Heart of a Viking

by Samantha Holt

  “Keita?”

  He released her, almost shoving her away. She dragged down her skirts and Thorarin sucked in a deep breath as the thrall stepped in. The man scowled at Keita before dipping his head in acknowledgment of Thorarin. The thrall had to see the colour on her cheeks and the way her breasts rose and fell against the blue wool.

  “Forgive me, the járl wishes Keita to return to the longhouse,” the thrall told him in Norse.

  “Of course.”

  Keita spared him the briefest of glances, swinging her gaze to where he had discarded his disguise. He put a foot on the cloth though he doubted the thrall would have any idea it had been used to mask his features. As she left, Thorarin pushed a hand through his hair and shook his head to himself. That had been too close. If he wanted to lose Ragni’s trust, he was going the right away about it.

  Untouchable should not mean appealing. It had to mean he would not touch her again. She had to remain forbidden to him. For both of their sakes.

  Chapter Nine

  Though the soft touch of wool appealed to Keita, having her figure displayed as though she were some statue or carving made her stomach bunch. Ragni had her stand by him at the feast while his guests from a nearby settlement were on either side of them. She caught the way their gazes followed her and she felt as though insects were crawling all over her. She felt bare and vulnerable in her elegant gown.

  Much like she had with Thorarin. She glanced at the empty seat. What could he be doing? She should never have allowed him to touch her, not a man like him.

  Aye, he was different. He had kissed her with a gentleness she could never have expected from a Viking. Had even looked at her with something akin to awe. But he had secrets. Why was he spending his time hidden away at the farmstead and what had the cloth across his face been for?

  She tried to imagine it was to do with his woodwork. To protect him perhaps. But the thought made no sense. A man like Thorarin didn’t need protection after all. It had hidden his features—a disguise, she was sure of it.

  Whatever his secrets, it was too risky to let him kiss her. It didn’t matter that it was the first time it hadn’t felt like her heart was breaking from loneliness. Her purity was everything. Without it she was no more than an object to be admired. She would be used, abused and mistreated.

  All this meant was that Keita had to find a way of escaping sooner. This prized position wouldn’t last, particularly if she forgot herself so easily around Thorarin. She’d already managed to hide away some food in the stores. Perhaps if she got enough, she could barter it. But she would still need to take care of her collar.

  She would need tools to work it open perhaps. She glanced at Thorarin’s spot again. He had tools to carve his wood. If she managed to visit his farmstead, she might be able to take something.

  As though she had summoned him, he ducked into the longhouse and settled next to their guests. Conversation rumbled between the men but she failed to understand much of it. He spared her the briefest of glances that left her cold and her stomach heavy. It was as though he had forgotten he was touching and kissing her not long ago.

  But, of course, he was wiser than she. Ragni motioned for her to pour the mead and she did as much. The járl gripped her arm when she went to pour for the rest of the table.

  “Stay here,” he commanded. “Let them see you.”

  He proceeded to talk to the two men in Norse, motioning to her. She presumed he was telling them of her capture and status. He curled a hand around her wrist and tugged her closer so he could sweep a finger up and down her forearm while she clasped the jug of mead. Keita tried not to let her hands tremble at the unwanted touch. The hair on her arms pricked.

  When she looked to Thorarin, she saw his jaw twitch underneath his beard but he refused to look at her. She drew in a breath and forced herself to forget his kiss, his touch or the way his gaze had searched hers. That draw had been unlike anything she’d ever experienced, as though her body recognised something in him and needed it. As though kissing him would help her find it.

  Keita stilled and Ragni dropped his finger from her when several men entered the longhouse. She recognised them as the ones who had been sent with the taxes. One strode over and murmured in the járl’s ear. When redness seeped into her master’s face, Keita stiffened. Whatever he’d just been told he was furious.

  Ragni nodded to his guests and said something in Norse to them before leaving the table and following the man outside. Thorarin appeared oblivious and yet...something in her told her he knew what this was about.

  She made a show of clearing away some empty platters and taking them out to be washed. Raised voices echoed through the night but she recognised few of the words. By the time Ragni, returned, still red-faced and enraged, the meal was almost over and the guests retreated to their pallets accompanied by bed-slaves. Though she tried to avoid the sight, it reminded her all too much of how easily she could become one of them. To have a strange man pawing her body, using it for his own pleasure.

  When she had finished tidying away the cleaned plates, she approached Fina. It was a risk, particularly now she was wearing this gown. Most of the slaves still ignored her but Fina had not tried to make her job harder recently—mostly because her chores had lessened since her encounter with Fleinn. Ragni somehow thought that less work would protect her purity...Keita wasn’t entirely sure of his reasonings but she was grateful.

  “Why is the járl angry?”

  Fina sneered at her. “You hope to ease his worries? Are you not afraid of losing your purity?”

  Keita lifted a shoulder. “I had thought you would know.”

  “Of course I know. I know more than you.”

  Keita masked a triumphant smile. She’d relied on Fina’s arrogance overriding her hatred for her. Hopefully she could use it to her advantage. “Is it about the taxes?”

