Heart of a Viking

by Samantha Holt

  Nothing. Not even the tiniest whisper of air. He peered at her bed, trying to break the darkness. The fire had yet to go out fully but her bed was shrouded in shadows. Gradually her pallet became apparent as his vision adjusted. Alrek eyed the bedding, followed the bumps in the blanket until it came to where her head should have been.

  “Óðins skegg!” On his feet, he stumbled over the pallet and snatched the torch from the wall next to the door. Mouth dry, heart thudding, Alrek shoved the torch into the glowing embers of the fire. “Light!” he demanded.

  The torch flared and he uttered a thank you. Foregoing his boots and dressed in only a shirt, he took a last glance at her bed and his insides crumpled. Definitely not there. Another howl sent a tremor down his spine. He dashed outside, lifted the torch and squinted into the distance. A tiny flicker of light moved across the darkened hills.

  Ilisa.

  Foolish woman. Was she intending to scare off the wolves? Alrek fell into a sprint, dropping the torch when it became too much of a hindrance. A half-moon flickered through the clouds, enough to light the uneven ground. Fear drummed in his heart, horror curdled his stomach. What would he do if something happened to Ilisa? A scream echoed across the hills and struck his heart—a crippling pain that nearly sent him to his knees.

  “Ilisa,” he called, the sound coarse. His lungs and thighs burned. The light had stopped moving up the hills but it swept from side to side.

  As he got closer, he realised the wolves had surrounded her. Within moments, he came to her side and shoved her behind him. She cried out and he snatched the torch from her, swiping at the snarling beasts. They were hungry indeed to come out so far and show no fear of the fire.

  The pack surrounded them, four animals snapped at their legs. Alrek used the torch to keep them at bay but how long it would work, he knew not. He had to get Ilisa to safety. He shouted at the beasts, swung again and dodged to the side as one made a jump for him. He caught the animal’s side with the flame and the wolf whimpered and backed away.

  “Stay close to me,” he hissed. If she ran, they’d likely go after her.

  Her eyes were wide under the moonlight. She gripped his arm. He returned the snarl of the wolves with one of his own. These beasts might be killers by nature but he was a Viking—a warrior bred to fight. And these animals wanted to harm the woman he loved. They would not succeed.

  The leader of the pack lunged and Alrek landed a punch on the animal’s nose. The others appeared to take this as a sign to attack. One scratched his arm, the other nearly caught his leg in its jaws.

  “Get back,” Ilisa cried and kicked the wolf going for his ankle in the head. It turned on her and swiped its claws across her leg, eliciting a yelp from her.

  Alrek cursed, forced himself between her and the animal and kicked the wolf hard in the stomach as it dove again. With a yowl, it toppled back and the remaining wolves backed off. He swung the torch several more times, bellowing desperate curses and threats until his voice ran dry. The pack eased further back and finally turned away. Alrek closed his eyes for the briefest moment and drew in a breath.

  He turned to Ilisa, dropped the torch and pulled her into his embrace. He clamped her head to his chest, against the pounding pressure of his heart.

  “You foolish woman, what were you thinking?” he scolded quietly, his voice still hoarse.

  “I wanted to save the sheep,” she snivelled. Her whole body trembled and she wrapped her arms about his waist.

  All Alrek could think of was how close to losing her he had been, of her delicate body against his. The need to protect this woman burned in his chest. It was a need he didn’t think would ever extinguish. “They are not worth your life.”

  “They’re all I have,” she sobbed.

  “Nay, not anymore.” He loosened his hold and drew her chin up to view her. Tears shimmered in the moonlight, her beautiful features streaked with them. Thumbing them away, he glanced around for the torch, now doused on the ground somewhere. “Let us return to the cottage now. I do not wish to be out here while those beasts are around.”

  She nodded and gulped audibly. He took the chance to stroke her cheek once more and released her. Alrek gave up on trying to spot the torch and took Ilisa’s hand. As they began down the hill, she let out a shallow hiss.

  “What is wrong?”

  “My leg.”

