Wildly Romantic: A Multi-Genre Collection

by Lana Williams

  Widening his stance, Reider cupped his hands to his mouth to urge them to jump into the sea, but no sound emerged. Frustrated, he made a wide beckoning motion, but heads shook in disbelief.

  It’s your only chance.

  Suddenly, a figure moved away from the others clinging to the mast, climbed unsteadily onto the side of the stricken ship and leapt into the water. A boy! He clutched something to his chest, but lost his grip on whatever it was when he hit the water.

  Every head turned to watch the lad flail his arms, trying in vain to make headway towards the smaller boat. He seemed determined not to give up, though stark fear was etched on his face. It was evident he was not a swimmer and would likely drown, dragged under the waves by heavy furs.

  Reider looked back at Kjartan struggling to hold the tiller with the help of another crewman. The plucky youth was the only one with the courage to jump. Reider would not let him drown. He took a deep breath, offered up a prayer to Aegir, and dove in.

  The impact of the icy water took his breath away when he resurfaced. The swells towered over him. He kicked his legs, treading water. Timbers creaked and moaned as the boats battled wind and waves. Then came another sound borne on the wind—the yelping of a dog! He caught sight of it nearby, swimming in circles, barking frantically. Suddenly, the boy’s head bobbed back to the surface next to the animal.

  Reider sucked in another deep breath, swam to the boy and clamped his arm around his ribs, surprised to feel a flotation device strapped around his upper body. Reider had heard of sailors wearing inflatable animal skins when they went to sea. Much good it had done! The boy was unresponsive. Reider waved his free arm and his crew hauled him back with his prize. The hound paddled after them, disappearing beneath the waves several times.

  After two harrowing attempts, Reider managed to hand the boy off to a shipmate. He heaved his own body back on board with difficulty, barely able to make his frozen limbs work. Leaning over the side precariously, he reached down and hooked his numbed fingers into the exhausted dog’s studded collar.

  The creature was nearly done for. He put his other hand on the dog’s rump and hauled it up to the boat with what little strength remained. He braced himself with the squirming dog against his chest, then tossed it, hoping someone would catch it. He collapsed to his knees and coughed till he choked. Lungs afire, he gulped air.

  Several men from the stricken vessel were now in the water, swimming to the Danish boat, doubtlessly emboldened by the heroic rescue they had witnessed.

  Suddenly, a swell lifted the battered cog, held it suspended, then turned it upside down. The Danes could do nothing to aid the men trapped beneath. The exhausted swimmers were dragged one by one into the Danish boat.

  Reider caught sight of the doomed ship’s name, barely visible and upside down. He squinted. Nordique?

  Shivering, Reider signalled to Kjartan to take them back. They had saved as many as they could. His friend nodded grimly, his clenched jaw showing the strain of the battle against the elements.

  IV

  The exhausted Danes moored the boat in the hidden cove. Though the storm’s rage had weakened, it had been an ordeal getting back safely. The shivering survivors cowered together in the stern.

  The lad lay like a corpse, on his side, in a pool of water in the bottom of the boat. The shivering dog had curled up next to him. The animal growled when Reider leaned over to listen for signs of life.

  Ja! The courageous urchin was still breathing, barely. Reider scooped him up and carried him off the boat and up to the lodge as fast as his frozen legs would allow. The black dog shook the water from his pelt, then raced to follow, barking furiously.

  Reider had to get the lad out of his wet clothing. Suddenly the frail body shuddered and the youth retched sea water over Reider’s parka. His head fell back with a groan and Reider was struck by his fine features. Too feminine, a pretty boy. Typical foreigner! Reider rolled his eyes. Udlændinge!

  He kicked open the door, bracing to keep his balance, and hastened to his pallet. They had built this lodge after their frantic flight from Gorm. It was a simple structure, oak wall posts held together with tie beams, but Reider’s and Kjartan’s status afforded them a privacy curtain for their sleeping alcove. It was a bare-bones existence, but it was warm and provided shelter from the elements, except when the thatched roof leaked!