  The woman pursed her lips. “They have been stolen. During the night. It is said it was one man who took it.”

  A tiny icy drip of fear trickled down into her belly. Could her instinct be wrong or...?

  “Do they know who?”

  “Do you think if they did, they would have returned without the coin? Though it is said it must have been someone who knew of their plans.”

  Keita swallowed and attempted to appear normal. “No one would betray Ragni, surely?”

  “They would be a fool to indeed. If he is willing to kill his own son, think what he would do to someone who betrayed him.”

  The drip turned into a flood. Ice water washed through her veins leaving her with the urge to shudder. The disguise and Thorarin’s anger...was he the one behind this theft?

  She had to find out, to warn him off.

  “What will happen now that the taxes are gone?”

  Fina peered at her. “Curious slave. Why should you care?”

  “Ragni is my master.”

  The corner of her mouth lifted. “The járl will have to raise more money. There will be much discontent. Let’s see how long your special position lasts when anger and fighting is abound.”

  With that, Fina swivelled and left her. Keita eyed the bowls in front of her and pressed her palms to the wooden table. The thought of Ragni angered or the villagers struggling to come up with more coin didn’t concern her. Nay, it was Thorarin. She’d known there was something strange about him from the beginning. And now this.

  She pressed away from the table and slipped out of the longhouse. Since that night with Fleinn she had been cautious with her bathing habits but the men went out of their way to avoid her now, unwilling—she assumed—to suffer the same fate as Fleinn.

  The path to the farmstead was dark but a glow suffused from the large building. Her heart beat like wings in her chest. Should she be doing this? Likely not, particularly considering he’d kissed her. But she could not stand aside while he put himself in danger.

  Why she cared so much about this Viking’s fate, she knew not. However, he’d been the only person to s
how her the smallest measure of kindness. Whatever he was doing, she could not believe he had some sinister plot in mind.

  The scent of wood smoke greeted her when she pushed open the door. Sitting by the fire was Thorarin, on a simple log, his shoulders rounded and his head dipped as he carved something small. The rhythmic sound of the knife on wood somehow eased the fluttering in her chest. His dark golden hair, scattered with braids created a blanket over his face so she couldn’t see the concentration on his face but she could imagine the way his brow was furrowed and his eyes were intense.

  For several moments, she observed his arms flexing and his shoulders moving. She suspected she could watch him do this for days on end. In a world of uncertainty, this man carved things to his will. There was something steady and reassuring about such a skill.

  Keita cleared her throat. He dropped whatever he was carving and stood, knife in hand. She held up both her palms in surrender and she saw his body relax. He slipped the knife away and stepped around the log on which he’d been sitting.

  “What are you doing here? Ragni has sent you?”

  “Nay.” How would she say this? How would she declare she thought him a thief?

  “You should not be here alone.” He glanced about as if there were spies in the corner of the dark building. “You put yourself in danger.”

  “As do you.”

  “I am in no danger. I can protect myself.”

  She ignored his firm stance, one that told her to leave—now. Keita came around him and settled on the log. The tiny carving on the ground drew her attention and she picked it up. It was of Odin—or at least it would be, she thought. She had come to recognise some of the Norse gods though there were too many for her to learn them all.

  “You are more carpenter than warrior, I think,” she murmured.

  Perhaps he realised he would not rid himself of her easily or maybe he couldn’t resist the pull between them anymore than she could, but he came to sit next to her. Aware of his firm thigh so close to hers, the hairs on the back of her neck tingled.

  He laid a hand over hers, the coarse warmth sending both a shock and a soothing sensation through her. Thorarin took the carving and placed it aside, much to her disappointment.

  “Why do you come here and risk the járl’s wrath?”

  She stared into the flickering flames, recalling the times when she’d done the same from the comfort of her father’s keep. The golden dance of the fire mesmerised. Here, she was warm, rested and in the company of a man who would not harm her. It was the least terrified she’d felt since her arrival in Norway.

  “I heard tell of the theft of the járl’s money,” she finally said, twisting to view him.

  He kept his gaze ahead, giving her a fine view of his firm profile. His heavy brow betrayed no emotion at her words, no hint of a need to keep secrets, yet she noted the slight twitch of his jaw. He lifted his shoulders in that slow movement that told her he was absorbing her words. And that perhaps she was right. He was behind the theft.

  “I heard tell too.”

  “It is strange how you were out that night that it happened.”

  “How do you know I was out?”

  “I waited for you,” she confessed. “And of course, there was the disguise...”

  Thorarin pushed to his feet and turned away from her. He spoke with his back to her. “You take a great risk coming to me with these accusations.”

  “Are they accusations?”

  “What else would you call them?”

  “A warning. Or...” she stood and edged over. He flinched when she laid a palm to his shoulder, “the words of a concerned friend.”

  He snorted. “I have no friends.”

  “Nor do I.”

  Thorarin twisted to view her, his eyes surprisingly soft. “You think we could be friends? A Viking and a thrall?”

  “It lowers you, perhaps, to be friends with me.”

  “Neinn. You are a princess, remember? It is you who would be lowering yourself to be friends with the kind who captured you.”

