by Christine Merrill, Michelle Willingham, Louise Allen, Terri Brisbin
But she had not left because she had not wanted to, just as he had not stopped himself in the brothel. When he learned the truth he would turn her out, and she would be well punished for her playacting and foolish suspicions, because she would never again feel as she did when he held her in his arms.
As she worried on it, Tom burst in through the door of his room, tossing his hat and gloves aside, but keeping his stick as he dropped into the chair beside hers. “Toby,” he called to his servant, “paper and ink. Immediately. Sharpen a pen, and bring the writing table closer to the fire for me. Then, prepare yourself to deliver a message to the home of the Earl of Stanton. You are not to leave until you see the man. Put the paper I give you into his hands and no other’s. He will hear me out on this, damn him, if he cares for his country.”
“Tom, what are you about? What has happened?” The mention of the earl made her mouth go dry. But Tom seemed more elated than angry. Proof that whatever he had learned it was not the whole truth.
He flexed his bad leg and sighed. “It has been a most curious day. I procured the license, or at least set things in motion to make the damned thing procurable. And then, I went to visit an old friend in the Home Office. The Earl of Stanton was my captain, before your husband. If we are to make a go of it, I cannot lay about here, mooning over the past. I need employment.” He was grinning at her as though he thought it the most wonderful thing in the world to toil for her, and she could feel her heart breaking a little.
He shook his head. “But he would not have me. It seems I am not trusted. There were rumors, you know, after the incident. Some thought me a coward, and others a traitor for my damned luck on that day.”
She cringed at his casual mention of the very thing that had preyed on her mind. “Perhaps the people who doubted did not know you as I do now.” And she would find a way to make it right, now that she had seen the truth.
He smiled and gave another shake of his head, this time in amazement. “No matter. Today, I think it has all happened for a reason. Stanton’s secretary was quick to take note of the cold reception, and made me a most unusual offer. I think he hoped that there was some bit of information that I might wish to sell, or that the enemy had some use for a desperate and angry man.”
“No.” She almost moaned the word. It would be a sad thing if her presence had made him the very traitor she hoped to catch.
He placed a hand on hers. “Do not worry. I am not tempted. But I kept mum about the fact. And now, it seems I have information that would be most valuable to Stanton, and he will be forced to apologize for turning me out.” His eyes narrowed. “As if I would turn so easily to help the lot that gave me this gamey leg.” His hand tightened on hers, as though he could shield her from the pain of the past. “I know we are barely met. And this all must seem most curious to you. But if asked, I will spy for Stanton and meet with these men to divine their purpose. Perhaps I can lead them to reveal others. If I can deliver them into the very hands of those they seek to betray, it will be most satisfying. I will lie if I must, and appear to be a rogue and traitor. But you must believe that I am as true to my country as I will be to you.” He brushed the hair out of her eyes. “I will make an excellent spy, since it is so easy for most to believe wrong of me.”
“Don’t.” The proof of his innocence hurt almost as much as the fear of his guilt.
He was holding her hand almost painfully tight, as though he feared she would leave. “If we are to be together, you will hear what people say of me. But know that it is all lies. For you, I have nothing but truth. If there was any sin I was guilty of, in all the time on the Peninsula, it was of envy. For Charles told me of you, and I…” He took a breath. “I loved you long before I met you. But I never meant to act on it. At that time, I thought I had a future of my own, even if it was not so bright as his. I would never have hurt him, for doing so would hurt you. And I never could. Not in all the world.”
So his last secret was that he loved her better than she knew. And he did not want her to think him dishonorable, should he resort to spying. She could feel the tears welling up behind her eyes. For how was what he was planning any different than what she had done to him?
Other than that she had been wrong.
“What is it?” The concern for her was echoed in his eyes, his voice and every line of his body, as though he strained from his very soul to put her at ease. It only made her betrayal of him worse. She could feel the sob breaking, and was powerless to stop it.
His arms were around her. “There, there. I have upset you.”
“No. It is I who was false to you. You will hate me when you know.”
He stroked her hair, letting her cry. “What could you ever do that would make me love you less?”
“The rumors about your disloyalty came from me. I went to the Earl of Stanton. It was I who put the doubts about you into his head. I hoped that I could trick you with my body into revealing the truth.”
There was a horrible pause before he spoke. He went still and his face became blank. “And so you have. After less than a day, there is not a secret left in me that you do not know.”
“I hate myself for what I have done.”
“For giving yourself to me?” His hand moved ever so slightly on her.
“No. That was…” What good did it do to lie and protect the feelings of the dead, when it would further wrong the man who held her? “Perfect. When we are alone? It is unlike anything I have known and I do not regret a moment. But I wronged you with my words, and I lied to you, even after I knew I had been mistaken about your guilt.”
“You never needed my help. Not even from the first?” He gave an incredulous laugh.
“I was in the brothel only to trap you. I would never…I do not need money, or the protection of any man. I could have lived out my days alone in comfort. But I had to know.…”
“And now you do.” His back stiffened, but he did not release her. “Charles was right. Your loyalty to him knew no bounds. Not even those of propriety, if you were willing to lie with me just to prove my guilt.”
