Desire's Fury (Viking's Fury Book 2)

by Violetta Rand

  Chapter Ten

  He moved swiftly and silently, capturing her in his embrace. There were no words to describe what it felt like being overcome by his strength and heat. Eva immediately became aware of two things: their mutual attraction and the importance of getting away from him before she did something she’d soon regret.

  She knew the reason for his sudden change in attitude. Her magic had a way of intoxicating men. Similar to the same frenzy warriors experienced after battle. “Jarl Roald, please, let me go.”

  “Why?” He held her away from his body so he could see her clearly. “Does my touch repulse you?”

  Repulse? It made her insides turn to liquid. “Y-yes,” she lied, hoping this would cause him to free her.

  He chuckled, still holding on tight. “Did I detect hesitation in your voice, Eva?”

  Careful to not show any emotion, she met his piercing eyes. “You are suffering from a type of fever yourself, sir.”

  “Am I?”

  “Aye.”

  “So whatever illness my sister-in-law has, is catching?”

  “Witnessing my ritual can overcome a man. Make you think and feel things you never would under normal circumstances.”

  “If I am to understand correctly…” He cupped her cheek with tenderness, then caressed her jaw with his thumb. “I’m experiencing some kind of aftereffect from your magic, which makes me want to do this against my will?” One of his enormous hands dropped lower, following the curve of her hip bone.

  Eva closed her eyes and sighed, liking the tingling sensations his fingertips left in their wake.

  “And this?” He gave her arse a firm squeeze. “By Odin,” he growled. “If this is considered suffering, lady, let the sickness run its course.”

  For a brief moment, Eva’s heart soared. She’d finally met her match. Found a man who not only awakened her desire, but challenged her—made her think carefully about what she said and did. Unfortunately, they were enemies. Sami and Norse. As different as night and day. A bloodthirsty Viking could never understand the ways of a noaidi. Sworn to avoid violence unless her life was in absolute jeopardy, a man like Roald struck first and asked questions later.

  “You are shaking, Jarl Roald,” she said. “And much too distracted to think clearly.”

  “Are you so naïve, sweet Eva? My body’s reaction to you is not caused by a mysterious illness. As a healer, surely you understand the irresistible draw between a man and woman. The right man and woman.”

  “I do.”

  “Good,” he said appreciatively. “I am not dealing with a feebleminded virgin, then. I prefer an experienced woman, one who knows what she wants.” He locked her against his chest, nuzzling into her hair. “The joy of a kiss should be shared. Often.” He nipped her collarbone.

  One kiss should be innocent enough. A gift to herself for braving this new world, a special memory she’d treasure forever. She lifted her head, staring up at him, wondering if his lips would be soft and warm. Would he use his tongue the way Reuben, the only boy she’d ever kissed, did? Or would he show her something new and make her forget who she was?

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked.

  “Because I am ready, Jarl Roald. I want you to kiss me. Just once…”

  The moment their lips met, Eva knew there was nothing innocent about it. The meticulously learned emotional control that she’d been taught by her mother, the ability to stay impartial and unattached was meant to protect her and her patients, simply unraveled. Roald’s body jerked violently as he took possession of her mouth, his tongue dancing across hers.

  Standing on her toes, she locked her arms around his neck, demanding more. This moment must not end yet. His scent, taste, the feel of his muscular body against hers, even the way he looked with his eyes pressed shut made her insatiable, as if she hadn’t eaten a morsel in days. She sucked his tongue deeper into her mouth and boldly explored the expanse of his broad back and shoulders. She imagined the rocky outcrops of the mountains where she lived when she thought about Roald. That’s what he felt like in her hands. Forged from fire and stone—hard and unforgiving.

  “Open the goddamned door!” Konal pounded on the entryway.

  Roald’s shoulders went rigid as he withdrew from her, resting his forehead against hers. “I am sorry for the disruption, Eva.” He opened his blue eyes. “But I don’t regret our kiss.”