  Reider dropped to his knees and deposited the boy on the dirt floor. No use getting the straw mattress wet. He intended to remove the youth’s clothing then put him to bed, get him warm. The shivering dog took up a position at the end of the pallet, barking without surcease, though it looked close to dropping from exhaustion. Reider held up a hand, hoping the animal understood he was trying to help his master. The dog calmed and slumped to the floor, its head on its front paws, whimpering. Reider breathed a sigh of relief.

  He stripped off his own wet clothes and tugged on a dry pair of braies from his sea chest. He rubbed his hands together, blowing on his frozen fingers. When some of the feeling had returned, he set about untangling the knotted ties of the boy’s hood. Frustrated, he finally yanked it off, surprised to see a tight skullcap beneath, evidently another peculiar foreign habit. He pulled. Long hair tumbled out, twisted in sodden rattails. Reider gasped. A strange fashion for a boy to have such a long mane! Reider’s shoulder length hair was much the same blonde color, but this lad’s—it must go to his waist!

  One of the boy’s boots had been lost. Reider pulled off the other and rubbed the small, white feet hard. A strange discomfort crept into his belly. The feet were—appealing? He had swallowed too much seawater, a truth borne out by the raw fire in his chest.

  He pulled at the bindings of the long furs. They were thick and heavy. It was a miracle they hadn’t dragged the wretch to the bottom of the sea. Whoever this was, his family was not poor. The idea of ransom flitted into Reider’s head.

  He pulled the boy’s body against his chest with one arm, intending to ease the furs off his shoulders with the other. His breath caught in his throat. Alarm surged through him. What the—? He remembered the softness above the boy’s ribs. To his consternation, a tingling stirred his pik.

  Only the saturated tunic and leggings remained, but the truth of the lad’s gender as his chest heaved could no longer be denied. Reider licked his lips, certain that when he removed the tunic he would see a magnificent pair of female breasts.

  With trembling hands he undid the belt. The dog growled, raising its head. Reider rubbed its wet ears and noticed a scabbard on the boy’s hip. He unfastened it and eased out a small dagger. It was old and beautifully crafted, a Viking carved intricately into its handle.

  Beyond his alcove he heard sounds of the other men being fed and warmed and given dry clothing. Soon Kjartan and the others would come to see how the boy fared. He must get rid of the wet clothing.

  He grasped the hem of the tunic, took a deep breath, squeezed his eyes tight shut and peeled it over the boy’s head. The dog came to its feet, barking loudly. Reider squinted one eye open, then blinked rapidly. His heretofore mildly interested pik stood to attention. He stared incredulously, filled with an urge to swirl his tongue over the pert pink nipples bared to his view. Margit’s breasts were ample, but these, these were—perfect.

  He combed his hand through his hair, suddenly aware it was still wet. Cold chilled his bones, though his body was suddenly a raging inferno. Quickly he raised the girl’s hips and eased off the leggings. He could not look away from the golden curls at the top of her long legs. His gaze raked over her naked body, her beauty making him ache.

  He grabbed a drying cloth, hesitated a moment, gripping the material tightly, then draped it over her. Carefully, he rubbed her shoulders, then her long arms, then her flat belly. He took a deep breath before patting her breasts dry, easing them up to dab the delicate skin beneath. He fisted the cloth then rubbed her thighs, knees and shins. When he tossed the wet linen into the corner, the dog ran over to sniff it, but then returned qui
ckly to his mistress’s side.

  Reider gazed at the girl. He clenched and unclenched his fists, itching to touch her. His mouth was bone dry, every muscle in his body tight. He shook out his hands, put them to his face to make sure they had warmed, then spread his fingers and touched her thighs. He pressed the tips lightly into her flesh, relieved to feel warmth returning to her limbs. If he pressed a little harder with his thumbs, he could ease her legs apart and perhaps catch a glimpse of—

  She tossed her head and moaned, hugging her arms to her breasts as she turned onto her side. He withdrew, feeling like a naughty child caught misbehaving. He lost his balance and groaned at the sight of her perfect round bottom. The dog whimpered.