She opened her eyes and looked up into his. “All I found was that you were a better man, and more honest and noble than I could possibly imagine.”
“And now, I am vindicated?” He said it as though it were a small comfort. “And when you accepted my offer of marriage?” There was no rancor in his voice, only a gentle prodding to get to the truth.
“I knew in my heart that it would all end once you realized what I had done. But I could not manage to say no.”
He released her and leaned back in his chair, rubbing his hand over his eyes as though befuddled by her answer. “If I had behaved as a man of honor when we met, we would not be in this muddle. I should have walked from the room as soon as I suspected the truth of your identity. But I wanted you, even when I thought you would sell your body to any who would have it. I thought you a common whore, who would leave as soon as she saw how little I had to offer. But I could not let you go.”
“You offered yourself. And it was more than I deserved.”
“And what you did to me was done out of loyalty to your country, and to your husband. What sense would there be to punish you for believing what everyone else thought true?” He sighed again.
“You do not mean to cast me off, then?” she asked in a small voice, fearing what his answer would be.
He gave her a wan smile. “You must know, Victoria, that it is up to you to decide whether to keep me or cut me loose. A gentleman does not cry off of an engagement.”
Without meaning to, she laughed, and then gulped to swallow the sound and covered her mouth with her hand. There was nothing funny about the predicament they were in. He had not been a gentleman, nor had she acted like a lady. She was a spy and wished she wasn’t. He was ready to become one to earn money that she did not need. And nothing she’d assumed about him was true. He was sweet and kind and he had loved her before she’d even known him. And perhaps, there was a chance she might
love him as well.
“Money does not matter,” she whispered, afraid that she might offend him. “I have enough for both of us. But I will be happy without, if you wish me to.”
He gave a dry chuckle. “I am not so great a fool as to wish for poverty to salve my pride. You may keep your money, and I will not be as useless as I have been, once Stanton gets my letter. I am sure we can find a happy medium, and live quite comfortably.” He paused. “If you still wish to make a go of it.”
“If I wish it?” She scarcely dared breathe. For after all she had told him, he still spoke as if a promise made in the dark was an unbreakable oath. “If I did not want to release you?” she whispered. “If I wished, with all my heart, that there was a way to take back the terrible things I said and thought?”
“Then you know what you must do.” He was staring at her as though it should be perfectly obvious what he expected.
Was it an apology he wanted? It was his. “I am so sorry. So very sorry, that I hurt you. That I did not take the time to understand, or to know you for who you truly are.”
Still he stared at her, unmoving and expectant. There was something else.
And then she realized. There was a way that he would know that it was truth. She leaned forward and reached for him, putting her arms about his neck and her mouth on his. “Let me begin again,” she whispered against his parted lips. She slipped her tongue between them, beginning with barely a touch. It was one more thing about him that was different. He tasted…
“Mmm.” She smiled to herself as her tongue touched his. For without thinking, she’d made a noise of satisfaction before delving deeper into the kiss.
Suddenly his hands caught her by the waist and dragged her body close and into the chair with him to sit on his lap. She wrapped her arms even tighter around his neck as he kissed her in return. And she decided, if there had been a secret he was hiding from the world, it had nothing to do with loyalty and betrayal, and everything to do with the skill of his kisses.
He broke from her and muttered, “Now I know why you denied me that, when we first met. How could I leave your bed, after such a kiss?”
She laid a hand on his shoulder, tracing the seam of his coat with her finger. “It would not have been like that, at first. I did not want you to know the contents of my heart.”
“But now you do?”
“I would like nothing more.” And she kissed him again.
THE VIKING’S FORBIDDEN LOVE-SLAVE
Michelle Willingham
Author Note
Vikings have always been notorious for being fierce warriors—sexy men who fight for what they want. The idea of being stolen away by a handsome Viking was the inspiration for this story, but what if the warrior has a sense of honor? Irish heroine Aisling Ó Brannon tries to win her freedom, but never expects to find love. This story is linked to the novel Her Warrior Slave, which tells the tale of Aisling’s brother, Kieran. I hope you enjoy this fantasy.
I always love to hear from readers. Visit my Web site at www.michellewillingham.com or e-mail me at [email protected].
With thanks to Larissa Ione, a great friend, writer and margarita buddy. I appreciate all the support!
Look for Michelle Willingham’s
Surrender to the Irish Warrior
Coming September 2010
Chapter 1
Ireland, 1102
Darkness enveloped her, thick and suffocating. Her jaw ached, and her lips were cracked from thirst. Aisling Ó Brannon shifted her wrists, but they were bound tightly with ropes.
Rising panic swelled in her veins, along with the memory of the Norse raider who had stolen her away. She vaguely recalled a wooden longboat and hours spent at sea.
Where had he taken her? And…what would become of her? She struggled against her bonds, and realized she was lying upon a bed.
No. Not that.
The taste of fear rose up in her throat, quickly replaced by determination. She wasn’t going to lie there like a helpless babe. With her fingertips, she struggled to loosen the ropes.