  Speechless, she nodded in agreement, secretly grateful for the interruption. For if the Viking had held her a moment longer, she would have undressed. Even now her breasts ached, her nipples hard and uncomfortable scraping against the cloth of her tunic.

  She stepped back from him, struck by the stormy look on his face.

  “Roald,” Konal called. “If you don’t…”

  Roald stomped to the door and opened it. “Where is Troel?”

  “See for yourself.” Konal entered the bedchamber. “On the bloody ground where I left him.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Silence surrounded Roald as he led the procession of warriors down the footpath which ended at the river. His father’s favorite vessel, now his funeral pyre, drifted on the current. Colorful shields and wildflower wreaths decorated the mast. Many had gathered—freemen and thralls alike. Though Jarl Brandr the Restless was known for his heavy hand when it came to ruling his people, he treated everyone equally. And in the eyes of his captains, that made their master an honorable man.

  Roald halted at the edge of the pier where his brothers and sister waited. Runa’s cheeks were tearstained, and she averted her eyes when he tried to give her a sympathetic look. Konal remained sullen and distant. But Haakon stepped forward and bowed.

  “My heart is heavy with grief for the loss of our father,” he said. “But I know he will join Odin at his feast table this night. I will serve you loyally, Jarl Roald.”

  Roald cupped his shoulder. “I am proud to call you brother and count you among my warriors.”

  Then he turned to the crowd. “My father served the gods faithfully for forty years as your jarl. No man, woman, or child, free or bond, suffered one day under his care. The Trondelag has known relative peace since my sire claimed his seat of power. Dozens of expeditions southward have made us wealthy and powerful. These lands are stained with the blood of my ancestors, fierce fighters who swore to protect our homeland from our enemies. Now my father, Jarl Brandr the Restless, is at peace, reunited with my mother and sitting with Allfather. I do not want to see tears or hear gnashing of teeth. Celebrate his life. Honor his memory. Let his spirit live on in our hearts.”

  The warriors beat on their shields with fists and swords, the low rumble of their voices rising. “Brandr. Brandr. Brandr.”

  “Our vengeance for our enemies and our countless victories are a testament to my father’s iron will.”

  “Brandr. Brandr. Brandr.”

  “I am now the protector of our lands. I swear before Odin, Thor, and Frigg—upon everything sacred and true—that I will never stray from my father’s path. His vision for our futures was clear. He bled for the survival of his children…” Roald gazed at his siblings. “And my blessed mother died trying to bring new life into this world.”

  The sound of the men beating their shields grew louder and louder.

  “Konal, Runa, and Haakon, join me. Say goodbye to your father. Wish him safe passage between the realms.”

  Konal gripped Roald’s forearm, then turned to the longship. He bowed his head and whispered indiscernible words before he tossed a small flower wreath into the bow. “Know peace, Father,” he said, then stepped aside.

  Runa and Haakon followed his example.

  After they finished, Roald accepted his father’s war sword from Troel and stepped down from the pier and into the ship. The deck had been stripped of everything but a wide bench set in the center, where his father’s body was draped in silk and fur. A silver crown adorned his head and his feet were clad in his best leather boots.

  Crates containing gif
ts and bags of coins to take with him into the afterlife were stacked nearby. The rest of the vessel had been packed with kindling saturated with whale oil. The stench of it made Roald’s eyes water.

  This is what a man’s life came down to. Did he die gloriously as any warrior desired or meet a straw death?

  Roald knelt beside his father, raising the sword above his head.

  “My last offering, great Jarl Brandr. You crossed the North Sea countless times and put the fear of Odin into men’s hearts. With a simple look you silenced me as a boy; that is how much I respected and loved you. Hear me, Brandr the Restless. Hear me, Odin, Thor, and Frigg. Hear me, people of the Trondelag. A more celebrated jarl will never walk among us.”

  Then he stood and placed the sword flush with his sire’s body, folding his cold hands around the pommel.