  Gritting his teeth, Reider lifted the girl onto his bed, fanning her wet hair to hang off the pallet. He piled blankets and furs on top of her. The dog stopped whimpering and crawled to curl up at his mistress’s feet. Reider retrieved the drying cloth and rubbed it over the animal. It turned liquid eyes to him. “God hund,” he mouthed, hoping the animal would understand.

  Panting hard, Reider stood and looked down at his guest. Who was this foolhardy woman who jumped into raging seas holding a dog, and carried a Danish dagger?

  After wiping the weapon dry, he put it back in its scabbard. He grabbed dry clothing, all the wet raiment, and the scabbard, then left for the sanctuary of Kjartan’s alcove, relieved his burdens at least hid his raging arousal. The dog watched him leave.

  V

  Kjartan sat on his pallet, lazily rubbing his wet hair with a linen cloth. He watched Reider dump the sodden clothing on the dirt floor with ill disguised irritation. “Why are you filling my space with your wet things?”

  He glanced at Reider’s groin. “What’s got you all excited? Aren’t you exhausted like the rest of us?”

  Reider tightened his smile, wiped off his chest and pulled a dry tunic over his head, knotting the belt tight. He snorted and pointed in the direction of his alcove with his thumb, shaking his head.

  The sneer left Kjartan’s face. “What?”

  Reider cupped his hands and put them to his chest, lifting imaginary breasts.

  The lad’s a girl.

  Kjartan laughed incredulously, then grimaced as his fingers snagged through his tangled hair. “Are you sure?”

  Reider bristled, and indicated the size of the breasts he had uncovered.

  I may not know much about women, but I do know what breasts are.

  Kjartan drew his knees up and wrapped his arms around his bent legs. “What amazing news! The way she jumped fearlessly, with a dog in her arms. A woman, you say?”

  Reider slumped down beside his friend and pulled on his leggings, forcing his still hard erection into the confines of the soft sealskin. He held up his hands in bewilderment.

  What am I to do with her?

  Kjartan burst out laughing. “Only you would ask that question, my friend. Take her to bed. Judging by your upset, I assume she is comely?”

  Reider jumped to his feet, shaking his head vigorously, spattering Kjartan with droplets of water.

  Kjartan grabbed his arm. “Hey! Hold on, I didn’t mention marriage. Make her your thrall. Then you can bed her at your whim and not worry. She’ll be your slave.”

  Reider raked his hand through his wet hair, then wiped it on his tunic. He retrieved the scabbard, intending to shove it in the waistband of his leggings. Instead he drew the dagger and handed it to Kjartan. His friend turned the weapon over several times, examining the handle carefully. “It’s the girl’s?”

  Reider nodded.

  Kjartan traced his finger over the Viking. “This is definitely Danish, a woman’s dagger, and if I’m not mistaken it was carved somewhere along this coast. It’s old. I’ve seen something similar before, but where? How did she come by it?”

  Reider took back the dagger and shrugged, making a sign that the woman was still asleep.

  Kjartan came to his feet. “You’ve left her alone?”

  Reider reassured his friend by pointing to her wet clothing, which he picked up, along with his own, intending to spread them on the drying lines strung around the central hearth. He regretted sharing the information. Kjartan’s guffaws followed him as he completed his task. He hurried to his own alcove, arousing the curiosity of the men.

  Torgrim Jakobsen hovered outside Reider’s alcove. “Sounds like the lad’s feverish, my lord. Cryin’ out like a girl.”

  Reider hunched his shoulders and gripped the curtain, but did not open it, unwilling to share his discovery. He nodded his thanks to Torgrim and sent him on his way.

  He waited until the seaman shuffled off before opening the curtain a crack and sidling in. Relief and agitation washed over him when he looked at his guest. Thanks be to Freyja that Torgrim had not seen her. She had thrown off the blankets and furs and writhed on his bed, completely exposed. The hound watched his mistress, but did not make a sound. He turned mournful eyes to Reider.

  The arousal Reider had successfully calmed roared anew, but the girl’s pallor disturbed him. He knelt and touched the back of his fingers to her cheek. She was too hot, though she shivered alarmingly.