  “Princess? That means nothing here. I thought it meant little at home but I realise now my life was not so terrible.”

  Thorarin pushed a hand through his hair and motioned for her to sit again. She did so and he joined her once more. The tension seemed to have eased from his muscles. Whether she’d be able to persuade him to tell her more or cease whatever these risky games were, she knew not, but she was grateful for more time with him.

  Selfishly, she was grateful because she wanted more time with him.

  “Tell me of your life in Pictland.”

  She shrugged. “I was illegitimate, born to the king’s mistress. She died when I was young and though she was treated well, the king’s wife and daughters did not like me. I suppose I cannot blame them. But I had a warm home, food on the table and servants to take care of me.” Keita smirked at herself. “Sometimes I was ungrateful even for that.”

  “Do you hate them?”

  “I did. Now I am not so sure.”

  “But they gave you to Ragni.”

  “Aye, and they shall live with that on their minds for the rest of their days. They were angry at me for being born and there was little I could do about that, but I can control my own anger. I will not hold onto it.”

  “Many would want to seek revenge,” he said quietly. “What about when you are free? Will you not seek them out?”

  “What would I do? Besides, it is not likely I shall gain freedom is it?”

  “You paint, do you not? I can show you which plants to use.” He picked up the carved statue and handed it to her. “Paint and sell this. I shall no doubt have more soon.”

  Keita clasped the wooden statue. “But this is your work. I cannot take coin for your work.”

  “It will be you who makes it beautiful. I make these only to pass the time. I have no need to sell them for myself.”

  She considered this huge man next to her with his large muscles, wide shoulders and set jaw. How was it he incited this soft and warm sensation inside of her?

  “You really believe I could save for my freedom? That Ragni will even release me?”

  He rubbed his beard. “I know not but as you say, you must hold onto hope.”

  “And what of you? Where is your hope?”

  “A man like me has no need of hope.”

  “Then what does he need?”

  Thorarin gave her a lopsided smile. “You will find out soon enough.”

  Chapter Ten

  Thorarin stepped out of the bathhouse and pushed a hand through his damp hair. Since that first time with Keita, he had not let any of the slave girls wash him. He certainly could not ask Keita to. Her coming to his home had been a great risk on her behalf and though at the time he’d been more concerned for her, he’d somehow forgotten that it put his plans at risk too. He could not afford to lose Ragni’s trust—not now.

  Not while they were looking for a traitor in their midst. The járl was convinced it had to be someone who knew when and where the coin was being taken. Of course, he was right.

  It seemed two of the guards had already been beaten for their role in not protecting the money and several others punished in the hopes that the truth would spill from their lips. Thorarin eyed the sun in its low position. It was hardly morning and Ragni was already inflicting pain. He regretted that he’d had a role in it but this would not be the first time Ragni had used his power in such a dishonourable way. If all went well, no one would have to suffer at his hands again.

  And if Keita had her suspicions, would others? He could not afford to take wrong step at this point. He was too close.

  Her words rattled through his mind while he made his way back to the farmstead. Friend. He’d never had any friends. He was not even sure Anki counted. And friendship implied so many things, things that he did not believe he could consider with her. After all, you did not wish to peel a gown off your friend or dip your fingers into their wet heat. Kiss them until they cried
out then spread their legs to lose yourself.

  Friends. He snorted to himself. That slave girl had no idea about him.

  After tidying away the scraps of wood from last night, he tamped down the embers of the fire and checked the false wall. He headed back down to the longhouse. There was more work to be done on the farmstead and several villagers had mentioned having work for him but he needed to be by Ragni’s side to discover what he knew so far.

  When he entered the building, the tension hung thicker than the smoke in the air. The two guests—important men from one of the settlements at the head of the river—sat at the table while Ragni occupied his carved chair.

  He lifted his head in greeting and motioned for Thorarin to join him at his side. He leaned in. “I may have need of you.” He jerked his head to the two men. “It seems our guests are not happy with our hospitality.”

  Thorarin eyed the two men, both older than he but he knew them to be raiders. These were the sort of men who had become warriors in the blood of their enemies. While Ragni had plenty of guards in the longhouse, Thorarin remained on edge.

  “It is not your hospitality that is a problem,” the younger one, Hattr, spat. “It is your lack of payment.”

  Ragni’s nostrils flared. No weapons were allowed in the longhouse but these men needed no weapons, nor did Thorarin. Would he harm another to protect Ragni, to prove himself?

  Já, he likely would. And he’d feel no compunction about hurting these men. He’d met the likes of them in his time away. They cared only for riches, sacrificing their honour with ease if it meant they would gain.

  “Why should I pay for a failed expedition anyway?”

  Hattr slammed down a balled fist on the table, sending mead spilling out of the goblets. “We used our ships—”

  “And my men. I was promised untold riches in return for helping fund this expedition yet I have none,” Ragni replied, a bite to his voice that left Thorarin’s muscles tense.

  He could not let Ragni come to harm, could not let these men do his job for him. There would be no satisfaction in a quick death by the hands of another. He glanced around and noticed Keita and a few of the other slaves lingering by the doorway. He motioned to her.