  Alrek cursed under his breath. Of course, the wolf had swiped at her and he hadn’t even asked if she was well. In one movement, he scooped her into his arms.

  “’Tis only a scratch,” she protested.

  He didn’t care. One drop of her blood spilled was too much. Not to mention he didn’t mind having her in such a position. She weighed little and her supple form moulded perfectly to him. When she slipped her arms around his neck, he almost forgot they’d just been battling wolves.

  By some miracle, Alrek made it down the hill at a quick pace without stumbling. Perhaps the knowledge that he held the most precious treasure of all in his arms drove him to step swift and sure. He pushed open the door with his back and didn’t release her until he had laid her on the bed. Using the dull fire to light a candle, he placed it on the table near the bed and urged Ilisa to lie back.

  “Let me look,” he commanded.

  “A mere scratch, Alrek,” she insisted but lifted her skirts.

  Sure enough, several red streaks marred her milky skin. Alrek shook his head and dabbed it with the sleeve of his shirt. “It isn’t deep,” he observed, “but you should not have been hurt at all. I should have reacted sooner.”

  “Alrek,” she said softly, a hand to his, “you saved my life. I was foolish, you were right, but you saved me from paying for my folly.”

  He grimaced, unable to let go of the feeling of having failed her. “Now we are even,” he said mirthlessly.

  “We are.”

  He let his fingers remain on her calf as he eyed the laceration. It wasn’t deep and didn’t look to be bleeding any further. He would however need to clean it. “Do not move.” Straightening, he set about lighting the fire and fetched some cloths and water. Ilisa barely stifled a whimper while he cleaned the wound but her meek behaviour told him how ashamed she was of her rash decision.

  The pounding of his heart began to slow, the fear ebbed away. Soft skin beneath his fingertips and the way she watched him seared his senses. Smoke whirled around them, mimicking the thickening of the air in his lungs. He glanced at her again and paused. Jaw clenched, he made a decision. He was staying.

  He dropped the bowl and cloth on the floor and skimmed a finger over the soft curve of her calf, his gaze locked onto hers. Her eyes rounded, lips parted. A silent understanding ran between them and he saw everything he felt reflected in those pale eyes. Love, desire, desperation.

  Alrek followed the line of her leg down to her foot and circled an ankle. Her pliant flesh and small frame made his muscles tense in restraint. The need to lose himself in her warred with longing to relish everything, to explore her body and show his love for her.

  Leaving her ankle, he traced a path up the inside of her thigh. He groaned at the warmth of it and she sucked in a sharp breath. He shifted to sit on the bed beside her and he spotted the rapid rise and fall of her chest. His fingers pressed higher still, her heat beckoning to him. With his hand buried under her skirts, he leaned forward and she fell back, vibrant hair spilling over the pillow. Alrek drew in a heavy breath and put a hand to the side of her head so as to pause and admire her.

  “You are such a beautiful Pict.”

  “And you are a beautiful Viking,” she replied, her expression serious.

  Her lack of a smile didn’t disturb him. He couldn’t bring himself to grin at being called beautiful, something no one else had ever called him. Handsome, aye, but never beautiful. The torrent of emotion pouring between them stole their usual humour. After this there would be no going back. Their two cultures, usually so opposed, would come together this night and even the gods would not stop the
m.

  “Do you think perhaps the gods always intended for my voyage to end here?” he asked, voice gravelly as if he had swallowed sand.

  Ilisa reached up and stroked a hand across his face, coming to rest on his jawline. “Aye, I do.”

  He claimed her mouth then, confident she felt the same as he did, confident nothing would tear them apart after this. No wolves or Vikings or Picts could come between them. Her hot mouth opened to his, willing and eager. Alrek tasted her desperate need and he let his fingers slip higher until they met the juncture of her thighs. A primitive sound rose from his throat as he felt her wet heat and the evidence of her desire.

  A feminine moan escaped her in response and he swallowed it, tangled his tongue with hers until they were both panting. He stroked her cleft deftly, firmly, and savoured the quiver of her legs as she parted herself wide for him. Her hands grew wild, nails digging into his back and shoulders. Their kisses increased in fervour until he was convinced he was drowning again. Drowning in her heat and taste.