  She shoved the blankets off again and again, tossing her head back and forth. He stayed in a kneeling position beside the pallet at first, but then had to lie alongside her, his arm keeping the covers in place. The salty smell of the sea clung to her damp hair.

  The storm raged on outside, the wind whistling through the wattle and daub walls. Loose timbers banged. Water dripped from gaps in the thatch. His eyes became heavy, and he dozed fitfully, exhausted by the rescue and his concern for her.

  Concern? Why should I care? She’s only a woman, a foreigner to boot.

  The dog fell asleep, sprawled at the foot of the pallet.

  ~*~

  “I’m—cold.”

  It was a mere whisper, but it woke Reider. The dog’s ears pricked up. It yawned and came slowly to its feet, looking first at its mistress, then at Reider.

  English. She had spoken in English. He and Kjartan had traded with the English. He knew something of their language.

  How to warm her? He was chilled without blankets or furs, the memory of the icy water washing over him. He made a decision, stripped off his tunic and crawled under the furs. Apart from the dog, his body provided the only warmth. He drew her back against his chest, careful to put his hand on his own thigh. He had never taken a woman against her will and would not take advantage of one in the throes of a fever. Nor did he wish to rile the dog, who seemed to sense Reider meant the girl no harm.

  He willed his arousal to abate, longing to cup her breasts and thrust inside this beautiful woman whose bottom rested on his shaft. Good thing he had not removed his leggings. The touch of her bare skin on his pik might have undone his resolve completely.

  Exhaustion released him from his torment.

  VI

  Father, mother, pray for me!

  Your little girl is coming to you...

  Narrow Sea...

  A Viking…at the prow of a boat…

  Beckoning… jump into the sea...

  Jump…

  A Viking…

  He will deliver me and Thor...

  Farewell, brothers... sister...

  Don’t weep for me…

  I am safe in the arms of my Viking.

  Reider understood little of the foreign ramblings of the girl as the fever tormented her sleep in the night. He thought she called to her parents, and recognized Viking and Thor, but the rest was incomprehensible.

  At dawn he smoothed her hair off her face. She was still warm, but the fever seemed to have lessened and she slept peacefully. She was beautiful despite her ordeal—high cheekbones, proud nose, fine features—like a princess. He didn’t know her name, so he would call her prinsessen. Why not? He had been a prince, before Gorm’s treachery had stolen his birthright.

  He heard the sounds of the crew preparing to break their fast. Normally he would be up before them. Men respect
ed a leader who did not stay too long abed, something his father had often told him.

  He was reluctant to leave the girl, though he could not say why that was. He lay on his side watching her, his arm crooked to support his head. She was a mystery, a woman who had the look of a Dane, but spoke English, who dressed like a male, but was very much a female. Why was she in the North Sea in the worst storm in living memory, with a loyal dog!

  Perhaps Kjartan was right. He should make her his thrall and she would live with him as his slave. Freyja knew he wanted her body! But this woman was no slave and he doubted she would accept such a life willingly. He had no wish to live with a woman who hated him, having narrowly escaped that fate with Margit. He did not want to be the object of this woman’s hatred.

  The quality of her clothing and the dog’s collar indicated she was from a wealthy family. Ransom was probably a better option, but then he would have to give her up. He rolled onto his back with an exasperated sigh, pressing his palms against his temples. She stirred beside him and he sat up quickly. He should put his tunic back on. She might be alarmed if—

  The ear-shattering shriek that pierced the air when her long lashes fluttered open brought men rushing to his aid. The dog leapt up and barked furiously, baring its teeth. Reider stumbled off the pallet and slid through the curtain, careful not to reveal her. He reassured his crew over the noise of her cries and the barking. Kjartan was calmly helping himself to smoked laks and bread, a smirk on his face.

  Hastily, Reider re-entered his alcove. His prinsessen stood in the far corner of the cubicle, back rigid, a fur clutched to her nakedness. Anger, not fear, twisted her lovely face. She would claw his eyes out if given the chance. The dog stood defiantly in defence, growling. Reider held out his hands, palms facing her, in what he hoped was a calming gesture.