When his eyes met hers she knew she was right.
Yet Raknar was every bit as forceful as he’d always been when his eyes locked with hers.
“Leave now. Go to my lodge…”
His words trailed, their eyes held, before he finished his sentence.
“I’ll meet you there.”
Chapter Twelve
Regrettably, the king’s wishes kept them from going too far.
Veronica had nearly made her great escape when Megan’s hand slipped into hers and she shook her head. “Plenty of time to run off later, Sis.”
“I was just going to head back to my room and let my hair down,” she argued as Megan led her over to the head table.
“Sure you were.” Megan rolled her eyes and plucked the object from Veronica's hair, allowing it to tumble around her shoulders. “There. Your hair’s down."
Fires were lit both in the square pits and the bowl-like chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. Drums, a flute and some sort of harp started playing.
“Well, aren't you my hero,” she muttered at her sister before her eyes found Raknar. Like her, he was going nowhere fast. Instead, he was dancing with the beautiful woman who’d felt the need to grab her breasts when she defended him. Veronica didn’t much like the way she wrapped her arms over his shoulders and pressed close.
“It’s in your best interest that he show appreciation to the women who defended him,” Megan said softly and shoved a mug into her hand. “Call it good politics.”
Veronica perked a brow. “And what about the main woman who defended him?”
“In good time.” Naðr pulled Megan onto his lap and nodded at the chair beside them. “Sit. Please. I wish to speak with you.”
She took a sip of mead and met his eyes as she sat. “Uh oh, sounds ominous.”
“Not entirely.” He wrapped an arm around Megan’s waist and pulled her back against his chest. “Let me begin by thanking you for defending Raknar so well.”
“I'm not sure I did that great.” She sighed and eyed the crowd. “I would have totally bombed had I been at home.”
“But you’re not at home,” Naðr provided. “And you handled yourself like a strong Viking woman.”
“Did I then?” Her brows shot up as her eyes met his. “Then it seems your people are quick to allow your laws to be broken.”
“How well do you actually know my laws?” he replied softly.
“Enough so that words, not actions, should have swayed.” She narrowed her eyes. “But based on the daggers Megan left for me I’m pretty sure you both knew how this would all unfold.”
Raknar now danced with the woman whose cousin apparently had him grunting like a pig all night.
“I knew that you would stop at nothing to see justice served,” Megan said. “And I knew you had the skills to use those daggers.”
“Impressive,” Naðr added.
Veronica said nothing. She didn’t have to wonder how much he knew about her past based on both the compassion and pride in his eyes.
“They do things differently here,” Megan continued. “You weren’t the first person who had to get violent during the Thing and you won’t be the last.”
The king’s words were gentle. “Though it’s safe to say you impressed my people with your battle skills, it was the conviction and passion behind your words that convinced them, Veronica.”
“If you say so,” she murmured but couldn’t help but feel a tiny spark of pride.
“And damn did you impress Raknar,” Megan said with a devious grin.
“Did I?” popped out of her mouth before she could stop herself.
“Like me, Raknar has always been drawn to strong women.” Naðr chuckled. “I’ve never seen the look he had on his face when you took down Idmund so efficiently.”
It must have been a quickly masked expression then because it was gone by the time she looked at him.
“Though part of my purpose for wanting to speak with you was to thank you, there’s more,” Naðr continued.
Now Raknar danced with the petite little thing who swore he was in her bed last night. Despite the fact she knew these women had come to his aide, Veronica couldn’t help but wonder how many of them he’d actually slept with. Sure, Kol certainly seemed the more promiscuous one but she didn’t miss the constant looks of admiration Raknar received from the ladies. She didn’t blame them in the least. If his killer looks weren’t enough, now that she’d slept with him she could well understand…
Megan waved her hand in front of Veronica’s face. “Anybody home?”
“What?” She blinked and almost fanned her face it felt so damn hot. “Right.” Her eyes went to Naðr. “You were saying?”