  The first tremors of her climax surprised him. In spite of his best attempts, he hadn’t been paying enough attention to her pleasure. Her kisses and the powerful draw of her stole his reason and his honour. Alrek took her mouth fiercely as her body trembled under his fingers. He kept up the same forceful pace until she bucked and stiffened. Ilisa cried his name but the sound came out muffled against his mouth and dampened by pleasure.

  He let his fingers drop and skimmed his hand up under her gown to cup a hip. Fingers pressing into her pliant flesh, he lifted himself up to view the cloud of pleasure in her gaze and her dewy skin, slick from her climax.

  “By the gods,” he spilled out, “Ilisa, I thought you a siren but you are so much more.”

  “And I thought you a mere barbaric Viking but you are so much more, my Alrek.”

  My Alrek. How he treasured those words. For he was hers, just as she was his now. They might not have joined yet but Ilisa was in his heart, in his soul.

  “Come now, let me see you,” he said as he drew back and lifted the hem of her skirts. “The sight of your sweet body has been addling my mind since I first saw you.”

  “You looked did you not?” Her lips quirked.

  “A little,” he confessed. “I could not resist. I am not honourable when it comes to you, Ilisa. I am a mere mortal and you a siren. I have dreamed of your beautiful body for many a night since.”

  She came up onto her knees and helped him with the laces of her bodice as his fingers fumbled with the small ties. Together they pulled it over her head, taking her chemise with it. She kneeled before him, pale, soft, curvaceous and enchanting. Her hair tumbled over her shoulders in messy waves and he speared his fingers into it, tilting her head back to take his kiss.

  Ilisa’s hands scrabbled across his chest and they lifted onto their knees so skin touched skin. Alrek hissed at the feel of her full breasts and tight nipples scalding him. While she kissed across his jawline and down his neck, he frantically tugged off his shirt, relieved to be free of the constricting material. His cock touched her bare stomach as he pulled her back into him. Shards of pleasurable pain shot through him and he reached down to cup her bottom, to hold her closer.

  In one movement, he had her lifted, an arm keeping her pinned to him and she caught on, wrapping her legs around him and making his head spin. Arousal scented the air, her lavender fragrance mingled with it to create a perfume that proved to drive him to the edge. He manoeuvred so he sat on the edge of the bed, her legs still tangled about his waist. Ilisa rubbed herself against his shaft and his eyes threatened to roll into the back of his head.

  Hands wound into his hair, she teased him with her frantic movements, though he suspected she had little intention of tormenting him. She moved on instinct, her need for relief as great as his. Alrek took a moment to lean her back so he could taste her breasts and savour the fullness of them tipped by hard nipples. She moved restlessly against his mouth while he nipped and kissed. He drew a nipple in, relishing the feel of it against the roof of his mouth and her sweet, keening response.

  “Alrek,” she begged.

  He could hold back no longer—any more than a man could hold back the tide. Alrek lifted her and used his hands on her hips to bring her swiftly down. He froze, his mind filled with the feel and scent of her. A cry from her cut through the haze but when she started moving, his fear he’d hurt her abated.

  “By the gods, Ilisa, so tight, so hot,” he pressed through clenched teeth.

  “Alrek, more,” she demanded.

  His lips quirked then. His feisty Pictish woman making demands of him once more. Alrek admired the arch of her neck and pressed his lips to it as her head lolled back and he took control. Boneless in his arms, he pounded into her, fast and furious. Control deserted him. Pliant flesh, her soft words of encouragement drove him on.

  Before long, her body convulsed around him. He pushed harder and watched the pleasure break across her face. Her gaze fastened onto his and her pulsing sex brought him to the brink. Hot, molten satisfaction thundered through his body and he barely withdrew in time. His seed spurted onto her stomach and between her thighs as she remained straddled across his lap, her arms around his neck, limp and satiated.