  “Odin calls you up from the fields of green, from battle-worn mountaintops, from blood-red rivers, where you’ve served and vanquished in his name. Allfather’s daughters, the silvery Valkyries, have chosen you this day. From your lover’s arms they’ve torn you, out of hearing of the weeping women who adore you. Pain no longer racks your body, for you’ve been offered the golden cup of youth. Drink it, my father. Know happiness again. Taste the joy of sweet love. And when Ragnarok comes, when Odin’s war horn is sounded, know we will be reunited. All of us.”

  With a last look at his father, Roald stepped out of the ship and into the water. He untied the rope holding it in place on the pier, then gave the boat a shove so it began floating away from him. Raising his hand, he signaled the archer standing nearby.

  The archer nocked a flaming arrow and shot. Within seconds, the longship exploded in flames. Roald didn’t move, not until the boat was little more than a golden silhouette in the dark distance.

  He returned to the pier. Bonfires had been lit along the shoreline. Men and women were dancing and drinking, but Roald didn’t feel like celebrating. At the start of the footpath, he turned back, not missing Eva standing away from the crowd. She had covered her hair with a shawl, probably hoping to fit in with the other women.

  Deep inside, it meant something special to him that she’d risk attending his father’s funeral. Strangers weren’t typically welcomed at this sort of celebration. And though strict orders had been given to all of his people not to harass or harm her, Roald didn’t want to tempt the devil tonight. Emotions were running high. It would be better to take her back to the house, where she could eat in peace, then retire, before he was officially crowned as the jarl.

  He joined her by the pier. “Why did you leave the safety of your room?”

  “Jarl Roald.” She curtsied, her hypnotizing eyes meeting his gaze. “I awoke early and needed some fresh air. Forgive me if I’ve overstepped my boundaries by coming here.”

  “No,” he said. “As long as you are my guest, you are welcome anywhere on my steading. Though I caution you to be keenly aware of wandering alone at night. Though most of my men are honorable, some lose their minds in drink.”

  “I understand,” she said. “I have two brothers who occasionally make drunken fools of themselves.”

  He nodded. “Perhaps we should return to the hall together. This night is ripe for trouble.”

  She folded her hands. “What you said about your father…”

  “Yes?”

  “So beautiful, milord. So brutal.”

  “We live a very different life than you, sweet Eva. Your men herd reindeer and mine conquer the world.”

  “Aye,” she acknowledged. “And nothing will ever change it.”

  “No. But we don’t prey upon the innocent in our homeland. So never fear my people.” He cradled her hand in his then, wishing they were back in Silvia’s bedchamber together. “How is my sister-in-law?”

  “Resting.”

  “I am pleased to hear it.”

  “You didn’t forget about the final ritual, did you?”

  Of all nights to expect his family to gather. “Can it wait until tomorrow?”

  “Do you put your gods off, Jarl Roald?”

  “No.”

  “Then offer my gods the same submission. After you are crowned, not a moment later.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “You understand I have no quarrel with you,” Roald said as he sat beside Eva at the high table.

  With the great hall nearly empty, she felt comfortable eating with the jarl in a seat of honor. “Yes, I do. However, milord, I cannot overlook the negative reaction your brother and captain had, nor the hateful looks I get whenever someone sees me. All the more reason for me to complete my work and depart for home tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?” He’d started to take a drink of ale, but he slammed the cup down. “No.” He shook his head. “I won’t allow it. Tis too soon.”

  Eva swallowed a bite of warm bread. “Dependent on Silvia’s condition, of course.”

  “Of course,” he said, sounding despondent as he gazed at the hearth. “Even if she’s alive and well, I ask you to stay.”

  “A request I must regrettably deny.”

  “Why? Is my hospitality not good enough?”

  Eva pulled her shawl tighter about her shoulders. “Your kindness has exceeded all of my expectations.”

  “Aye,” he agreed. “I could have sent you to the slave quarters and denied you access to my hall.”

