Heart of a Viking

by Samantha Holt

  “You have been alone with this man, Ilisa?”

  “For several days, Galan.” She lifted her chin. It might ruin her but if Galan wanted to stay in her good graces he would tell no one else of the Viking in her home. Dear God, she hoped she was right. If the villagers discovered Alrek they would send a mob out.

  “Your brother would be deeply ashamed.” Galan peered at the Viking once more before lowering his sword. “You should not be alone with him,” he hissed.

  “Come, Galan, let us walk for a while and I shall explain all.” She slipped an arm through his and began to draw him away

  “Ilisa,” Alrek warned, voice tense. Did he fear for her safety? Did he not realise her countryman was a far safer escort than a Viking? And while Galan still lusted after her, she could convince him to stay quiet.

  “We shall not be long,” she said brightly and tugged on Galan’s arm again. She needed to diffuse the situation before both men decided to turn on each other. As much as she disliked Galan, she had no wish to see him dead.

  Galan relented, slipped his sword into his belt and allowed himself to be drawn away from the cottage. They followed the cliff top away from the farm. Salty air blasted her face and whipped through her hair but the day had remained clear for a change.

  “What were you thinking, Ilisa, allowing a Viking into your home?”

  “I was thinking it was the right thing to do,” she replied without looking at him.

  “He is a savage. He could have raped and killed you.”

  “He has done nothing. He is thankful for my help and will be gone before long.”

  “You are too trusting.” Galan’s tone was tinged with bitterness.

  “I could not leave him, Galan. It was not the Christian thing to do.”

  “Christian?” he scoffed. “Most are only Christian when it suits them. What appeal does the Viking have to you?”

  Ilisa paused and tried to unhook her arm from his but he held it tightly in place. “Release me. I have no time for your insults. I took him in because he had nearly drowned. As soon as a ship is nearby, he will return to his home and we shall all forget a Viking was ever in our midst.”

  “Ilisa, you of all people should not be harbouring a Viking. What of your brother? And Donnie? Not to mention you are alone with that man. You are too good a woman to understand but your virtue is at risk.”

  “My virtue? I am a widow. I have little of that left.” She heard him grind his teeth.

  “It is wrong. You should not be alone with a man, let alone the enemy. Remember the bloodshed the Vikings have brought upon us. Who is to say he will not turn on you? Send him on his way and we shall forget this happened.”

  “You cannot command me, Galan,” she said lightly, not wishing to provoke him in spite of the rising heat inside her. She would not be told what to do, particularly not by Galan.

  His jaw twitched as he stared at her. His grey eyes were cold. Though Galan was handsome—too handsome to her mind for it made him vain—there had always been something innately ugly to the man, as if his soul was rotten. She shuddered when he gripped her hand tightly.

  “If it is discovered you have a Viking in your home, at best the village will turn their back on you. At worst they will burn your cottage to the ground and kill your Viking. I will not be able to guarantee your safety.”

  “Then perhaps it is best that it is not discovered.” She arched both brows and eyed him.

  He ran a hand through his hair and huffed. “If you had just accepted my offer of marriage, none of this would have happened.”

  “Well, it did happen.”

  “I vow when you are my wife I will not tolerate such talk.”

  She resisted the desire to roll her eyes. The man refused to be dissuaded no matter how many times she told him she held no interest in marrying him. “I will not be your wife.”

  “Surely you can see it is only right? You are a beautiful woman and I am the most eligible man in the village. You hold this vast land and my father owns much. Together we could be very powerful.”

  “But I do not care for power.”

  “Come now, do you not feel anything for me?” He tugged her into him so she sprawled against his chest. His arms crept around her waist while she struggled to push herself back. “Many women long to be in your place.”

  “Release me,” she pleaded through gritted teeth. “You are behaving most dishonourably.”

  He skimmed his lips across her ear and she trembled. “Tell me I do not affect you. Tell me you do not long for me. I understand and admire your loyalty to Donnie, but you cannot live alone forever. You cannot deny me forever.”

  Ilisa shoved hard and managed to break his hold. She stumbled back and his expression darkened. “I do not wish to marry you. Forgive me, but I will not change my mind on that.”

  “You shall regret denying me, Ilisa.” He stepped forward to grab her but she dodged him and edged back.

  “I shall regret nothing.” Another step forward, another step back. Her heart began to pound. Galan had never been angry with her before but from the deep set of his brow and the clench of his jaw, clearly fury simmered beneath those fine looks. “Return home,” she insisted.

  “I came to check you were well after the storm,” he pressed through a clenched jaw, “and now you will not even give me a moment of your time. Is it the Viking? Have you taken him as your lover?”

  “Nay!”

  He inched closer still. Ilisa darted a glance behind her and realised she had backed herself onto the ledge of the cliff. One wrong step and she’d tumble to her death. Wind caught her skirts, the roar of waves, so vicious and unforgiving made her heart stick in her throat.

  “Galan,” she pleaded when he stepped close enough to push her or pull her into him. At that moment, she wasn’t sure what he would do. Deep, dark pools of passion swelled in his gaze. But it wasn’t a pure passion, a mere need for another. It was a wrathful, ugly desire that made promises of revenge if she did not do as he said.

  “I shall run this Viking through and take you. I have tried being kind and patient but it has been too long. I need heirs and no other woman will do.”

  “Y-you shall do nothing of the sort.” Her voice wavered, lost in the gusting wind and rolling waves.

  He snatched her arm. His fingers pinched her skin and she wobbled on her heels. Awareness of the great drop behind her made her unsteady on her feet. When she peered down the cliff face, her head swam. She normally never stood so close, mindful of that fact she got dizzy when looking down from a great height. It would take a mere flick of a finger to push her over, she suspected. Ilisa stared into Galan’s stormy eyes, pleaded silently with him.

  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 the 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.