The king chuckled. “Not sure where I lost you. Did you hear the part about you allowing some men to dance with you?”
No. Definitely not. She started to shake her head, but he cut her off. “Where women and men certainly came to Raknar’s defense, the majority of the weapons lodged in Idmund are there because the men approved of your battle skills.”
“Because it couldn’t have been defending against rape,” she muttered.
“It’s hard to know.” Naðr shrugged. “Men do what they will when we raid. Some more than others. Typically though, they claim a woman first.”
“Hell, you allow the raping?” Veronica said.
“Not when I’m there but that doesn’t stop it from happening when I’m not.” He frowned, speculative as he eyed her. “Maybe if you stay here you’ll help me find a way to stop it altogether.”
Her eyes rounded. “Two things. First, way to lay a guilt trip on me if I leave. Two, I’m leaving.”
“Just like I was,” Megan murmured.
“And did,” Veronica added.
“Then returned.”
“I didn't mean to make you feel guilty.” Naðr squeezed Veronica’s hand. “You started something here today and whether or not you stay, I suspect women will start talking.” He nodded at the dancing crowd. “For now, I need you to thank my people as Raknar is doing.”
Megan arched a brow at him.
Understanding her meaning, he said, “Please.”
Veronica took another sip of mead and contemplated. Whether or not she liked it, his request made sense. And how hard could it be to dance with a few strange men. Technically, she’d been doing it since she arrived here. When she offered a small nod, he smiled his thanks and gestured with his hand.
It took a split second before several men appeared out of the crowd, their eyes struggling to stay off her and on their king. Naðr nodded at one of them and grunted, “You first.” Then his brows lowered sharply. “Hands where she allows them. Nowhere else.”
Well, wasn’t that gracious of him.
Naðr released her hand only for Megan to grab it as Veronica stood. Her sister looked up at her. “One wrong move and you end your dance with them, okay Sis?”
“Oh, you can count on it,” she assured and made her way around the table.
The first guy wasn’t too bad save for his inability to stop staring. The second one was a tad fiercer with braids weaved into not only his hair but beard. She immediately nicknamed him Wandering Hands because his meaty paws were quick to grab her ass. When she repositioned his hands, one went for her breast. She batted that away too.
Not before she saw Raknar’s eyes narrow on them from across the room.
But hey, they had to do what they had to do for the greater good, right? Or he certainly did as yet another woman cuddled up against him. The crowd shifted and he was ripped from her sight as she ended up in another man’s arms. She was caught off guard by this one. Maybe four inches taller than her, olive-skinned and attractive, he looked familiar.
“You don’t recognize me, do you, Veronica?”
Surprised by his American accent, she narrowed her eyes. “You’re from my time but how…”
“The name’s Tony Castano. I was one of the divers that went down with Megan and her husband Nathan b
efore we traveled back in time.”
“Ex-husband,” she corrected, eying him cautiously. “That’s right. I met you briefly. I’m surprised you remember me.”
“You’re pretty hard to forget,” he said with appreciation but was bright enough to keep his eyes where they belonged.
Megan had mentioned that another diver arrived with Nathan, but she’d completely forgotten to follow up. “I’m sort of shocked that you weren’t made into a slave.”
“I was,” he said. “But as soon as the king realized I was no threat and could fight with a variety of weapons, I gained some value.”
“Did you,” she murmured, eyes narrowed. “Even considering you teamed up with that loser, Nathan?”
“I think especially because I did,” Tony said dryly. “It appears I fall into the category of ‘keep your friends close and your enemies closer.'”
“Ah, smart king.” She continued to eye him, curious. “So rumor has it Nathan might’ve had some sort of connection with their former enemy, King Rennir and his queen, Yrsa. What did you know about that?”
Tongue in cheek, Tony shook his head. “Doesn’t take you long to get down to business, huh?”
“What else would I say when dealing with anyone who called Nathan friend?”