  “But you didn’t.” She took a drink of water. “Nor do I believe you’d treat anyone you invited here with such indignity. There is more to you than meets the eye, Jarl Roald. Oh, you roar like any wild beast, but I sense the goodness in you. You are worthy of my family’s respect. And I plan on telling them as soon as I get home.”

  Roald took another deep drink, then turned in his chair so he was facing her. Her insides boiled as his lingering gaze swept over her. “Such strength…” he said softly.

  “Only fools are fearless, sir.”

  “Is that a confession, then? You fear me?”

  “In a way I cannot describe with words.”

  “Can it be shared with a second kiss?” He leaned closer.

  Her throat went suddenly dry. She must do everything to protect herself against this magnificent man. Another kiss would only make it harder to part ways with him. “I haven’t been completely honest with you…”

  “I forgive you.” He captured her shaking hand. “We met under less than favorable conditions, with little time to discuss our histories.”

  She tried to pull away, but he held on tight.

  “I-I…” she faltered. “I am betrothed.”

  His brows shot up, but his eyes still held a dark passion. “To who?”

  “A man I am sure you’ve never heard of. A wealthy herder. Though I am unhappy with the match, my eldest brother insists I marry him.” She hated lying to the only man she’d ever felt such an absolute attraction for. “Before you found me in the foothills, my brother, Markkos, was there. He’d tracked me down to remind me of my responsibility to marry well for the benefit of my family. I’ve resisted for months. But it appears I have no choice now.”

  Roald massaged her fingers vigorously. “There is always a choice, Eva. Your own words.”

  “Not after violating the laws of my people by coming here alone. My virtue will be questioned. And my mother…”

  “I will account for your virtue,” he said angrily. “And will personally escort you home.”

  “No.” She stood up, anxious to get back to Silvia, and desperate to get away from him.

  “Listen to me.” He tugged her back down. “You are a grown woman. Capable of making your own choices.”

  “Am I?” She doubted he really felt that way. “Do you offer your sister the same freedom? Is she allowed to choose who she spends time with? Who she beds?”

  “Did I say anything about bedding you, Eva?”

  She sucked in a breath as their gazes locked. “I-I…” Curse how he always made her stumble over words. “What else would I think?”

  “It’s just a kiss.�
�� He reached for her hair covering, but she escaped his wandering hand.

  “A kiss with you will never be just a kiss.” Her whole body heated with embarrassment. “And now that you know my deepest shame, Jarl Roald, please let me go.”

  He didn’t protest when she rose to her feet again and walked away from the table. Sarakka help her—the goddess of love and fertility might be playing tricks on her. Opening her heart to a Norseman would only end in strife. And though Eva had spent her life caring for and healing people, she didn’t possess the magic to mend a broken heart.

  *

  Hours later, after Roald had accepted his crown, he still couldn’t get the lovely Eva out of his mind. Something about the girl moved him, and it was much more than the respect he felt as he watched her weave her healing spells around Silvia. Her perfect smile and dancing eyes were partly to blame. And that indomitable spirit could drive any man mad.

  Once he finished his fourth measure of wine, he knew it was time to assemble in Silvia’s bedchamber. He’d already put it off long enough.

  Troel followed him to his chamber.

  “Bring my sister and brothers here.”

  “Aye, milord.”

  Konal arrived first, a drinking horn in hand. “You’ve cut the celebration short.”

  Tired of his brother’s continued insolence, he snatched the vessel from his hands and threw it against the far wall. “The time for tolerance is over.”

  “My lord.” Konal saluted him with a mock bow.

  “Enough,” Roald said, fisting his hands at his sides—tempted to beat some respect into his errant sibling. “Since the day you stepped foot on our soil, you’ve done nothing but accuse me of treachery. If you hate me so much, why did you bother returning to Norway? Why visit this steading?” He wished he knew what had made Konal so bitter.

  “To reunite with my family.”