a moment, I thought you were going to leave me.”
“And I thought you would go quietly to the trees. For a thrall, you don’t take orders well.”
One brow arched. “I was walking to the barn because you were there.”
“Because you didn’t trust me to keep our bargain?”
“Because being with you was the safest place to be.”
Smart woman. Trust was a thin thread here, and she wasn’t taking any chances. He couldn’t blame her. He was a wandering Viking who sold his unique talents to the highest bidder. The Sons followed the exchange, grins splitting Bjorn’s and Erik’s faces. They knew he was no savior of women.
“I didn’t set out to stir up trouble, but I won’t cower from it. You saw how he grabbed me.” Haughtiness limned her accented Norse. “The Saxon got exactly what he deserved.”
His smile was reluctant. She had spirit. In the right measure, her presence could be entertaining. No one could begrudge her attacking Sothram’s shin. He’d been ready to do worse. But his word was law. She needed to understand this.
He jabbed Fenrir’s tip deeper in the soil. “If you ride with me, you’ll do exactly as I say.”
The thrall fixed her cloak, a picture of well-mannered calm. “Then, I shall go to the trees now.”
She treaded an uneven path through the yard, watching him over her shoulder. Frayed hems skimmed smooth-skinned calves. The way she walked, her steps rhythmic and graceful, he could almost hear fine-soled slippers tapping polished stone floors.
Images of foreign, high-born women floated before him, their silk-covered heads turning to peruse the length of him. Some scorned him, a beast of burden, a hired sword ripe for their disdain. Others whispered perfumed invitations, craving roughness in their beds. How little they knew him. It didn’t matter. He’d slaked his lust on them, quenching their bodies to their last pleasured cry before leaving them exhausted in their fur-strewn beds.
But this amber-eyed woman...
Who was she? A runaway wife? A favored concubine ambushed by a rival and sold in the dark of night?
His grip on Fenrir tightened. He would unlock her riddles, piece by piece, touch by touch, and take what he wanted.
Don’t miss KEPT BY THE VIKING by Gina Conkle, available now wherever Carina Press ebooks are sold.
www.millsandboon.com.au
Copyright © 2018 by Gina Conkle
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IMPRINT: Historical
ISBN: 9781489262929
TITLE: THE OUTLAW AND THE RUNAWAY
First Australian Publication 2018
Copyright © 2018 Tatiana March
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