  Alrek took several moments to gather his breath and he enjoyed stroking her back and the tickle of her lips as she flattened tiny, exhausted kisses to the side of his neck. After much time, he eased her off his lap and laid her on the bed. Once he had her cleaned up, he slid in beside her and she snuggled into his chest. Alrek let loose a sigh of satisfaction.

  “Your bed is much more comfortable than mine.”

  Ilisa giggled. “Then do not leave it.”

  He pressed a kiss to her head and eyed the dying flames. “I do not intend to. Ever.”

  “What do you mean?” Tension sat in her voice, making it slightly higher pitched than normal.

  “I will stay,” he told her. “I cannot leave you. The gods brought me here for a reason. It was to meet you.”

  “But, Alrek, ‘tis dangerous for a Viking to be in the land of the Picts.” Ilisa rubbed a hand across his chest.

  “We have had no trouble since Galan left. We are bothering no one out here and few would be willing to go up against me. I can keep us safe, I promise.”

  “I do not doubt it but still I fear. The world is changing so quickly, quicker than I could have imagined. The Scots will not take to you any better than my people will.” She raised herself on an elbow and peered down at him. “I do not want to think of you coming to harm.”

  Alrek cupped her cheek and smoothed a thumb across it. “Then do not think on it, hjarta mitt.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “My heart.” He took her free hand and pressed it to his chest. “You are my heart, Ilisa. I love you.” A smile broke across her face. To him, she glowed. His heart—the heart she owned, inhabited—swelled.

  “I love you, Alrek, my Viking warrior.”

  “Good.” He lifted his head to press a firm kiss to her lips. “Then it is settled. I shall stay and become a farmer.”

  “What of the voyage you had planned?”

  “I had intended to travel to Iceland. There is much land there.”

  “So you were to become a farmer there?” Her mouth curled.

  “Is that so hard to imagine?”

  “Now that I have seen you work as a sheephand, mayhap not, but you are still a wild and rugged warrior. Will you not get bored of tending to sheep? Would Iceland not bring you some excitement?”

  “Nay, my fighting days are behind me. I want sons and a beautiful wife. A peaceful life. I want that with you and it matters not where I am.”

  “I should like children,” she said softly, resting her head on his chest once more. “Donnie and I were only married for a short while before he was killed. We had no time to try.”

  Jealousy threatened to bubble in his chest but he recalled the exquisite woman in his arms and the pain she must have gone
through. He was here with her now. There was no need for jealousy, selfish emotion that it was, particularly when she had suffered such loss.

  “I am sorry my countrymen killed your family.”

  “You are not like them, Alrek.”

  He swallowed his guilt.

  Chapter Eight

  The following morning, Alrek insisted they ignore their duties for a while and spend some time together. After being awoken by the beautiful Viking teasing her between her thighs and a healthy dose of lovemaking, Ilisa found herself more compliant than usual. Besides, there were two of them to see to everything now. No longer would she be rushing around, fighting to keep her farm running. Her shoulders felt lighter, her mind freer.

  Hand in hand, they strolled down to the beach. Ilisa paused to take off her leather shoes, eyeing the cloudless sky as she did so. Mayhap Alrek was right—his gods had blessed their union. The thunderstorms and rain had stayed away and in Pictland it rarely stayed dry for such long periods of time.

  “Will you not take your boots off?” she asked.

  His lips curled. “And get sandy feet?”

  “Is my Viking afeared of a little sand?”

  “Vixen,” he shot back, but knelt to loosen his boots and slip them off. He took her shoes from her and placed them near a rock, presumably so they’d remember where they were.

  The sand warmed her feet and slipped between her toes. Alrek took her hand, his coarse palm heating the rest of her body. Had she really had this wild warrior in her bed? It seemed like a dream to her. And he loved her! As soon as the words had come from his mouth, she had understood he felt the same as her. Alrek was a good man, and he set her body and soul alight. He had proved his worth over and over since she’d rescued him. She never wished to be parted from him.

  “What?”

  She must have been staring. She twisted her head away to gaze out at the endless ocean. An odd thought that her lover had come from there. Ilisa had never sailed anywhere yet he had travelled far and wide. And had chosen to stay with her. The smile that refused to leave her that morning widened.