“He was my employer,” he said. “Nothing more.”
“Mm Hmm.”
It seemed he couldn’t help himself because his eyes drifted down to her cleavage. “So you’re the second to be claimed by the seers I suppose.”
A trickle of warning made her stand up straighter. “What do you know about that?”
He had no chance to respond before another man stepped in and pulled her away. When Veronica looked after Tony, he’d already vanished in a sea of people. She was about to tell the guy holding her that she was going to follow him, but Naðr’s voice rang out.
“As you all knew it would, the time has come!”
Music stopped.
The man holding Veronica pulled her against his side and fingered the hilt of his dagger. Soon enough, Kol stood in front of them. His brows drew together sharply and his lips pulled down as he eyed the man. “She’s with me until this is decided.”
What the heck?
The man grunted and reluctantly allowed Kol to pull her against his side.
“What’s going on?” she whispered.
But Kol only nodded at Naðr as the king leaped onto the head table, braced his booted feet, crossed his arms over his chest and eyed the crowd. When all fell silent, he continued. “It was determined at the Thing that Raknar Sigdir did not kill Hamdir. Then it was decided by you that his defender Idmund, would not live. This leaves the woman Veronica unclaimed.”
Veronica tensed. Oh no. Her eyes shot to Kol. “Tell me this isn’t happening.”
He gave no response but kept an arm wrapped protectively around her lower back and a dagger in hand as his eyes skimmed dangerously over the rowdy crowd. Great, he was back to being a bodyguard except this time without the charming personality.
A wide circle was forming in front of the head table. A couple dozen men were yanking off their shirts and grabbing weapons off the walls. Her eyes shot to Megan, but her sister only offered a little shrug before she looked away.
Damn them to hell.
All along Megan and Naðr knew this was going to happen but hadn’t warned her.
Naðr watched everyone with a practiced eye, voice bellowing, “Those fighting form two lines. The first in each line fights the other. The winner steps aside and two more lines form until we’re down to the last two.”
He hopped down and sat next to Megan.
“Time to go sit with them.” Kol took her elbow and led her toward the table.
“So you can speak,” she said sarcastically.
Kol seemed to be taking his mission very seriously because he said nothing more. The next thing she knew she was plunked down beside Naðr with Kol and Kjar on her other side. The shipwright winked at her but his expression stayed as serious as Kol’s.
“This is absolutely insane,” she grumbled, mortified that these men were fighting for the right to claim her. “And sort of makes my whole argument to defend Raknar pointless because whoever wins will likely rape me!”
Naðr’s eyes glittered with both amusement and excitement as he nodded across the way. “I’m fairly certain you don’t have to worry about that with my brother.”
Her eyes shot to the two lines of men. Sure as heck, Raknar was first in one of them, his eyes trained on her. Unlike the other men, he didn’t grip his blade yet but kept it strapped to his back. Wearing only a sleeveless tunic, firelight flickered off of his broad shoulders and muscular arms.
There wasn’t a drop of trepidation in his level gaze.
Only promise and certainty of a favorable outcome.
Much like the look he gave her when challenging her to straddle him on the boat.
Awareness rippled over her. Drums started to beat. Raknar took up position across from the first man, pulling his blade free casually as if he wasn’t entirely convinced he’d need it. They circled once before Raknar drove forward so ferociously that the man stumbled back then fell. Half a heartbeat later, the tip of his blade was against the other’s throat.
“Raknar Sigdir, winner!” Naðr declared, chuckling.
Veronica's heart slammed a little too hard so she took a few sips from the mug the king slid her way. On and on the fighting went and winners were declared until Raknar once more stood at the front of two lines of six.
Though she might find this whole process ridiculous, she could admit to being fascinated by the way he fought. The fluid way muscles slid over long bones as he seemed to take his time with his opponent. Her eyes were drawn to the tight globes of his leather encased ass flexing as he parried with the other man.