“You’re awake.” A male voice filled the interior, deep and resonant. Heavily accented by the Norse language, she sensed that his grasp of the Irish tongue was not a strong one. She blinked, trying to see him, and then realized her vision was blocked by a length of cloth.
The loss of her sight made the unknown all the more frightening. Aisling rolled her body to the side, straw crackling beneath the mattress. A hand reached beneath her shoulders and eased her to sit up.
She struggled to move away, but then he pressed a cup to her lips. The instinctive need to quench her thirst overcame all else. She tasted the sweetness of mead, and unable to help herself, she drank deeply.
“Where am I?” she demanded.
“Just outside Vedrarfjord.”
She recognized the Lochlannach name for the lands so close to her own. Thank the Blessed Virgin. She remembered little about her kidnapping, and time had blurred.
She moved her face away from the cup, trying once again to see who was holding her captive. “Why am I blindfolded?”
“It wasn’t meant to be one.”
She felt him touch her head, and she winced at the tender pain upon her scalp. Her jaw felt swollen, as though someone had smashed a fist against her cheek. The Norseman unwrapped a length of cloth until at last, light speared her eyes. Aisling blinked, struggling to see her captor.
He was tall enough that she had to lean back to look at him. Dark golden hair fell upon broad shoulders, while a bronze torque gleamed around his neck. The thick corded muscles of his forearms had black runes deeply tattooed into his skin. Even with her hands bound, Aisling had the urge to cross herself against the sight of the mystical lines.
He wore a gray tunic that hung below his waist and dark trews, colorless clothes that might have been suited to a peasant, were they not so well made. The fine weave of the material suggested he had chosen these shades and paid good coin for them. Only a long cloak, dyed a rich shade of burgundy, revealed any color. A gold brooch shaped like a serpent fastened the garment to his shoulders.
This man was no commoner. She could see it in the way he held his head up, in the way he stared at her, as though she were his possession. Not by half. Not if she could help it.
The way he was watching her made her skin tighten. The air inside the room suddenly grew stifling, and she reminded herself of all the lessons her brothers had taught her about defense.
If he dared to touch her, he would regret it. As soon as she could get a weapon, she would be free of him.
Her hands curled into the rough covering over the mattress. Don’t let him see your fear. “Who are you?”
“I am Tharand Hardrata.” At his penetrating stare, she offered her own name in exchange.
“Are you a jarl?”
“No. I am a member of the hird. A freeman.”
It startled her to hear it. As a Norse warrior, why would he dress so plainly? And what did he want with her? She tried not to think about why she was bound upon his bed. Swallowing hard, she asked, “Why did you take me as your captive?”
Tharand made no reply. Instead, he reached for a dagger at his waist, and the blade flashed in the firelight. Aisling held herself perfectly still. Don’t breathe.
But he only reached behind her and grasped the ropes that bound her. His hands curled around her wrists as though he could snap the bones without any effort at all. The heat of his palms penetrated her skin, chaining her in his grasp.
“I’m going to cut these.” He grasped a single rope, tightening it against her skin. “Don’t move.”
With him so close, she could feel the muscles of his upper arm pressing against her. The contact was accidental, but the heat of his body warmed her cool skin. Aisling took a deep breath to push back the rising panic.
The greater danger was being alone with this man. Fierce and forbidding, his strength could easily overpower her.
His thumb edged her pa
lm, and the touch sent a rush of apprehension through her. A faint spiciness rose from his skin, a scent reminiscent of faraway lands to the East. In the firelight, his silhouette dominated her own.
“What do you want from me?” she asked. “Am I now your slave?”
His knife sliced the ropes in a swift, lethal move. Tharand sheathed the blade, never taking his eyes from her. His gaze was discerning, as though he were trying to measure her worth.
“You will be a gift to King Magnus,” he said at last. “He has returned to Erin.”
A gift? Her lips tightened at the thought. “And what makes you think he would want another slave?”
He reached out and took a length of her dark hair, running his fingers through it. Gooseflesh raised upon her neck, her heart hammering.
“You would not be another ambatt,” he said. “A woman such as yourself has more value than that. If you are fortunate, you might warm his bed.”
Words of outrage tempted her lips. I am not that sort of woman, she wanted to shout. But that was what she’d become, wasn’t it? Her freedom was gone, stolen away.
She rubbed her raw wrists, trying to will sensation back into the numbness. The warrior stood before her, and she longed to cut him down for what he’d done. And for what he was about to do.
“What will you receive in exchange?” she demanded. “Gold? Thirty pieces of silver?”
His expression chilled. “You should be grateful for your life.”
“Why me? Why not some other woman?” Inside, she wanted to scream. Nervous energy roiled within her skin, trying to claw its way free.
Tharand shrugged. “You are of noble Irish blood, and that will make you suitable to serve his needs.”
Serve his needs? Aisling gritted her teeth. Not very likely. She wasn’t about to stand meekly aside and let herself suffer such a fate.
But the winter season made an escape even more complicated. She would need shelter, as well as a horse and supplies. She couldn’t simply run, not without careful planning.