It almost seemed he wanted to take his time with one.
Megan grinned at her. “I think he wants you lusting after him sister.”
Done. Days, no weeks ago. She frowned. “So trying to get himself killed is supposed to turn me on?”
“You’ve a lot to learn about Vikings, never mind male dragons, woman.” Naðr slid sly eyes her way. “But then he’s accomplishing what he set out to do, is he not?”
“Don’t be lewd,” she muttered and buried her face in another sip of mead as she eyed Raknar. Hell yes, he was accomplishing what he set out to do.
Calm, barely breaking a sweat, Raknar at last slammed his foot into his opponent’s stomach. When the guy hit the floor, he dropped so that his knee lodged beneath the man’s chin.
“Raknar Sigdir, winner!” Naðr declared.
On and on the fighting went until there were two lines of three. It was at this point, still completely enthralled by the way Raknar’s body moved, that she realized how much this seemed to be for show. Mere formalities. Because none were his equal. Honestly, she suspected his equals sat on either side of her. Which brought her eyes to Kol.
“Thanks for not competing,” she murmured.
His eyes slid her way and his dimples erupted as he grinned. “I would never. I love you both too much.”
Warmed by his honesty, she squeezed his hand and didn’t let go.
The fighting continued until only two men were left. Veronica was amazed to see one of them was the giant she’d labeled Wandering Hands. The other, of course, was Raknar.
By this time, the crowd was rambunctious. Heavy rain mixed with the sound of drums and spitting flames. Raknar at last yanked off his tunic as he and his opponent circled one another. Wandering Hands sneered. Raknar chuckled. Both were equal in stature as they continued to circle.
When Wandering Hands swung his blade fast, Raknar ducked and spun, driving the hilt of his dagger into the man’s side. With a grunt, the other guy wrapped his arm around Raknar’s waist and slammed his fist into his side. Not fazed in the least, the king’s brother unsheathed a blade lightning fast and swiped it across Wandering Hands' upper arm.
I
n retaliation, Wandering Hands tried to knock Raknar’s foot out from beneath him but wasn’t nearly fast enough. Raknar stepped aside then jab, jab, jab, he tagged him three times fast before driving down his center with his shoulder.
They went down hard and rolled. Then they leaped to their feet. Both had a sword in one hand and an axe in the other.
Holy shit.
Naðr grunted with approval and swigged from his horn.
Megan’s eyes were wide, but Veronica suddenly got the impression her sister wasn’t necessarily watching the fighting. Instead, she appeared to be staring at Raknar oddly. She didn’t have much time to ponder why as the battling became more intense.
Sweat slicked, the men were simultaneously clanging first swords then axes, their measured attacks one hell of a show. What made it all that much more fascinating, or ludicrous, depending how you looked at it, was that both were laughing as they warred viciously.
The crowd roared and shifted back like a wave as the men went after one another. Round and round they went until Raknar moved just a fraction faster and slammed the axe free from Wandering Hands.
You would have thought Raknar would’ve taken advantage, but he instead tossed aside his axe so that the men remained equally matched. Both grinned wickedly as they clashed blades so fast the eye could barely keep up. Viewing him from the side, her eyes slid over Raknar’s long length, fascinated by the dynamic, entrancing way his muscles flexed from his neck down to his calves.
The crowd gasped when their blades crossed and nearly met each other’s necks. Then the people roared when they pushed off then came back at one another quickly. Clang, clang, clang, blades clashed over and over and over until Raknar spun and kicked Wandering Hands so hard in the chest that he released his blade.
As he flew back, Raknar tossed aside his sword while pulling free a dagger. He jumped and landed with his feet on either side of Wandering Hands. Before the man’s head slammed against the ground, Raknar grabbed his hair and brought the blade flush against his neck.
The crowd fell silent.
“Raknar Sigdir, winner!” Naðr roared.
Viking Claim (The MacLomain Series: Viking Ancestors Book 2) Page 16